The central plaza.
A portico along one side of the plaza.
The Parroquia, or parish church, of Cocula.
NEWS UPDATE
1 year ago
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
It's great to be focused back on Mexico and the promise of some kind of life there eventually. I was starting to feel like all my efforts to learn Spanish and Mexican culture were going to end up being past hobbies with no practical value. As I grew discouraged with what Guadalajara had to offer, I was just ready to return home and defer any judgement about anything related to things SOB (South of the border) for a while.
Then, almost as an afterthought, I went to visit Cocula - about an hour and a half Southwest of GDL. My main reason for visiting was to pay my respects to the parents of my one close Mexcican friend in the U.S., Mañuel. His mother Doña Margarita met me at the bus station, and we walked the several blocks to their house. There we were joined by her husband, el Profesor, and Elena, a girl who is novia of one of the younger sons. Elena and I climbed into the back of the family pickup, and off we wenrt for a night-time tour of the city, under an velvety black sky filled with brilliant stars. Even in the center of town, the ambient light was low enought to see a faint satellite trace a path across the sky, and the broad wash of the Milky Way - something I hadn't seen since a night at the Wyoming ranch.
We passed through neighborhoods filled with colonial homes and storefronts. Up cobblestone streets we went following the contour of hills surrounding the center of town. The homes warmly illuminated from within offered many glimpses of life behind open front doors - kitchens and salons, and interior courtyards framed by ornate ironwork. Over the streets were strung row after row of silver and white paper decorations called papel picado remaining from a religious fiesta but seeming to foretell the coming of nocha buena and the other end of year celebrations.
When we returned from our drive, we had dinner and talked for a while before turning in for the night. See the previous post for the unfortunate outcome of the evening - I had been looking forward to seeing more of the little city, but due to my illness and circumstances that required me to be elsewhere, I caught only tantalizing glimpses of the place in the morning.
On reflection, I began to realize that what Cocula seemed to offer was a realization of the vision that set us on this course some five years earlier, when I read On Mexico Time, about a writer and artist couple who fled their stressed-out deadening lives in Los Angeles for the beauty and wonder of a new life in San Miguel de Allende.
That was before San Miguel was overwhelmed with wealthy socialites and other well-off gringos who gentrified the place and snapped up all the fine old colonial homes, dolling them up suitably for publication in Architectural Digest, and displacing Mexicans in the process as the original residents were increasingly relegated to the roles of service people in their own community. I always felt sort of passed by, deprived of the opportunity to participate in the discovery of such a special place, and certainly priced out now that people are paying near-California bubble amounts for the few occasionally available nice casas antiguas.
But here was Cocula, with not a single gringo resident known to be lurking, and only a handful of day tourists from time to time. Yet the town had the wonderful buildings, the friendly and safe population, the Parochia (church) equal to San Miguel's, the hills surrounding the town, the near-perfect climate...
This place I almost passed up the opportunity to visit brought me jarringly back to the original vision that started our journey. While Merida was charming and fascinating, and Guadalajara probably worth a weekend visit, they felt like mere distractions and a diversion that always left me unsettled and uncommited.
At the first opportunity, I'll be back in Cocula to explore and learn more about what this tranquil city of 40,000 has to offer. Mañuel's parents have graciously invited me back to stay with them whenever and for as long as I like, and have even suggested renting out the rooms newly constructed on the second floor of their home. From the back terrace, you can see the horse and cow in the neighboring back yard.
The dream is still alive.
Then, almost as an afterthought, I went to visit Cocula - about an hour and a half Southwest of GDL. My main reason for visiting was to pay my respects to the parents of my one close Mexcican friend in the U.S., Mañuel. His mother Doña Margarita met me at the bus station, and we walked the several blocks to their house. There we were joined by her husband, el Profesor, and Elena, a girl who is novia of one of the younger sons. Elena and I climbed into the back of the family pickup, and off we wenrt for a night-time tour of the city, under an velvety black sky filled with brilliant stars. Even in the center of town, the ambient light was low enought to see a faint satellite trace a path across the sky, and the broad wash of the Milky Way - something I hadn't seen since a night at the Wyoming ranch.
