Street medicine and island views

Wednesday, Sept. 9, 2010

The morning dawned clear with clouds hanging over the mountains on all sides of the lake. It was cool and moist, but the sun shown for a while. John said he looks every morning to see if there's any sunshine, then quickly does a load of laundry so his clothes have a little time to dry. It was breezy this morning too, which speeded up the drying process.

We both slept better with the cat locked up, and even the cat seemed to have a better attitude, not quite so aloof and haughty. Contrite would better describe him. Perhaps he learned his lesson. Probably not. He yowled when there was someone to bother. Locked up and alone, he probably didn't let out a peep. But who would know? He was in a little building not attached to either of our rooms.

Around 10:00 we headed into Patzcuaro for business purposes. We decided to go to the seat of the revolution for El Grito on the 16th of September. This is Mexico's 200th anniversary of the revolution when they broke away from Spain. It all started in Dolores Hidalgo, so we suspect the party there will be huge, the fireworks innumerable, and the crowds giddy. It will be like being in Boston or Philadelphia in 1976 on the 4th of July. John knows a woman who will rent us a little apartment for the week, and we had to transfer money to her account in order to secure the rental. I also wanted to take advantage of the fact that Bancomer here would cash my traveler's checks, so I cashed the rest of them.

From now on, I will keep traveling money in a separate account and transfer money to it when needed. That way, if someone were to get my account number and password from an internet transaction, the most they'd get would be the little amount in there at any given time. Security in Mexican online banking is not what it should be. When I was in San Miguel, I joined an online Yahoo group that consisted of mostly ex-pats. The horror stories were numerous. Some people had their checking accounts cleaned out and attached savings accounts as well. It scared me. But taking a large amount of cash on vacation is equally stupid, so I opted for traveler's checks. Who knew it would be such misery to get them cashed?

Janitzio Island as seen from Eronga.

Once all the business was attended to, we had lunch at two seafood stands that were next to each other on the edge of Plaza Chica. We got a shrimp cocktail, one from each vendor. Mine was exquisite. It was served in a large glass like they used to make hot fudge sundaes in, tall and tapered at the bottom. It was filled about three quarters full with cooked shrimp, topped with onions, hot peppers, a large chunk of avocado, and then filled to the brim with tomato sauce that was tangy and sweet. At the other stand, John ordered a smaller version that was not sweet at all, his was peppery and had a stronger tomato flavor. They were both delicious, but I liked mine a lot better. The peppers were hot enough to make me sweat and I have quite a tolerance for spicy food. It was the best meal I've had here so far, and it was from a street vendor!!

Janitzio Island with fisherman.

When I took a shower yesterday I had a muscle spasm in my neck. It was probably caused by toting luggage or carrying around heavy bags. My neck was stiff and sore most of yesterday and this morning it was so bad I couldn't lift my right arm above my head. So after that wonderful shrimp lunch we went in search of a masseuse, or maybe a chiropractor. The owner of the stall where I bought my jacket the day before walked past, so we asked him if he knew of anyone who could help. He took my by the hand and led me out onto the street. He looked up and shouted to some guys who were hanging a sign on the balcony. He pointed at me, told one of those guys I needed some attention and shortly thereafter, the guy showed up downstairs. He asked what I needed, assured me that he could fix it and then we went into an electronics store where he parked me in a chair behind the cash register. He grabbed a bottle of some liquid from under the cabinet and began to do a deep tissue massage on my neck.  After a few minutes of massaging, he took hold of my arm and said "Suav-vey, suav-vey…." several times while wiggling my arm up and down. Then wham, he jerked it hard. It felt like my arm came out of the socket! Not only that…..like it had strings attached directly to my neck and those ripped out as well. I was stunned. But immediately the pain felt different. He massaged some more and did a few more 'cracks' to my neck and arms though nothing like that first one. In a few minutes I could lift my arm over my head with no pain whatsoever. And all this behind the cash register in an electronics store!!

A resort seen from the boat to Janitzio Island.

