Thursday, September 4, 2008, el jueves

 

I’m back in San Miguel. Suzanne, who I met here this summer, invited me to keep her company while she fixed up her new house–una gran casa–which she bought in August. While I was working out whether this was at all possible, I told her I’d work very hard helping her buy rugs, ceramics, art, beds, whatever, but I’d have to do my own work 2 hours each day (writing and planning presentations). She said, “No problem, all you have to do is just say yes or no as I bring things in the house or say, too much salt on the margaritas.”

I thought I could do that. So here I am–in a casa (house) with two bedrooms joined by open terraces to a casita with three bedrooms, each casa/ita with a magnificent kitchen with the best of everything and centered on a courtyard with a fountain and fireplace and terraces and gardens galore.

 

Just so I wouldn’t feel totally hedonistic coming back to SMA so soon, I brought a large suitcase crammed with baby things for Casa de Los Angeles, the single mother’s baby daycare. http://www.casadelosangeles.org/ Lovely Amy Mohr, friend and writer, supplied a free-standing infant car seat and I bought toys and clothes at garage sales—really nice stuff.

 

I actually arrived in SMA the day before Suzanne did, but Lucha, the housekeeper let me in the casa(house). I walked into town and bought groceries and cerveza and taxied it home. When I was putting stuff away, Javier, one of the workers just walked in yelling, Patti. He’d just let himself in with one of the new keys, which kind of freaked me out, but he only left a business card concerning taxis. Javier is Lucha’s brother. All is well.

 

The view of the city is lovely from the five balcony/patio/terraces during the daytime and exquisite by night. I see the parrochia and three other churches, plus all the lights of the city. (This casa is rentable, with its five bedrooms in the main house and the casita, two kitchens. Here’s a link www.vrbo.com/199990   )

 

SITTING IN THE PARK EARLY – DRINKING MARGARITAS LATER

 

Friday, September 5, 2008, el viernes

 

Suzanne arrived early Friday morning with suitcases brimming with sheets for the five beds. And we immediately began to measure everything and make plans for shopping. I climbed up the long hill, which is a great warm-up to swim in cool water, then met her at the jardin (central park). She was way late, but I enjoyed people-watching, while sitting on a park bench. Here was the best scene.

 

A Mexican woman wearing a blouse unbuttoned to below her breasts and nestling a puppy dog below those well-exposed breasts and over her ample hips, leans over and kisses an older pot-bellied gringo, all the time she’s talking on a cell phone. Before leaving, she leans in and gives him another smooch and walks down the street. The row of gringos (American men) sitting alongside me but separated from me by a tree, yells to the guy, “You weren’t looking at that dog.” And he yells back, “No, but I was looking at those puppies.”

 

I was laughing, so the gringos invited me to come to lunch with them, but instead, I waited for Suzanne to arrive at the jardin. We had lunch on a patio terrace overlooking the town. Yahoo. I felt rich and European and relaxed. Afterwards, I went to my first private Spanish class at the home of Norma Cecilia Romero Delsordo. (great name, eh?)

 

Around nine, Suzanne and I walked into town and had dinner at Los Milagros and the owner served us, plying us with way-too-strong margaritas. When he asked how they were, I told him what I thought so he brought tamarind Margaritas on the house that were exquisite. Okay, so we were drunk, especially Suzanne who’d just arrived on 3 hours of sleep.

 

I’d really like to be telling this all in Spanish, you know, for practice, but I know my dad would not approve of that and, oh yeah, hardly anyone would read it. I often act as translator for Suzanne and sometimes it probably comes out right but other times I’m probably saying: The green and white stripes please mi amiga, Suzanne, but she doesn’t make with the red and yellow flowered fabric.

 

TRIP TO DOLORES HIDALGO FOR CERAMICS AND TILE TABLES

 

Saturday, September 6. El sabado.