We passed through neighborhoods filled with colonial homes and storefronts. Up cobblestone streets we went following the contour of hills surrounding the center of town. The homes warmly illuminated from within offered many glimpses of life behind open front doors - kitchens and salons, and interior courtyards framed by ornate ironwork. Over the streets were strung row after row of silver and white paper decorations called papel picado remaining from a religious fiesta but seeming to foretell the coming of nocha buena and the other end of year celebrations.
When we returned from our drive, we had dinner and talked for a while before turning in for the night. See the previous post for the unfortunate outcome of the evening - I had been looking forward to seeing more of the little city, but due to my illness and circumstances that required me to be elsewhere, I caught only tantalizing glimpses of the place in the morning.
On reflection, I began to realize that what Cocula seemed to offer was a realization of the vision that set us on this course some five years earlier, when I read On Mexico Time, about a writer and artist couple who fled their stressed-out deadening lives in Los Angeles for the beauty and wonder of a new life in San Miguel de Allende.
That was before San Miguel was overwhelmed with wealthy socialites and other well-off gringos who gentrified the place and snapped up all the fine old colonial homes, dolling them up suitably for publication in Architectural Digest, and displacing Mexicans in the process as the original residents were increasingly relegated to the roles of service people in their own community. I always felt sort of passed by, deprived of the opportunity to participate in the discovery of such a special place, and certainly priced out now that people are paying near-California bubble amounts for the few occasionally available nice casas antiguas.
But here was Cocula, with not a single gringo resident known to be lurking, and only a handful of day tourists from time to time. Yet the town had the wonderful buildings, the friendly and safe population, the Parochia (church) equal to San Miguel's, the hills surrounding the town, the near-perfect climate...
This place I almost passed up the opportunity to visit brought me jarringly back to the original vision that started our journey. While Merida was charming and fascinating, and Guadalajara probably worth a weekend visit, they felt like mere distractions and a diversion that always left me unsettled and uncommited.
At the first opportunity, I'll be back in Cocula to explore and learn more about what this tranquil city of 40,000 has to offer. Mañuel's parents have graciously invited me back to stay with them whenever and for as long as I like, and have even suggested renting out the rooms newly constructed on the second floor of their home. From the back terrace, you can see the horse and cow in the neighboring back yard.
The dream is still alive.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
The Thanksgiving That Didn't Happen
Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn’t learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn’t learn a little,
at least we didn’t get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn’t die;
so, let us be thankful.
-The Buddha
Well, that turned out to be a timely message for today (and my entire trip) when it showed up in my mailbox. Last night I was in Cocula, Jalisco - an hour and a half from Guadalajara (more on Cocula in a later blog entry). I was visiting the parents of my friend Mañuel, and we went out to dinner at a little family-run corner place. Guess I shouldn't have had the lady put all the raw onion and lettuce and radishes in my pozole, because starting about midnigh and going all night, I was - well - going all night. It was so bad I started to panic about how I could get back to GDL on a bus for a planned trip to Ajijic the next day. In the morning, I wandered out to find Doña Marguerita, Mañuel's mom, and told her about my predicament. Off she went to the farmacìa, and returned a short time later with some yellow capsuls and pepto bismal tablets. She also gave me some apple juice and some Sprite with about two-thirds of a cup of corn flour mixed in it.
Miraculously, all the action stopped, and I felt well enought to shower and figure out what to do next. El Professor (how I address Mañuel's retired school teacher father) offered to take me to Ajijic directly, a one hour ride he said. I accepted on the condition that I pay for the gas.
Well, the three of us rode in the little pickup front seat, an hour and a half ride. If there are nicer people on the face of the earth, I don't knowhere one would find them. They dropped me off at the place I was supposed to be to walk down to the neighborhood where a party of 30 gringos were gathering in a nicer Ajijic home for Dia de Gracias.
After I bought El professor and his esposa a refresco and slice of cake from the pasteleria where they left me and we exchanged parting wishes, I first walked a few blocks to find a yogurt (my Thanksgiving dinner). As I walked through the area of highway above the lake where all the businesses are clustered, I was struck by how much it looked like Pleasant Hill, or some other California strip-mall area. The usual minivans, SUV's, and luxury cars, full of casual-dressed white people. Shorts, golf shirts, little ankle-biter dogs on leashes...it didn't have any Mexican vibe at all. In the store, there was a stupefying Stepford effect, with sort of dazed looking white shoppers cruising aisles full of US-standards commodities. In one odd area there was an aisle of glassed-in locked cases full of various fancy Canadian and US condiments, safe from pilfering like expensive liquor in a ghetto supermarket.