Feeling much better, I told John I'd like to go see Janitzio Island after all. We hopped on a Combi and went to the pier to catch a boat out to the island. The boats are long and almost flat-bottomed with long benches on either side. About 20 of them were lined up at the pier, but Wednesday is not one of the big visitor days so all but one were empty. The boats have a roof and plastic curtains that can be pulled down in case of rain. The trip took about 30 minutes. Janitzio is further away than it looked, and quite a bit bigger than I expected. On the way across the lake, a  4 man combo played traditional Mexican songs and then passed the hat for tips. Since the island is inhabited by mostly Purepecha Indians, the boat was full of people returning home, some from working in Patzcuaro, some school kids in their uniforms. The women were all doing embroidery work, and they wore beautifully stitched skirts, aprons and blouses with colorful edges and flower designs. The guide book called Patzcuaro lake "impossibly blue" but with so many little towns surrounding it, and none of them with adequate sewage treatment, I found the lake to be "impossibly brown". However it doesn't have an odor. I have no idea if it has fish in it or if they're edible.

Women on the boat, doing embroidery.

I think the island might be a volcanic spatter cone based on it's shape and the color of the exposed rocks. On the flattened top of island is a monument to Jose Maria Morelos, a hero of the revolution. It is a huge statue of the man with his right arm raised to the sky in a fist. John had no interest in climbing up to the statue, an elevation of about 500 feet, so I left him in a restaurant where he ate little fried whole fish that resembled french fries and drank a beer. The route was up staircases and sloping streets. There are no motorized vehicles on Janitzio, so I have to assume that people carry everything to the top by hand or with the aid of donkeys, all their home furnishings and goods for the little stores. Weekends the island is packed with tourists, but on a Wednesday the vendors are hungry. Each one of them attempted to sell me something as I huffed and puffed up the steep hill. Entrance to the monument is $6p, about fifty cents. The thing is huge and views from the base are amazing. Rain clouds were moving in and there was lightning off to the southwest. I entered the statue through a narrow door and inside were six levels accessed by staircases. On each level there were 10-12 murals depicting Morelos' life from birth through his life as a revolutionary leader, to his trial and execution. The Mexican revolution didn't go quite as well as the American one. All of the leaders were executed before the war was over, and their heads were displayed in cages for years in a plaza in Guanajuato. I saw two of the actual cages, skulls long gone, in a museum there last February. In the raised arm of the statue, a staircase leads to the 'cuff' of the statue's jacket, and from there one can see unfettered views in all directions. I was alone inside and the stairs were steep and narrow. It felt like I could fall backwards at any moment. The staircase inside the arm was more dangerous, there weren't even rails to hang onto. Finally at the top, I was too short to actually see over the cuff edge, the lightning and rain drove me back downstairs. The area around the base is filled with stalls and small restaurants, most of which were closed. The rain came down hard and I was fairly drenched by the time I got to the bottom. These middle-aged knees don't care much for downhill walking and with cobblestones wet and slick, it was slow going. The ride back was bumpy and the water choppy, but the little band played valiantly and I hope they got plenty of tips.

Bass player in the boat band.

John headed back to the house and I went again to Patzcuaro to check out the Aurrera grocery, which he said is the equivalent of Walmart. Not quite but close. I wanted to purchase soy milk, olive oil, and parmesan cheese, none of which are standard fare for Mexican markets. After an hour looking I managed to find all three items and a few other things including green oranges from Veracruz that turned out to be the juiciest oranges I've ever bought. A Combi ride home to make squash with parmesan cheese for dinner, and it was time to hit the sack. Whew.

Fried whole fish,
called Charales.

      

John about to down a fish.

Down the hatch!!!

Patzcuaro and Erongaricuaro

Tuesday, Sept. 7, 2010

I suppose I should explain what I'm doing here in Mexico. I'm house-sitting. More or less. I'm working on my novel, seeing some sights, practicing Spanish, and eventually I'll go to Dolores Hidalgo to see the 200th Anniversary celebration of the Mexican Revolution.  My friend John Chavez from Santa Fe has a friend, known locally as El Gringo Roberto. Robert's wife died last spring. He has not been back to the states in several years so he needed someone to come stay in his house while he was away. John volunteered but also said he didn't want to stay the entire time and could someone else relieve him? Roberto agreed. It was an "any friend of yours is a friend of mine" sort of deal. So here I am.