 

Angelica, Suzanne’s house manager, took us around San Miguel to see hand carved pine headboards and then brought us to the studio where Rinato can paint them. Right in his house, the children were eating cereal and an older child was painting milagros (miracle scenes to help families get through rough patches). We were taken into the bedroom to see their elegant carved headboard—the arabesques accented in gold over the maroon and deep green. Suzanne had the brilliant idea of taking an open shelving unit from the casita, have Rinato add doors to it, and paint a whimsical San Miguel cityscape—or something else yet to be decided. She also ordered some simple wooden chairs that he’ll paint with fruits and vegetables—or maybe not. All these decisions are to be made. Eventually I should have pics.

 

Angelica and her husband took us to the factory store, San Gabriela (on the way to the town of Dolores Hidalgo—known as the ceramic town) where we spent four hours picking out ceramic pots and jars and ordering customized tile topped iron tables and chairs. Suzanne knows what she wants, and it’s not anything there on the floor. She really cracks me up—and thank God Angelica was there to do the translating—because S wants the pattern from this square table, but made for her round table and not these tiles, but she’ll supply the tiles because the 3,987 choices they have here just don’t blow her away. And she wants this ceramic water dispenser, but here where the background is ivory, make that red. And the mugs like this, but in blue. And she’ll get it all. Delivered. And that’s all part of the beauty of Mexico. And of Suzanne’s ability.

 

I’m so impressed with Suzanne and it’s such an education for me because I’d either say, fine,whatever, or walk away from the task because it’s just too overwhelming. But we loaded the van with stuff and the customized stuff will come later—once S chooses tile from some other place.

 

Okay so here, I’ll mention, this woman doesn’t sleep or eat. She just goes. And goes. And goes. Because we swim early in the morning, we haven’t seen food since 8 am and that was a pretty paltry meal. And now it’s 4:30 and my chin is flat on the pavement, so I figure it’s time to mention food. Our great hosts take us to a little carnita (pork meat) place at the side of the road. And food has never tasted so good–the pork and the pickled peppers, and two different salsas and little tortas—pork meat pies in cornbread. So Suzanne says she’s just sharpening my desire for food, so I canreally appreciate it. I also must say that I’ve fallen into the pattern even when I’m not with Suzanne, which is really astounding because I’m normally a three meals a day and plenty of snacks kind of a gal. As for sleep I still sleep like the dead, or as we say here in Mexico duermo como angelitos—I sleep like the angels.

 

FURNISHING LA CASA AND THEN WE FIESTA

 

Sunday, September 7, el domingo

 

I won’t tell everything, but this woman is doing a yeoman’s job. She’s buying beds, lamps, mirrors, glass table tops, textile art, and ceramics in stores, markets, here and in surrounding towns, in the park and having iron wrought into headboards and ornate rods to hang beautifully woven fabrics, and items get delivered at various times, and the phone is ringing and between the two of us we bounce all over the house and direct these men to move this and install that and with our primitive Spanish everything is getting done. So here’s a funny anecdote.

 

An original bed had to be moved from the downstairs casa, across the terrace and into an upstairs casita room, but it was too big to go around corners and get up the stairs, so Jorge and Luis pulled it up over a terrace wall with a rope, Suzanne, supplying her brand new cooking mitts to pad the bed feet against the stucco of the terrace walls. Still it wouldn’t fit through the door and the bed required an allen wrench (llave allen) to dismantle. So I run out on the streets looking for a man working under his car (Suzanne’s suggestion—this is 6:30 Sunday evening) in order to try to borrow a set of wrenches. Well, I found no man under a car anywhere, but I did find two little boys, Enrique y Erik, who took me (we ran) to first one hardware store (closed), then another (closed) and a third which would be open for 5 more minutes and I guessed at whether we needed standard or metric, bought a set, and paid each boy with the coins I had—10 pesos for the best helper, 5 for the other. Then I had to break up their argument and explain it was all I had in coins, but Enrique did most of the work, Erik, which he agreed to, and all was well. Except the allen wrench didn’t work. The largest one was too small. The men had already gone and left the bed on the terrace to be dealt with mañana. Suzanne was very appreciative of my idiocy. Which she had suggested.