Then I continued on the find the house with the gathering. I imagine Beverly Hills looks a lot like this neighborhood. Very luxurious and well-primped, with many lush arrays of flowering vines and trees. When I arrive at the home, I was stunned by the sumptuous layout, construction, and decor. I had just spent the night in a typical Mexican house, with the ten years of handprints on the walls, the giant vases full of gaudy artifical flowers, the oddly displaced plumbing and light fixtures, and quaint provincial sala furniture (but sweet and as inviting as you can imagine). In the three small bedrooms, little sala, and cocina El Professor Encarnaciòn amd Doña Marguerita Lopez had raised four boys and a girl. Here now I was in this gleaming oversize sprawling home where I single guy lived. In place of the Lopez milk cow, sheep, and goat, his back yard was full of manicured lawn. His gardener was tending a full bar, and his regular maid and a friend stood ready in the kitchen to finish preparation of the meal while sending out trays of hors doeuvres.
I was introduced to a number of the prosperous-looking mostly older white guests. I used a common Mexican expression of greeting on being introduced to one - the friend who had introduced us shook her head and commented "Oh, don't use any Spanish in him, he doesn't understand a word". "Not a word!" he confirmed enthusiastically, then mouthed an exagerated "No hab-lo es-pan-yole".
A number of people wanted to know if I was looking for a place in Ajijic or Chapala down the road. I tried to mask my revulsion at the impressions I was forming about this un-Mexican enclave, and respect the choice these folks had made to create an insular island for themselves, where Mexicans only existed to mow grass, walk dogs, cook, clean, and man the local cash registers. Learn the language? Why bother. Dish TV brings in all the latest swill in pristine English...there was some football game on the giant screen TV nested in custom cabinets. No one was watching, but it was on just to show it was available I guess.
One fellow had on an oversize Guyabera shirt, like the ones popular in Yucatan for a century. I asked him if that's where he got it. "Mail order them from Pennsylvania", he said. "Look, uses a zipper instead of buttons.". My friend sitting next to him turned the label out to see if it originated from Yucatan. "China", she said, and everyone had a laugh over that.
I found myself in the kitchen, chatting with the Mexican maids - the only people present I felt I could relate to. At first they were shy, but when I said "La verdad es, prefiero Cocula donde no hay tantos gringos." they giggled and warmed up. We had some pleasant conversation, then I feared I would get them in trouble so I went back into the party area, excused myself to the host and friend who got me invited, grabbed my stuff, and walked back up to the highway to catch a bus to the city.
I felt bad that I had caused Sr and Sra Lopez a three hour drive for this, with me staying but a few minutes. I had been afraid of a digestive emergency on the bus - should have had faith in Dra Lopez' miracle cure. But they approached the trip to deliver me like everything else in their lives - as something to be enjoyed and experienced to the fullest, and all the more if it was helpful to someone who was connected to their family.
How I wished I had brought all my bags down with me the night before instead of leaving stuff at the hotel in GDL. I would have enjoyed the extra time with them in Cocula for an extra day and night, and would certainly not have given that up for this horrifying venture into gringolandia that I had so planned on. As they say, life is what passes you by while you're making other plans.
Let us rise up and be thankful,
for if we didn’t learn a lot today,
at least we learned a little,
and if we didn’t learn a little,
at least we didn’t get sick,
and if we got sick,
at least we didn’t die;
so, let us be thankful.