The laundry house, the tool shed which is
 a traditional Purhepecha building called
a Troje, on the right.

Roberto's house is very pleasant and organic. It is a series of small buildings connected by covered porches, walkways and stairs. The yard and gardens are full of flowers, flowering trees and small sculptures. There are five buildings. The one with the high pitched roof is the tool shed. The big one with lots of windows is the living room upstairs and a room and bath downstairs. John has been living there. The cat wouldn't let him live in the master bedroom. So I get that one. The kitchen is between the bedroom and the living-room building. It's the smallest room in the complex, definitely not designed by people who actually cook. Off to the side of the tool room is a small lean-to where the washer and dryer are, though neither work terribly well. Eating is done either in the living room or at several outdoor tables under the porch or out in the patio. The entire property is surrounded by a 7 foot wall and the entrance is a large steel gate with a small door built into it. From the decks and the patio the view is of Janitzio Island and Patzcuaro lake.

Living room house with John's bedroom below,
Troje to the left. Kitchen & bedroom house
in the far back. Interesting "floor" plan!

Then there's the cat. I don't know his name but I call him Yowler. He's white with black spots and decidedly unfriendly. I've moved into his space and he didn't care a bit for that. Last night he yowled to go out so I let him out, then he yowled to come in so I let him in. Repeat, repeat. The cat can also open the door to the living room which closes with a definite bang. John's room is directly underneath. I sleep pretty soundly, but I woke up around 2:30 to more yowling and figured he wanted in again. When I opened the door he wasn't outside. Suddenly he dashed between my feet and out the door. He'd been inside all along. I was confused. In the morning John looked like a zombie. He had  been up all night futzing with the darn cat, waking up every time the living room door banged, etc. Without so much as a "good morning" he said, "We've got to do something about that cat!"  The decision was made to move the cat to the tool shed. He likes to hang out in there anyway, and there's a cat box inside the door. So late in the afternoon we waited until we saw him go into the shed and then locked him in. He can yowl all he wants but everyone is going to get a good night's sleep tonight!

We walked the two blocks to the plaza in Eronga to check out the market. It was drizzling and dark. Few people were set up so we decided to take the Combi into Patzcuaro. The Combi's are little white Nissan buses with bench seats along the sides and one in the far back. They hold about 12 people on the seats, and cost 10 pesos, about eighty cents. I guess the distance from Eronga to Patzcuaro is at least 10, maybe 15 miles. It's a curvy though relatively flat road. Along the way are nasty speed bumps but between those the Combi's go like a bat out of hell. There are hundreds of them all over the place, probably half the road traffic are Combi's. The other half are delivery trucks and very few private cars. On Janitzio, there are no roads or vehicles at all. The only way to get there is by boat.

View down the street, Janitzio Island off in the lake.

When we left the house it was cool and damp but by the time we reached Patzcuaro it was cold and raining. I needed to buy a jacket so I purchased one of those classic Mexican cotton "hoodies", in Turquoise and plum. We ate breakfast at a little cafe that had the worst waiter in the world. He didn't bring us coffee for the longest time, then no cream, then finally breakfast but not the juice. John saw him walking off down the street and pondered the possibility that he's waiting tables at a restaurant down the street too. Maybe he's hoping for double tips, but unfortunately, double nothing is still nothing.

I took five traveler's checks with me. John had successfully cashed them at the Bancomer Bank before. The manager at Bancomer in Tlaquepaque was the first one to tell me "No Vale". This time however, we were treated royally and the manager didn't even open my passport so he never knew about my multiple name problem. The cashier handed over the money and we were on our way. So much for corporate policies. It all depends on who you deal with and where. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now I have enough cash to last for a while.