 

FIESTA DE SAN LORETO

 

At 8 pm we set out for dinner, but first we went to the most spectacular street festival, Fiesta de San Loreto on Calle San Loreto. As we walk down the narrow cobblestone street, like a canyon with stucco buildings built up on either side, there are children on fairly primitive carnival rides and a row of net-encased trampolines, with about a dozen young children bouncing on each one, squealing in delight.

 

Further down the street, chicos, boys from about 11 to 18 are, drumming and dancing, dressed in deer skin loincloths, their faces painted, feathers in their straight black hair, wearing necklaces of bear claws and various animal parts and dancing like the plains Indians of North America. When I ask about this–the similarity of Central American Indians to North American Indians–it’s surmised that people living an existence, close to nature, would probably develop similar cultural practices. I wonder.

 

And further down yet, blocking the street is a spectacular shrine dedicated to San Loreto. A grotto of white flowers and crepe paper draped in red and gold banners, surround a life-size statue of San Loreto. Mexicans of all ages are coming approach and make the sign of the cross.

 

We go to dinner after 9 pm at–and this is the truth—La Bugambilia—and inside bougainvillea is cascading down the walls. A wonderful Spanish guitarist serenade and dinner is great, chile relleno stuffed with apple and beef and pomegranate, beautifully seasoned, with maybe cardamon, all encrusted in almond meal. It’s normally in a cream sauce which we omit as we’re both lactose intolerant. This is a typical dish of this restaurant and this area. I’ll find out the name of the dish. Great. And a salad with mixed greens, slices of avocado, pomegranate seeds, grapefruit sections (with the membranes removed), grapes, and a dressing of I don’t know what, but not sweet J and it’s the best meal I’ve had here, ever. (Besides the carnitas on Saturday, of course).

 

MORE SHOPPING AND DECORATING

 

Monday, September 8, el lunes

 

I’ve never enjoyed shopping so much. Maybe because we’re buying all this gorgeous Mexican folk art. I’m getting a few things as well. I buy them as gifts and Suzanne says, no, get that for you and Morgan. So, we’ll see.

 

I gave my second two books, Zinnia and Frog Brings Rain to the library today, even though Blossom Tales, which I gave to them this summer, is not in the catalog. Juan Manuel said he would enter these two into the system right that moment. And we’ll presume that Blossom Tales is in a stack of books ready to be entered.

 

A parade of school children marched, drumming and bugling (wowee, what intonation!) around the jardin yesterday as I passed. Each school was represented and identified so sweetly by uniform and style of marching. Here was a group of girls in green plaid skirts, white blouses and knee socks and white gloves in identical mary-janes swinging their arms and making tiny steps; here are boys lifting their knees high, in navy blue pants and white shirts with soft homemade red epaulets; here, a group of girls with their white gloved hands pressing into their red plaid skirts absolutely confident. What’s this next, a secretarial school? Young ladies in straight skirted tan suits wearing nylon stockings! And what are those two young women doing in the boy’s group, trying to march in stiletto black heels. Very sweet.

We ate at home as we do every other night. A salad of mango, cucumber, carrot, jicama, sweet peas, whatever looks good at the market. And we direct deliveries of items purchased, plan how to exhibit art pieces, setting ceramics and pillows and beds and bedding in place, hanging beautiful huge platters.

 

SAVE THE CHILDREN – CASA DE LOS ANGELES—AND THE DOGS

 

Tuesday, September 9, el martes

 

Finally, I delivered the baby things to Casa de los Angeles—a wonderful place. There’s a room each for under one, one year olds, two, three, and four year olds. They were napping, so I just said hola and flirted with a few children. More on this later, because it’s a great place to donate. They line the babies up in car seats and on blankets on the floor for their naps. They definitely need stuff—this 9-5 day care for poor single Mexican mothers runs with a handful of employees and lot of volunteers. It’s a place where you can hold babies, read to little ones. Each mother must work one hour for each day her child stays.