-The Buddha
Well, that turned out to be a timely message for today (and my entire trip) when it showed up in my mailbox. Last night I was in Cocula, Jalisco - an hour and a half from Guadalajara (more on Cocula in a later blog entry). I was visiting the parents of my friend Mañuel, and we went out to dinner at a little family-run corner place. Guess I shouldn't have had the lady put all the raw onion and lettuce and radishes in my pozole, because starting about midnigh and going all night, I was - well - going all night. It was so bad I started to panic about how I could get back to GDL on a bus for a planned trip to Ajijic the next day. In the morning, I wandered out to find Doña Marguerita, Mañuel's mom, and told her about my predicament. Off she went to the farmacìa, and returned a short time later with some yellow capsuls and pepto bismal tablets. She also gave me some apple juice and some Sprite with about two-thirds of a cup of corn flour mixed in it.
Miraculously, all the action stopped, and I felt well enought to shower and figure out what to do next. El Professor (how I address Mañuel's retired school teacher father) offered to take me to Ajijic directly, a one hour ride he said. I accepted on the condition that I pay for the gas.
Well, the three of us rode in the little pickup front seat, an hour and a half ride. If there are nicer people on the face of the earth, I don't knowhere one would find them. They dropped me off at the place I was supposed to be to walk down to the neighborhood where a party of 30 gringos were gathering in a nicer Ajijic home for Dia de Gracias.
After I bought El professor and his esposa a refresco and slice of cake from the pasteleria where they left me and we exchanged parting wishes, I first walked a few blocks to find a yogurt (my Thanksgiving dinner). As I walked through the area of highway above the lake where all the businesses are clustered, I was struck by how much it looked like Pleasant Hill, or some other California strip-mall area. The usual minivans, SUV's, and luxury cars, full of casual-dressed white people. Shorts, golf shirts, little ankle-biter dogs on leashes...it didn't have any Mexican vibe at all. In the store, there was a stupefying Stepford effect, with sort of dazed looking white shoppers cruising aisles full of US-standards commodities. In one odd area there was an aisle of glassed-in locked cases full of various fancy Canadian and US condiments, safe from pilfering like expensive liquor in a ghetto supermarket.
Then I continued on the find the house with the gathering. I imagine Beverly Hills looks a lot like this neighborhood. Very luxurious and well-primped, with many lush arrays of flowering vines and trees. When I arrive at the home, I was stunned by the sumptuous layout, construction, and decor. I had just spent the night in a typical Mexican house, with the ten years of handprints on the walls, the giant vases full of gaudy artifical flowers, the oddly displaced plumbing and light fixtures, and quaint provincial sala furniture (but sweet and as inviting as you can imagine). In the three small bedrooms, little sala, and cocina El Professor Encarnaciòn amd Doña Marguerita Lopez had raised four boys and a girl. Here now I was in this gleaming oversize sprawling home where I single guy lived. In place of the Lopez milk cow, sheep, and goat, his back yard was full of manicured lawn. His gardener was tending a full bar, and his regular maid and a friend stood ready in the kitchen to finish preparation of the meal while sending out trays of hors doeuvres.
I was introduced to a number of the prosperous-looking mostly older white guests. I used a common Mexican expression of greeting on being introduced to one - the friend who had introduced us shook her head and commented "Oh, don't use any Spanish in him, he doesn't understand a word". "Not a word!" he confirmed enthusiastically, then mouthed an exagerated "No hab-lo es-pan-yole".
A number of people wanted to know if I was looking for a place in Ajijic or Chapala down the road. I tried to mask my revulsion at the impressions I was forming about this un-Mexican enclave, and respect the choice these folks had made to create an insular island for themselves, where Mexicans only existed to mow grass, walk dogs, cook, clean, and man the local cash registers. Learn the language? Why bother. Dish TV brings in all the latest swill in pristine English...there was some football game on the giant screen TV nested in custom cabinets. No one was watching, but it was on just to show it was available I guess.
One fellow had on an oversize Guyabera shirt, like the ones popular in Yucatan for a century. I asked him if that's where he got it. "Mail order them from Pennsylvania", he said. "Look, uses a zipper instead of buttons.". My friend sitting next to him turned the label out to see if it originated from Yucatan. "China", she said, and everyone had a laugh over that.
I found myself in the kitchen, chatting with the Mexican maids - the only people present I felt I could relate to. At first they were shy, but when I said "La verdad es, prefiero Cocula donde no hay tantos gringos." they giggled and warmed up. We had some pleasant conversation, then I feared I would get them in trouble so I went back into the party area, excused myself to the host and friend who got me invited, grabbed my stuff, and walked back up to the highway to catch a bus to the city.