Patzcuaro is a colonial city with several interesting converted haciendas. One has 11 patios and is now a bunch of artisan shops. The city is a major tourist destination for people from Mexico City and Guadalajara. It's high, cool, and with many good craftspeople and artists. A great place to escape heat and crowds. We wandered all over. I bought a broad straw hat for about $2.50, and that helped keep the rain off. Around 2:30 we hopped on the Combi and headed back to Eronga. Bad timing. School had let out and the streets were packed with kids in their uniforms with their grandmother escorts, teenagers in matching outfits including the shoes, and all the people now off work for siesta. The Combi we boarded was full once we sat down, yet it still picked up seven more adults who stood and swayed and held onto the bars mounted above the side benches. The little bus is barely tall enough for ME to stand upright, the taller men had to hunch over. We sped down the winding roads at full speed, in the rain, people swaying to and fro, cattle grazing on the sides, and it felt downright dangerous. I now understand why I see so many people crossing themselves when they get on buses and airplanes.

Back in Eronga we shopped for produce at the now bustling market which occurs only on Tuesdays and fills three streets with booths. I purchased all kinds of fresh vegetables, mangoes and a bag of what I thought were cherries. The lady said they were in the same family, but called them Nanches. I think she said they were cherries to get me to buy them. When she sold them to other people she dumped a tablespoon of chile powder into the bag and then squeezed half a lime over it. At the house, I used an iodine dropper to sterilize water for the veggies and soaked the 'cherries'. What a surprise to find they were something else altogether. It's the weirdest fruit I've ever eaten. It is the size and shape of a yellow cherry, with a large pit, but the texture similar to pears, the skin like that of a green olive and the flavor is indescribable, except that it leaves the same after taste as panela cheese. And to make it even more mysterious, no two taste the same. There are subtle and not so subtle differences. Some are sweeter, some more bitter, some have a slight olive flavor but not briny, and a few really taste like cheese. I think that's why she added chile powder, to even out the flavors. I'll eat the kilo that I bought, but I don't think I'll buy them again. But who knows, the weirdness might grow on me.

OMG, those tiny details!!!

Monday, Sept. 6, 2010

As I write this, I am sitting in the Camionera Nueva, the new bus station. I've purchased my ticket to Morelia, but it doesn't leave until 2:10. Behind me is a temporary wall which does absolutely nothing to mask the sound or the fumes of jackhammers. There's a big sign asking for my forgiveness for the noise. In two more hours I may be far less forgiving. Don't those guys break for lunch???

It was a frustrating morning. Mexico just doesn't get up at the same time I do. Not only am I an hour earlier clock-wise, my body likes to get moving around 6:00 am. Tlaqupaque doesn't open anything until 8:30 at the earliest. So, once more, I packed up my bags, locked them in the hotel room, and went for a long walk. I took a $50 traveler's check and my passport, with the idea that I could change it when the banks opened. Wrong. You see, I got one tiny detail wrong. My passport has all three names, spelled out and signed by me. My traveler's checks have only two names with a middle initial. For some unfathomable reason, this makes it "de no vale", of no value to Bancomer and several other banks. I stood in line for what amounted to a couple of hours before being told again and again "de no vale". Then, Scotiabank was my savior. I figured they had to be international enough to know an initial that matches the middle name on a passport would be sufficient. But even they asked for other ID. Fortunately I had my driver's license and also my badge from work, an official US Gov't ID, which by the way is NOT supposed to be used for identification. But what the hell? When in Rome, do what the Romans require.

So passed four hours of the morning. And it was a beautiful morning. Cool, overcast, muggy but not uncomfortable. While on my circular journey to find a Cambio or a bank willing to cash my checks, I met this lovely young lady, 18 years old, who went with me all over town and tried to help. She got to practice her English, and I got some gentle correcting done to my Spanish. We actually had a really good time. We stopped in at several financial establishments and then at the tourist information booth staffed by two good looking young men. While I tried to get information from them, she batted her eyelashes. Ah, to be young again....

Now, I'm just waiting. This might be a good time to work on my novel and get a bite of lunch.