 

I’ve been carrying around a couple of baby sleepers wherever I go and I’ve not found the usual mothers-carrying-babies that you usually see. Instead of giving them fifty cents or a dollar, I want to hand them an outfit. The old ladies who sit on the stoops in the street or market place stairs or selling the little dolls, I’ve been interviewing. Tiene nietes? Do you have grandchildren? But none have had infants to two year olds, which is what I can supply. As soon as I deposited the clothes at Casa de los Angeles, I ran into three young indigenas mothers with their babies. But no baby clothes with me. I retained one toy and one baby sleeper, so I’ll have that with me on my next trip to town.

 

Same with dogs. Skinny sad sweet Mexican dogs abound. Yesterday, once I’d finally realized I must carry snacks because of the mega-gaps between meals, I was scarfing salted pepitos as I walked down the street. A long legged black dog took on that CUTE ear-swiveling alert look so I laid a handful of seeds on the pavement. He rushed to eat it. And that was that.

 

So today I bought a medio-kilo (a pound) of Pedigree dog kibble, that many stores sell in bulk. I set a handful of kibble on the cobblestone for the first dog I saw who happened to be a pit bull (there’s a bad pit bull story I heard at a free Spanish conversation class yesterday—one attacked this woman’s friend. The authorities locked it up for 10 days, no rabies, and released it. It has an owner, but it’s supposed to be back on the street). But this pit bull I saw was a sweet boy, sort of like my dad’s dog, Guy. The pit bull followed me down the street instead of eating the kibble. I coaxed him back to the pile of Pedigree to show him. Oh, this was edible stuff! Peanuts and chicken bones, he knew, but he’d possibly never eaten dog kibble ever before. So he ate.

 

But then he caught up and followed me. I laid down a trail so he’d have to find each kibble, giving me time to make my getaway. Nope, he’d rather follow me than hunt for kibble on the pavement. Jazzabelle, our yellow lab, would have snarfed each kibble before racing for more. I felt kind of like the Pied Piper as he followed me down the street, imagining a whole string of canines in tow. Eventually he gave up and hopefully returned to the trail of kibble. I’ll have to perfect my technique.

 

Because we don’t have internet connection at the casa, yet, I’m making this blog entry as one huge entry. I went to an internet café for the first time to pick up my e-mails. It cost all of fifty cents for 20 minutes, but I think I was there much longer than 20, answering a build up of mail.

 

I went to the upper salsa class at Mama Mia’s. So much fun. The teacher )can’t remember his name from summertime) but Morgan will remember him, spent a lot of time dancing with me. If you’re with a great partner, you dance great. Then Suzanne met me (who was impressed by my spinning ability) and we had dinner at Pegosas at around 10:00 and closed the place after sharing a mojito and tamales and artichokes. Nice.

 

 

MORE SHOPPING, DEFLATED PARTY, LEFTOVERS

 

Wednesday, September 10, el miercoles

 

Suzanne ended up ordering beautiful carved wooden headboards, in a little workshop on the way home from the Costco in Celaya. One will be designed from the Diego Rivera painting—a view of a girl from behind, her braids streaming down her back as she is gathering lilies—alcatrazes!—isn’t it interesting that the famous prison in San Fran is named lilies. Did you know that? I didn’t.

 

Another headboard is latticework and the other a carving of flowers. All exquisite, as seen on Suzanne’s cell phone camera.

 

She bought about 10 metric yards of toilet paper, as well as light bulbs, because she never wants to return to Costco.

 

After I swam, I met Suzanne and we purchased more ceramic ginger jars, beautifully painted plates for the walls, and tapestries to set around the house. It’s really taking shape.