I felt bad that I had caused Sr and Sra Lopez a three hour drive for this, with me staying but a few minutes. I had been afraid of a digestive emergency on the bus - should have had faith in Dra Lopez' miracle cure. But they approached the trip to deliver me like everything else in their lives - as something to be enjoyed and experienced to the fullest, and all the more if it was helpful to someone who was connected to their family.
How I wished I had brought all my bags down with me the night before instead of leaving stuff at the hotel in GDL. I would have enjoyed the extra time with them in Cocula for an extra day and night, and would certainly not have given that up for this horrifying venture into gringolandia that I had so planned on. As they say, life is what passes you by while you're making other plans.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Here are today's random sightings.
Who needs razor wire or smashed bottle shards in the top of the wall to keep out the bad guys, when you can ELECTROCUTE them.
Yes, we love our pets, but they DON'T WEAR DIAPERS! So pick it up.
This is the oldest car I saw here. Not even 2% of the POS wrecks I saw in Yucatan. Many BMWs, high-end SUVs, all manner of shiny new wheels. The real fun starts at night, when there is a dazzling stream of intense blue LEDs that adorn various places on many vehicles. Who knows why this is a studly thing to do? If some flash, that is extra studly.
Walked a neighborhood to check out livability and see what the style was. These two above and below are representative of the nicer ones. Neighborhood quality of life super.
Who needs razor wire or smashed bottle shards in the top of the wall to keep out the bad guys, when you can ELECTROCUTE them.
Yes, we love our pets, but they DON'T WEAR DIAPERS! So pick it up.
This is the oldest car I saw here. Not even 2% of the POS wrecks I saw in Yucatan. Many BMWs, high-end SUVs, all manner of shiny new wheels. The real fun starts at night, when there is a dazzling stream of intense blue LEDs that adorn various places on many vehicles. Who knows why this is a studly thing to do? If some flash, that is extra studly.
Walked a neighborhood to check out livability and see what the style was. These two above and below are representative of the nicer ones. Neighborhood quality of life super.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Not really enough energy to recount all the day´s activities, so here are a few photos with comments from the past twelve hours...
Here´s something you don´t see in Merida...a whole stand full of woolie warming things.
There are a lot of long-time unfinished buildings around the city. Who knows why?
Dirty shopping carts? Not where there is cheap labor. This lady and her partner doing the same would polish the chrome after the sidewalk wash job.
I walked into the giant Mercado Libertad, and thought I'd find something to eat among the food stands...OMG, there were HUNDREDS of them (this picture is of ONE such stall). I am not a person who likes to make choices among even a few options, so I was numbed by the whole thing.
Well now, this should have made my choice easy...chivo (goat) anyone?
I walked through the area of money changer storefronts, and saw this little guy. Again, as with the food stalls - HUNDREDS of cambio places, all in the same area... In the US there would be one or two large corporate predators, and they would use their massive and sophisticated resources to drive all but a few of the individual proprietors out of business.
Here´s something you don´t see in Merida...a whole stand full of woolie warming things.
There are a lot of long-time unfinished buildings around the city. Who knows why?
Dirty shopping carts? Not where there is cheap labor. This lady and her partner doing the same would polish the chrome after the sidewalk wash job.
I walked into the giant Mercado Libertad, and thought I'd find something to eat among the food stands...OMG, there were HUNDREDS of them (this picture is of ONE such stall). I am not a person who likes to make choices among even a few options, so I was numbed by the whole thing.
Well now, this should have made my choice easy...chivo (goat) anyone?
I walked through the area of money changer storefronts, and saw this little guy. Again, as with the food stalls - HUNDREDS of cambio places, all in the same area... In the US there would be one or two large corporate predators, and they would use their massive and sophisticated resources to drive all but a few of the individual proprietors out of business.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Here´s a good sign - this trip my customary initial depression relented after only one day. Too much this depends on external circumstances, but I like to think there is some result from effort and determination too.
Yesterday it was a bleak vista approaching the city from the airport, after no sleep for 24hrs. Then a walk through a dreary part of town walking from the bus stop to centro, during which the WalMart was the most prosperous business seen. In centro, a starving dog and bad experience trying to find a nice but affordable place to stay. I was ready to turn around and get on the next flight...my usual first day.