Later…

Boy do I feel the fool. I thought, for some bizarre reason, that 13:10 was 2:10 pm. I missed the bus and had to wait around for another hour. I guess once a day starts out frustrating, it just stays that way!

Buses in Mexico come in various levels of quality. The first class buses serve food, have movies, restrooms and are a smooth comfortable ride. Second class is like the buses we used to hire to take the entire senior class on a ski trip, and third class are the packed Mexican buses you see in the movies, where you sit next to tiny native women holding cages of chickens while young people hitch a free ride on the roof. This first class bus showed two movies during the three hour trip, both American dubbed in Spanish with Spanish subtitles! The subtitles actually helped a lot, because I could barely understand the rapid fire talking. It takes quite a bit longer to say the same thing in Spanish. The second movie was a KungFu flick which was still going on when we arrived in Morelia. Since I could not really follow the plot of the first movie, Across Enemy Lines, I watched the scenery go by. There are numerous volcanos. The landscape looked like dozens of giant green camels were lounging about. The countryside is lush, with hills covered in every shade of deciduous and coniferous tree, while rectangular fields feature corn and the blue-green spikes of Maguy, the main component of Tequila.  Ponds appeared fairly regularly, edged by white ibis, frozen in place waiting for fish or bugs to appear in the water. Occasionally flocks of them could be seen in a single tree, like white Christmas decorations. Eventually, an enormous lake appeared and after traveling beside it for a while we turned south to Morelia. The bus terminal is divided into three sections. Out of Terminal B buses run to Patzcuaro every 10 minutes so I bought a ticket and hopped right on. Of course it's not a straight shot, the bus stopped at least four times to let people on and off. At one stop a vendor climbed on board and sold snacks - little bags of home-made potato chips doused in hot sauce and sprinkled with half a lime.

John had warned me to be sure to get to Patzcuaro before dark, otherwise the Combi's would not be running and I'd have to take a taxi out to Erongaricuaro (Eronga). The Combi's had definitely quit running, though there was still plenty of evening light. From Patzcuaro to Eronga, fairly evenly spaced along the road are several little towns, and out in the lake is an island called Janitzio with a native village covering most of it. On top is a huge statue of Morelos, one of the heros of the revolution. The villages were lit up, and so was the statue. It was fairyland pretty, pink clouds against an aging sky, dark purple clouds hovering over the mountain tops, deep green everywhere. And cows, donkeys, and goats in the road the entire way. The driver came to a full stop several times to honk at the animals. Following along behind were the herders bringing the livestock in for the night. The instructions I had led us right to the door and John was waiting to unlock the gate. It was fairly dark, but I could still see that the house was charming and the gardens gorgeous.

Hard beds, hard times

I'm learning how to assess a new situation. Check the bed!!  In the US, where there are bed bug problems even in huge chain hotels, you know to check for bugs. In a place as warm and muggy as Guadalajara, I fully expected cockroaches of all sizes, but there aren't any, even in a budget place like La Hacienda. Either they spray like mad, or the large number of birds takes care of the problem.

After posting the blog last night I turned down the bed and realized it was about as comfortable as a prison cell. Not that I've personally experienced an overnight stay in jail....(My mother is reading this blog too!). Suffice it to say it was hard. Solid, immovable. Hard. But the lovely singer in the bar next door lulliby'd me to sleep and I didn't wake up with a sore back or a stiff neck. Will wonders never cease?

A young lady in a wedding
who allowed me to take
her picture.

Sunday morning. Mexico.  I met Lourdes, the lady who runs this little 5 room hotel. It was her son I met last night. She goes by LuLu. She saw me leaving early in the morning and dashed out in her pajamas to tell me that nothing will open for a couple of hours. So I wandered around. Some streets had been blocked off overnight to allow for bike riders. A young lady was directing cars across the blocked street with a handmade Stop sign, so I chatted with her. I asked if the bike riders passing us were part of a competition. No, she replied, it's recreation. Every Sunday the roads are blocked, little signs are put up and hoards of people ride through the streets on their bikes. Whole families passed us, with little bitty kids barely able to walk, riding tiny pink and green bicycles.