 

We came home to finish cooking for our 5 guests, salmon, rice and beans, salad, then I went out to salsa again and danced with the most expert salsa dancer I’d ever danced with. YIPPY AYE AY, I could do anything. He tried talking to me while we danced, but I had to say, I couldn’t speak Spanish and dance at the same time…yet. One or the other and unfortunately no, I couldn’t go out to El Rinque and dance later because I had to return to the party. I returned home and only one person showed up. We don’t know why, is there some cultural thing. I knew none of the people invited, so I have no speculations except maybe it’s like the Japanese who always say yes, so as not to disappoint you, then later don’t show up, which is actually more disappointing. Who knows.

 

So we have an awful lot of rice, beans, salmon and salad, which we’ll give away to various workers. Not to mention 8 heads of romaine, which is the only way Suzanne could purchase it at Costco.

 

DELIVERIES, DECORATING,

 

Thursday, September 11, el jueves

 

We waited for deliveries, advised Javier on where to hang this plate and that mirror and install this lock, then set out to buy even more vases, jars, plates. The house is pretty big and needs color. We both went swimming, and set out to the market and small stores and bought even more. I’ve never ever abs

olutely ever shopped so much in my life. And we have fun doing it.

 

Suzanne carries her tape measurer and pages of legal pad notes of places and sizes of niches. It’sorganized chaos. We got the greatest little mirror for the upstairs casita bathroom—looks like it’s designed for the room. Tomorrow I’ll take photos and develop a virtual tour.

 

Because we had to greet deliveries at home we went into town three different times, each time arriving home in a taxi,which costs $2.50 and with tip, $3.00 for each trip. Not bad J

On one venture we stopped at the Casa de los Angeles and played with the under-one-year-old babies for about an hour. Suzanne was already smitten and now I’m besotted

with Daron, who looks like a baby Elvis Presley or a telenovela (soap opera) star; Javier, who is like a little man, with his hair parted and combed tight across his crown; and José Maria who could grow up to be Kevin Costner or his own movie star—such a darling; Irvine is also a doll, but not as active as the others. Magdalena, their care-taker takes up to 8 babies each day, and she actually got to eat her lunch today because we took over the babies for an hour.

 

I’ve been feeding the street dogs with some success. Tomorrow I’ll bring them real chicken, which has been in the refrigerator too long. But at dinner last night at a little tiny courtyard restaurant on the street beyond Calle Jesus (Calle Jesus is all torn up, the bricks had to be taken out and returned to the original cobblestone when San Miguel Allende received its World Heritage status—to keep its old charm), anyway, at dinner, the owner had the sweetest baby beagle, who must weigh all of three pounds at this point. I had my kibble, so I plied her with one kibble at a time until she was beside herself. She couldn’t get enough. But since she’s probably well fed to begin with, after 12 tiny kibble, it looked like her baby belly might burst, so in spite of her attempt to crawl into my lap and onto the stone ledge with the kibble, I had to cut off her supply.

 

SUZANNE LEFT TODAY, BOO HOO

 

Friday, September 12, el viernes

 

Suzanne left at 4 a.m. I have a few deliveries to accept and pay for and an errand en el centro (in town central) to get for her. On the way to and from swimming and these errands, I gave all the leftover chicken and the Pedigree kibble to needy dogs. I gave away the baby sleeper to a mama (indigenas) in the market who had her baby on the floor next to her herbs and vegetables. She seemed very shyly pleased. I gave away my last sweet stuffed squeaky toy (that Jazz thought surely belonged to her) to the shopkeeper from whom I bought some little gifts.

 

In fact…Jazz. Morgan says she seems “lazy” and might be depressed. She saw all those toys at home I was readying to take away. I’m sure she thought I was bringing them to other dogs…and how could I do such a thing? I will make it up to her as soon as I get home.

 

Beautiful dogs have become strays here in SMA. Twice today I passed a recently coiffed standard poodle—stray–who was so nervous, he couldn’t stop to accept my kibble or even the chicken. I left some in the street and hope he found it. But it looks like he’s going to run himself to death. He’s very skinny and high-strung. I figure people end their stays in San Miguel and just let their dogs out of the house. A pair of—what look like—cockapoos hang around quite near the casa. I make sure they get food; Suzanne and I saved one of them last night by screaming at a police car, who seemed about to run one down.