Then, last night I went to a pary at a beautifully retored colonial house, where a dozen very friendly local guys and one ex-pat from San Jose offered a friendly connection. The San Jose guy cashed out his Bay area place and traded in his huge equity for a new life here. It was his birthday, and his Mexican partner hired about twelve mariachis to show up. They made their presence known by showing up at the front door and launching into song. We were on the roof terrace three flights up, and someone let them in the front door, and they came up the three flights of stairs, playing the whole time. They played on the open terrace, with the fresh evening breeze blowing and a huge gothic cathedral looming in the background for about an hour and a half. They seemed to find nothing unusual about men dancing traditional mexican steps together, and the absence of chicas, and their smiles were of warmth with no trace of mockery.
The sound of horns and violins and guitars drew the attention of a crowd on the international hostel roof across the street. Before I rang the bell for the party house, I noticed the hostel across the street and checked the place out. They were having an impromptu barbeque on the roof, and I wandered around and marveled at the warm and pleasant amenities. It was nicer than any hotel I have ever stayed at, with full use of a big communal kitchen and dining room, private rooms, laundry facility, free internet, big screen TV, comfy public areas with big screen TV, TV in the rooms, a neat mix of French and Czech and America guests, and low prices. I got my stuff out of the nasty overpriced hotel room this morning, and after a day running around and exploring with a new writer friend Cristina (more on her later) I checked in here tonight.
This morning I had decided to stay one more night in the tourist dump, because I needed to run off and meet Cristina at her house West of centro past the big Minerva fountain and glorietta. I was going to take a bus rather than a cab, but today is a big patriotic holiday and there were desfiles (parades) forming in all quadrants.
When I realized I would need to take a taxi, I decided to go back to the hotel, grab my stuff and check out - I hoped the hostel would have a room for me and I lucked out later in the afternoon when Cristina ran me over there to check.
So I took a cab, and we dodged parade adtivity all over the place on the way. Cristina has a wonderful home in a great neighborhood that she rents for only $600 a month. There I left my gear and we set off to a very goo antique and collectible flea market a few miles away on Avenida Mexico.
There were a lot of treasures there, and it was easy to imagine how much fun it would be to acquire things for a new home there. After we browsed and schmoozed with all the dealers Cristina knows for an hour or so, we went back to her house for a while, then headed out look over attractive neighborhoods where one might want to find a sweet casa to rent or buy. Beautiful neighborhoods with shady tree-lined streets, and interesting unique homes. Eventually we headed out on the Chapala highway to meet a friend from Ajijic, who was driving down from the lake to meet us halfway.
We met for lunch at a huge roadside retaurant owned by Vicente Fernandez 'El Rey de los Rancheros' - one of Mexico's most famous musicians and a Guadalajara resident. We passed by his huge estate on the way there. While we had lunch, there was fine Mexican traditional dancing and music in the style of Ballet Folclòrico It was a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon, enjoying the perfect weather in the open-on-all-sides dining room.
On our way out of the parking lot, there was a little cart with a wizened old campesino selling something liquid out of a huge gourd. His hand-drawn sign said simply "Tuba". Crisitina stopped and asked if I wanted to try it - without knowing what I was getting into I said "sure", and the old guy ladeled out two milky looking glasses of what turned out to be fermented coconut milk, spiced with apple and with a little froth of apple chunks and chopped peanuts. It was a little sour, and I nursed it a while on the drive back, but left about 3/4, which Cristina happily traded me her empty glass for and sipped contentedly away through her straw.
We stopped on the way into GDL in the crafts village of Tlaquepeque to walk for an hour or so through a big holiday show of locally produced and imported Central and South American arts and crafts. There was a also a large assortment of candies and other sweets and drinks. We sampled generously - Jamaica liquor, candied nuts, apple wine, things freshly baked on a griddle, moles... I learned a lot from Cristina, who is smething of a foodie, and also knows here crafts well. There was beautiful locally produced glassware, with all the colors fused into rustic and heavy beverage glasses I have always found irresistable - especially that cobalt blue color.