I took a few photos of interesting buildings and flowers in the early morning light. A small woman pushed a huge cart slowly up the street stopping to sweep up little piles of leaves and trash. Apparently owners of street side properties (or their maids) sweep up every morning and leave the little piles for the trash people. I am impressed with how clean Mexico is, but my little hotel has an odd smell in the courtyard. I wondered what it was and then Lulu pointed out the small fruits littering the ground under a large tree. Guyabas, she said. She picked one up, washed it and gave it to me. The moment I bit into it I knew the source of the smell. It was quite delicious but had an abundance of hard BB-sized seeds. Later in the day, I bought a 'popcicle' that was made of guyaba. I sort of expected it to be the fruit only, but it too was loaded with seeds.

I adore Mexican popcicles. They make a paste of fresh ripe fruit and then mix it with a little milk and cream (or not), pour it into a rectagular mold and freeze it around a fat wooden stick. It weighs a quarter of a pound and costs 8 pesos, about 65 cents. It's almost impossible to eat it all without dripping on your clothes, not because it's so hot here, but because it takes so long to eat one. They're huge!

Charales. Whole fried fish.

Then I discovered a big problem. I had almost run out of pesos. I have plenty of money with me, in the form of  traveler's checks and American dollars, but few pesos. It's Sunday. Banks are closed, the Cambios (money changers) are closed, and the stores don't take travelers checks. The machines in Bancomer would not accept my credit card. I found myself in a serious bind. Lulu tried to help. We walked over to the other hotel to see the owner. Victor, a handsome young man, owns both, but he was reluctant to take the traveler's check. He was afraid it would not clear his bank. He never said NO, that would have been rude, but it would have been equally rude for me to press him. Lulu assured me that I could stay another night, and pay on Monday morning. So I decided to stay another day.

Detail of a Rodo Padilla sculpture, famous
Tlaquepaque artist.

There's lots to see here, and it feels like a very different place than San Miguel. It's newer for one thing, not as colonial. The people are not as friendly. I suppose that is true all over the world. The larger the city, the less friendly people are, and Guadalajara is HUGE. It's the third largest city in Mexico. I think Mexico City is the largest in the world. Flying over yesterday I could see sparkling buildings spread out below, but then we passed over some 'natural' terrain with forest and deep arroyos. The city spread around, but on the sides of this mountain were mansions, clearly the realm of the very rich. We continued to fly for fifteen more minutes over city until we landed. I've flown an hour over Los Angeles and it's suburbs, but American cities are vastly more spread out. I suspect that Guadalajara has as many people as LA, it's just more concentrated. No house here has a side yard to separate it from the neighbor. Properties are walled and the houses are built with zero lot lines. Only the Ricos in the mountains have space to spare.

So, after things opened up, I had breakfast at the little cafe next door. It was a buffet and it was superb. I could have eaten baskets of pan dulce and muffins, that's what appeared on the table, but I sent it away. The buffet featured a wonderful mixture of vegetables with moderate poblano-like chiles sauteed together (which I consumed with relish), chunks of chicken breast in a cream sauce that was silky and rich, runny but delicious mashed pinto beans, and a plate of fresh pineapple, cantilope, and slices of mango in vanilla yoghurt. The coffee was fine, not the best I've ever had, but it made the caffeine headache disappear. It was considerably tastier than dinner. Seating for the cafe was entirely out doors with big green umbrellas and a portal shading other tables. A tiled fountain with a large ceramic lion's head spit water into a pond near leafy tropical plants. The equipale chairs were comfortable and sat around leather covered tables. I was the only person there until about 10 when others began to drift in.  My son would have enjoyed the piped-in music. It was an eclectic mix of modern rock, classical guitar, Enya, jazz, and salsa. I sat for the longest time over coffee, enjoying the sounds of birds, odors coming from the kitchen, and the gorgeous twenty-something men dashing about waiting on the growing crowd of customers.