 

I had my last Spanish tutoring session with lovely Norma who helped me with a bilingual English/Spanish manuscript of a children’s book. Norma thinks Suzanne and I have done a terrific job of decorating the house. She loved the combination of loud and clay color of the pieces in the niches.

 

Mexican Independence Day is Tuesday and everyone is revving up with green, red, and white decorations on the street, in their stores, in their hair. Fireworks at night. I’ll miss it.

 

So I think I’m finishing up now, this blog that was done completely on Word to be transferred to the blog when I return home Saturday. Or Sunday. I do love San Miguel and I love having made this new and wonderful friend of Suzanne. We really click. We’ll be friends for life, I’m quite sure. I’ll post this and then get on the photos as soon as I have time. There are some good ones.

 

I thought I wrote about the hot springs, La Gruta and Escondido (Grotto and Hidden Place), but I can’t find it, but here are the photos. In the 18th century, Padre Alfaro felt the baths had become way to hedonistic, so he built the Atotonilco Sanctuary for the penitentes. To this day, the come on Sundays, crawling on hands and bloodied knees, or creeping on their bellies, perhaps, straight from the baths.

One is not allowed to use a flash camera in the church and I really tried not to, but the camera, despite my highest technological abilities couldn’t keep it from flashing, so I got this nice pic.

Time to roll out of Dodge.

Yep, throw all of them thangs in the grips and head back north. That’s what we done.

Arrived  late on Tuesday the 22nd of July safely though beaten up after having taken ground transportation  to Leon and flying to DFW , then to CMI.

Wonderful trip. So much to do and think about. Come on MP, can’t you just enjoy. Nope, recken not - maybe when I’m too old to dream - maybe when I have no more passions and desires - maybe when destiny has finally had its way. All which sounds good to me.

Loved reuniting with brother Tricky Jim (he is distanly related to tricky Dicky Nixon). We can argue like cats and dogs and come out smelling like, well I was going to say something else, but will just call it a rose. 

Best of all was Patty, who tolerated the two old farts who “sometimes” drank too much and sometimes were a pain in the ass. The focused one went about her business of learning Spanish, buying groceries and gifts for kids and friends and having a grand time in that beautiful setting while connecting with people who became our friends. Traveling as you know can be VERY trying on a relationship and we’ve experienced that to an extreme, but we get better at it. As Sartre or one of those exi guys said, there is only one question in life, leaving the obvious unsaid if the answer is to live on. But completely thorough, Shakespeare  told all, and perhaps the same can be said about marriage, decide and then not to reason why. Hey, ‘just do it’ for as long as — 

’tis good to be home with family,  Jazz and jazz and friends and gardens and all the rest. This suits me best. OK, at least until the next time our wander lust pushes us out the door.

adios amigos

 

 

 

 

…as the sun sinks slowly in the west…

 

…we had a fun party here last night on the deck of Casa Engelbrecht, overlooking the city. Wonderful children’s writer Esme Raji Codell (who read our blog and wrote me because she was on her way to SMA) came over with her lovely family, husband Jim and son Russell. So Esme and I had to travel to San Miguel to meet, years after I read Educating Esme, then Sahara Special and its sequel. And that’s because of the SCBWI List Serve. [That’s: Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators J] So thanks for writing, Esme, just great to meet you. I’m sure we’ll remain friends.

 

And Suzanne, our new friend from San Francisco, who we met at the Doc Severinsen gig, came, but left the kids at home, and Robert remained at another party to get wasted on homemade tequila. I saw them both this morning at the pool. Robert was suffering suitably for his inattendance at our party. He came by to say goodbye to Morgan and Jim, just a little late for the party. Robert and Suzanne are keepers, for sure.