Finally, we headed back into town, and Cristina delivered me to the hostel, where I guess I'll be happy to stay through the end of the week.
Thursday, The friend Darrell we met for lunch is hosting Thanksgiving dinner for thirty friends at his Ajijic house, and I am invited. It will be a chance to meet some people who have been there a long time, so more opportunity to see how all this can work out for those who dare to try, and struggle through their fear of the uncertain and unfamiliar.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
I arrived on the redeye Mexicana flight this morning at around 5:30am local time. It was not a restful trip. On departure, the cabin lights were dimmed, and soon were totally darkened - for sleep I supposed. Even the readin lights were disabled.
Then, about 20 minutes into the flight - ZAP...all cabin lights to bright! Time for cocktails and meal service - at 1am. Free cocktails! Flight attendants came down from both ends of the cabin pouring stiff drinks from big vodka, rum, and tequilla bottles. Full meal service was delivered. Another round of drinks for everybody, then ZAP...dark cabin and loud snoring from the row in front of me.
I caught the bus from the airport instead of the customary taxi - 5 pesos instead of 160. Then I walked about looking for a nice hotel. Instead I found an overpriced dump, where I was too tired to undo my misfortune. Tomorrow. Not a good start, and I was/am already mightily depressed and wishing not to be here.
While walking into centro from where the airport bus stops, I walked through a small church plaza, and was approached by a starving little female dog. I wished I had placed some dog biscuits in my camera bag before leaving home, but had nothing to offer her.
I walked a couple of blocks, found a torta stand, and had part of a sandwich and some juice. I wrapped the rest of my sandwich, bought a multigrain bar to go, and walked back to the plaza. She was still there, lying in some grass. She approached
me right away, and I got out her treats. She came back to lick and nose me, and we talked a bit then I had to leave. She wanted to follow me but I had to tell her no and walk quickly.
The church was of Saint Francis - protector of animals. I hope hanging out there helps the little brown dog.
Then, about 20 minutes into the flight - ZAP...all cabin lights to bright! Time for cocktails and meal service - at 1am. Free cocktails! Flight attendants came down from both ends of the cabin pouring stiff drinks from big vodka, rum, and tequilla bottles. Full meal service was delivered. Another round of drinks for everybody, then ZAP...dark cabin and loud snoring from the row in front of me.
I caught the bus from the airport instead of the customary taxi - 5 pesos instead of 160. Then I walked about looking for a nice hotel. Instead I found an overpriced dump, where I was too tired to undo my misfortune. Tomorrow. Not a good start, and I was/am already mightily depressed and wishing not to be here.
While walking into centro from where the airport bus stops, I walked through a small church plaza, and was approached by a starving little female dog. I wished I had placed some dog biscuits in my camera bag before leaving home, but had nothing to offer her.
I walked a couple of blocks, found a torta stand, and had part of a sandwich and some juice. I wrapped the rest of my sandwich, bought a multigrain bar to go, and walked back to the plaza. She was still there, lying in some grass. She approached
me right away, and I got out her treats. She came back to lick and nose me, and we talked a bit then I had to leave. She wanted to follow me but I had to tell her no and walk quickly.
The church was of Saint Francis - protector of animals. I hope hanging out there helps the little brown dog.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Tonight I am booked on the Mexicana ojo-rojo (red-eye) to Guadalajara. I hope to post regularly from there. I'm going with no particular expectation about the area as a potential place to relocate, but looking forward to seeing some different neighborhoods in the city, and maybe getting out of town to look at some outlying areas.
The climate in Guadalajara is certainly superior to Merida - or even Northern California for that matter, with highs between the mid-seventies and mid-eighties and lows between mid-forties and mid-sixties throughought the year. There's a hot dry season, and a rainy season, and that's about it. Rarely is a place equipped with either central heat or a/c. Chimneas, or fireplaces, are common.
Before I go I wanted to post a few pictures from a visit a couple of weeks ago from my brother Phil. Mona's blog featured a post on Oct 6th (for his birthday) with some old photos, but I hadn't seen him in person for more than twenty years. Needless to say, he looked different - but good. The Coast Guard seems to have been a good way to pass the years for him, and from what I could discern from our conversation the country is lucky to have him there, doing what he does. He is based at the D.C. central command location, a few blocks from the Capitol and White House, where he is engaged in programs to help Coast Guard folks find their way to good long-term careers in service to the U.S.