Tlaquepaque all dressed up for the Bicentenario.

In the afternoon, I went back down the Avenida Artesanias, to see the now open galleries and shops and the free ceramics museum. All my life I've seen Mexican ceramics; black pottery with scratched designs, red clay with cream paint, little figurines, whistles, creches, mermaids, you name it. In this museum the pieces were old.  Older than dirt! (Wait a minute, they ARE dirt!) Some were created two and three hundred years ago and I could clearly see the evolution of designs and techniques that are still being used today. And like everything else, the quality then was noticably better. There was such care in painting every line, clarity and precision where the colors meet, uniform wall thickness in the cups and bowls. I was impressed. It's not what I've seen in Dolores Hidalgo, or at Jackalope in New Mexico. But then later, in several of the gallery shops were similar modern pieces of the same quality and craftsmanship. As expected the prices were quite high too. I was sorely tempted to purchase a nice platter except there is no room in my luggage for something that breakable!!

Local liquor store

I am also favorably impressed by the weather. This far south, and in late summer, I expected to swelter, at least a little. Not so. The temperature was about 70 this morning when I went for my long walk, and then in the middle of the day clouds built up and it never got over 80. I came back to the room and took a long nap. The room faces north and is also shaded by a deep portal, so it was nice and cool. All in all a lovely day. I will go back down to the centro area and scout out some dinner. I hate to admit this but I had ice cream for lunch. I am getting re-adicted to ice cream, it's just so damned good! This time I got a small scoop of strawberry ice with cajeta ice cream on the top. I'm not positive what flavor cajeta is, kind of a cross between carmel, carmelized milk, and brown sugar. So, really, I ought to eat something healthy for dinner. No more ice cream until....well, until next time!

September 4, Traveling to Guadalajara

For many, the act of traveling from one place to another is the boring part of any trip. I have never found that to be true. Stressful, absolutely. Boring, no.

The day started about 4:30. My mother was up banging around in the kitchen so there was no sleeping through that. I couldn't have slept any more anyway. I never set an alarm unless I'm traveling and need to catch a plane. Every time I do I wake up every hour all night thinking I've missed the damn alarm. It's alarming the way that happens!

So, off to a good start, she fed me leftover beans, carne adovada, and a cup of good coffee. A perfect breakfast before a trip to Mexico. I drove directly to Anna's house, through what is usually nightmare quality traffic, but this early on a Saturday morning there were so few cars I passed through every light and made it to her house in record time. She went with me to the airport and came in to chat for a bit before she drove my car back to her house for safe keeping while I'm gone. We had a wonderful though brief talk about how travel may be a drain on one's finances but it is perfect soul investing. That gave me the idea for this blog's title.

On the flight to Houston, I sat next to a young woman and her 16 month old daughter who kept us radically entertained before she settled down for a nap. She adored standing on me to gaze out the window. I couldn't help but wonder if she knew we were way up in the air. If not, the fluffy clouds whipping past and the scenery below facinated her for long periods of time.

A two hour layover in Houston gave me a chance to make some long overdue phone calls to relatives I hadn't talked to in a long time, eat some lunch and read through the Mexican Lonely Planet guide to see if it would be better to stay in Guadalajara or one of the Colonias. Tlaquepaque had been recommended to me and it looked like there might be five or six hotels. Wrong, but that's a later part of the story.

Then I ran into my mother's friend Jim. Well, not the real Jim. A Mexican version of him. He was a big guy like Jim, same height, big bones, bald head, similar face, and the same personality. He visited with everybody, tipped his straw cowboy hat at the ladies, laughed a lot, told jokes and had purchased a 16' flat screen TV which he obviously planned to take home to Mexico. The plane was a small one, with a row of single seats on one side, a row of double seats on the other. I had the single, and some other man had the window seat. "Jim" did his best to fit himself, the TV, an overstuffed bag, his hat and jacket into the space left between us. The stewardess made him check the bag after he's shoved his butt into my face for the third time and then folded himself into a big ball with knees up to his chin, feet on the box holding the TV. After he finally got settled, he looked over at the Guide I had open and asked if I were staying in Guadalajara. We chatted: he spoke to me in rapid, barely-understood Spanish, and I made a valiant attempt to keep up and be coherent. He showed me where the airport is relative to the city, how to find Tlaquepaque, where the regional bus station is and recommended I stay at the hotel near the station. Had I followed his advice, I would have missed out on my subsequent adventure.