 

I made of vat of spaghetti, Jim (Lewis) grilled chorizo which Morgan and I bought downtown, and we had a big fresh salad, all veggies having been thoroughly washed with argentum and cloro drops–a must if you want to avoid turista which was once called Montezuma’s Revenge in the era when my aunt, Tante, traveled to Mexico—in the 60’s, I think.

 

For the most part we’ve eaten at home as we have Jim’s and our combined kitchens…and, we’re frequently disappointed in the restaurant food. Though, we’ve had a couple good meals out.

 

After a little brunch at the Biblioteca, where Morgan donated his CDs and I, my book Blossom Tales, Morgan, Jim, and I went down the mercado, where  Morgan and I did the rest of our gift buying. We ran into Natalia, who gave me the gardenias the first week we were here. It’s the third time we’ve run into her and she showed Morgan and Jim her lovely casita behind the market, while I finished choosing silver from Tasco for my sister and niece.

 

We’ve had a great time, Morgan and I, together. And we’ve had a wonderful time with Jim. And our new friends. Tonight, we’ll eat leftovers, then I’ll meet Suzanne down at Mama Mia’s for a final goodbye. And look at the Parrochia all lit up and looking like Disneyland. Robert is already on his way home to San Fran to work, but Suzanne’ll stay the month with her kids. She asked me to stay on, but I’m ready to go home. We miss our friends and we miss Jazzabelle. Bad. Morgan and I have never both been gone for a month. Will Jazz remember us? Will our friends?

 

 

July 17-19

Morgan did the 6 ½ hour drive in Jim’s car from San Miguel through the hills to Pátzcuaro and what a relief (because Morgan is a great driver and Jim…whew! is unconscious). The landscape is breathtaking, verdant, gorgeous, not at all what any of us expected. Vacas (cows) and burros and caballos (horses) graze scattered throughout the hills, rarely fenced, but sometimes tethered on a long rope. They are healthy and fit and handsome animals here.

And here’s this great library with a history of all of Mexico in this mural.

 

The indigenas (indigenous people) of Pátzcuaro in the state of Michoacán, are the originators of el Dia de Muertos, October 31- November 2.  Their old “pagan” beliefs where a world of the dead parallels that of the living, combines with Catholicism (brought by the Spanish Jesuits) to create Mexican Catholicism. They say Pátzcuaro is utterly packed with Mexicans at that time. And by the way, we never met a single American while here in Patz.

 

Found a fine little hotel, thanks to Lonely Planet guidebook, off el centro, Posada de los Angeles, for $40.

We planned to be there for their huge Friday Market, and so glad we were. I took a load of photos, clandestinely, as the people don’t like to be photographed. Mostly I shot pyramids of perfect tomatoes, greens, cilantro, saffron-yellow squash blossoms, figs, avocados, mangos.

 

And then we set off—with Jim driving — to circle the big lake, to see small Indian villages and artesanian work.

We stop at the village of Tocuaro where they carve red cedar statues, mostly of the saints. This is Catholic country, where the Virgin of Guadalupe is the patron saint. Of all Mexico. Eventually we’re in pine forests, in horse country. Handsome horses graze everywhere, men ride, reminding us that to the Indians the conquistadors on horseback looked like two-headed monsters.

We enter the village of Jaracuaro. On the city wall is written, ciudad con colera–city with cholera. We pay no heed, but it’s a ghostly town—no hustle and bustle. Our Toyota Highlander can barely make it down the narrow streets, but this is not unusual. We go for the parrochia, (church) which is always the center of town. It’s a large deserted square with an electrified but sleeping carnival at its edge. This is surreal—the twilight zone. We clear out. Jim loved it. Not us.

 

We were given this small simple tourist map labeled with all indio names. My job as navigator was a little odd, as few of the actual villages had the names that matched the map. So we were cruising through land that looks more like Ireland–green hills, mountains in the distance—wondering (is this the road we’re on?–Durwood) and Jim is driving all over the curving mountain roads, crossing the dividing line and an oncoming car rounds a curve and is coming straight for us. I say, “I think it would be best to stay in our lane.” Further on we’re tooling along at a clip on some straightaway and Jim says, “I don’t know where we’re going, but we’re making great time.” We do a lot of laughing. We eventually realize that, since we could occasionally see the lake from the mountainside, we must be going the right route.