We hadn't talked much over the years, with some undefined awkwardness seeming to justify the lack of communication, but we had a great visit, and I think we both were very pleased to spend the time together over a drink then dinner another night.
The climate in Guadalajara is certainly superior to Merida - or even Northern California for that matter, with highs between the mid-seventies and mid-eighties and lows between mid-forties and mid-sixties throughought the year. There's a hot dry season, and a rainy season, and that's about it. Rarely is a place equipped with either central heat or a/c. Chimneas, or fireplaces, are common.
Before I go I wanted to post a few pictures from a visit a couple of weeks ago from my brother Phil. Mona's blog featured a post on Oct 6th (for his birthday) with some old photos, but I hadn't seen him in person for more than twenty years. Needless to say, he looked different - but good. The Coast Guard seems to have been a good way to pass the years for him, and from what I could discern from our conversation the country is lucky to have him there, doing what he does. He is based at the D.C. central command location, a few blocks from the Capitol and White House, where he is engaged in programs to help Coast Guard folks find their way to good long-term careers in service to the U.S.
We hadn't talked much over the years, with some undefined awkwardness seeming to justify the lack of communication, but we had a great visit, and I think we both were very pleased to spend the time together over a drink then dinner another night.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
It hardly seems possible that a full year has gone by since we arrived here in Alameda. I didn't expect to see the Bay Area for a number of years, if ever, after we left the state in July last year.
I arrived here on October 31st. Pat found this place with only two days to hunt for a house rental, while he was out a month before confirming that he had work here that justified our return to get our bearings. Those bearings have proved to be elusive, but the less I try to fathom what is supposed to happen the easier it will probably be to arrive somewhere eventually.
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Mexico came to us last weekend. To celebrate Day of the Dead, Oakland put on a big five-block long fiesta, with several sound stages and many dozens of traditional craft and food booths. There were quite a few altars too, with family members on hand to remember departed loved ones.
The crowd was estimated to be nearly 100,000 at its peak - it was jammed when we arrived late in the afternoon. I'd say we were among less than 1% non latinos who showed up. Probably more like 1/2%. It really was indistinguishable from a big street event in Mexico. Of course, in Mexico it doesn't take a special occasion for such an assembly to happen - many places do this every weekend.
And now it's time for me to go to Mexico. We booked my air travel for the week of Nov 18 - 25. This puts me in Guadalajara for Thanksgiving. I considered returning on Thanksgiving day, but I asked a lady in Guadalajara I am planning to visit for her opinion, and this was her reply:
"Oh yes, by all means stay through Thanksgiving. The nine days of Nov 22-30 are Ajijic's fiestas patronales and it's a total blast. Larry and Joseph are going with me one or more evenings to party on the plaza: it's a mix of religious observance, carnival, food, fireworks and live music. It's really wonderful fun.
I won't tell you more right now, but do get your tickets and plan to stay at least till the 25th, or the 26th if you can. There is so much to do here and at the lake that week...including Thanksgiving...some friends and I are having Thanksgiving dinner there and you are welcome".
How could I turn that down?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
It's sister Mona's birthday today! Sometimes as I timidly explore Mexico, safely bunked in a nice guest house, with ample funds available from any nearby ATM machine, I think of a younger Mona hitch-hiking the entire length of Mexico down to Chiapas with an infant, probably with barely enough money for food and shelter along the way. The gift of being able to bravely experience and appreciate life is one that no birthday well-wisher can give.
The oldest among the four of us, Mona was the one who went off to college, then experienced the rich and eye-opening life of a young person in the 60's - a worthy alternative to a liberal-arts degree and whatever conventional life might have followed.
A long and interesting 1st marriage, two exceptional children, and eventually life on a ranch with a gentle and wonderful man of the West in a beautiful corner of Wyoming followed. There, under the awesome high range sky, Mona continues gaining insights into the true nature of the good heart we all yearn to connect with, and learning to let go of the constraints of ignorance and delusion. She is generous enough to share these gifts with me and others.
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