The Guide said to take a Taxi to Tlaquepaque because otherwise you would have to go into Guadalajara and then catch another bus, so I did. The driver was absolutely charming and enormously helpful. He didn't know Tlaquepaque any better than I do! We drove around looking for hotels, and he asked several people for help. But the streets are narrow and mostly one way. Businesses have their names printed on the building, so unless you look directly at the sign you don't see it. We drove right past a couple of them. Finally we stopped at one. It was fairly expensive, $100 (US) a night, so the driver suggested we keep looking. We found a second one that the guide said had rare monkeys in cages, a good bar, and decent prices. I opened the door of the taxi as a woman in an SUV slammed on her brakes and cursed me from here to next year. She could easily have taken the door of the cab off.  I should have looked first. I won't ever make that mistake again.

The patio of the rustic hotel....

We rang the bell of the Monkey Hotel but no one ever came. There was a small barred window in the door. I could see into the courtyard. A cat lounged on a chair and the place looked unkempt. Judging from the smell wafting through the window (with an undertone of overflowing cat-box) the monkeys died some time back. A man walked up and informed us that the place was closed. Gee, I wonder why?  He suggested a different hotel so we went there. It was full, but the owner hopped in the cab and directed us personally to another one nearby "cheaper, and mas rustico" he said. I think he owns this one too. It has a 'galleria' in front that sells furniture and light fixtures. In the back of the store there's a wrought iron gate, a little patio and about 5 rooms that constitute the 'hotel'. Rustic is right. Funky is a better description. The room I picked is clean enough but the bathroom is tiny. The shower is a spigot on the wall next to the sink. I think it's a self-cleaning bathroom. After you've had a shower, everything is wet and rinsed off, including the toilet. It's smaller than a bathroom in a motor home. But for $40 (US) it's not bad.  I tipped the sweet driver who had my best interests at heart and settled into my little abode.

It turned out to have some very nice amenities. It's only two blocks from the Centro, a huge plaza with two Catholic Cathedrals, dozens of little shops and restaurants, and a huge stage under a roof. In the couple of hours I spent wandering around in the plaza area, the 'stage' featured a young man belly dancing with black flimsy material he flew around himself like butterfly wings, two full uniformed mariachi bands, and the local 'class' of classical guitarists playing several Rodrigo pieces. All free, all part of the normal Saturday evening entertainment. I had an OK meal at one of the restaurants and then got a small cup of icecream. I tasted several of the selections. One was elote. It was actually delicious and didn't taste all that much like green beans. They also had tequila, mango, mamay, guadana (a fruit I hadn't heard of and may not have spelled correctly), canela (cinnamon), and tres leches (three milks), plus the regulars, chocolate, vanilla, coffee, and carmel.

Night vendors on the plaza in Tlaqupaque.

This has been such a different experience than when I spent February in San Miguel de Allende. For one thing, I haven't seen an Anglo since we left Houston. The only person who's even tried to speak English to me is the young man who's managing the 5-room hotel. And this is the first time I've gone to a foreign country entirely alone. The only person I know is John and he's in Patzcuaro. I've talked to him on the phone, but he wouldn't be much help if I got lost and couldn't find my way back. That's the soul investment of travel. It wakes up the senses. There's not the room for error I've become accustomed to having in life.

Back at El Rustico.....I discovered that I have free wifi, and there's a bar with a live band next door. It might as well be in the same room with me it's so loud. The singer is quite good but I hope he doesn't sing all night. He might though, it is Saturday. Hasta Manana.....

Restaurant Mariachi's

Pan Dulces, the sweet bread of Mexico. Yum!