But there’s the moment when we’re quite confused and decide to ask for directions. In a tiny village we approach and stop behind a group of men surrounding a parked car. I lean out the window and say, “Buenas tardes. Por favor, nos pueden decir donde…” and ole chivalrous Jim yells, “Get out of the car.” In alarm, I stumble out of the car still questioning the Mexicans and one guy comes to lean in our window (with me outside with him) because surely no woman is smart enough to handle this, but the Mexican realizes that no one in the car can speak to him, and eventually we realize that this cat doesn’t have any idea how to locate us on our pathetic map. “Donde esta el luego?” I ask. “Cual luego?” which isn’t promising. Okay, so I get back in the car and say, “Jim!” “Well,” he says, “you can’t expect him to come to us.” And I tell him there are different rules for women. So anyway, this becomes sort of standing joke for the rest of the trip. “Get out of the car,” when he orders dinner at a restaurant instead of deferring to me, THE WOMAN. Okay, good thing it’s all good natured. We just laugh.

 

“[We’re] not lost, just confused.” Credited to Davy Crocket or Daniel Boone, via Jim Lewis.

 

We veer off the lake because we’ve been told that Capula, on the way to Morelia, is where you find Catrinas. Traditional Calvera Catrinas, are part of the Day of the Dead celebration, part of the playfulness that Mexicans associate with death. These skeletal figures, women in low-cut flowery dresses, often seductively display one leg (or femur bone thereof) and don an outrageous flowered hat on her bobbling head. It bobbles because it’s detachable. Sometimes they’re dancing,  but always cheerfully peering out of a skull with cavernous eye sockets and grinning horribly. The best have attitude to the hilt–cheeky skeletal broads. We find them quite beautiful, especially those created in ceramic by the artist Mariana Xhenhuaro. You can find many mass-produced varieties, but Mariana’s are one of kind. They were scattered around her tiny store/studio, attached to her house, in various degrees of completion—not yet fired, headless, unpainted, half-painted.

 

She also makes beautiful ceramic dish sets–one of a kind. We’d love to have them, but 1) we don’t need them and 2) the whole set weighs about a ton, but they sure are gorgeous.

 

We pick up a hippy-looking couple—she with long blond dreads and he with brown. A handsome couple of kids, she from Holland, he from Italy. They smell like hell, but they sure are interesting and lovely. They’re mostly taking buses around the country on the grand adventure.

 

We drive back to Pátzcuaro, drop off our hitchhikers, and eat a fine dinner at La Puerta Roja, spend the second night in our hotel. From the roof, we watched the moon rise. And set off for home (San Miguel) the next day. We go through fewer cities on the way home and it’s much quicker, but we still must go through some towns and cities. At the traffic light, a band of boys pops out of nowhere and clean our windshield, hoping for pesos–hich, of course, we give them. There are also jugglers, clowns, venders of every sort at every traffic light, in want of pesos. (Even when walking down the streets Morgan and I keep pesos at the ready and give to all who ask—2, 5, or 10, whatever we’ve got. We’re especially drawn to the indios, more correctly called indigenas).

 

There are far fewer traffic lights in Mexican cities than U.S. Trucks and cars just nudge their way into traffic, the main stream generously giving way. I’m reminded of a report I’d heard on PBS about scientists studying ant behavior in order to try to improve traffic patterns. Ants actually bump into each other, nudging each other, to negotiate right-of-way. I think the Mexican personality is better suited to this efficient friendly antlike behavior. It’s like Italian traffic, but in Italy they like to yell and honk. Not so, in Mexico.

 

We made much better time coming home. And it’s good to be home. Tonight we’ll go to Mama Mia’s to hear the Andean band, which we love, and throw a party Sunday for our new friends here. And then, I’m ready to come all the way home. 

 

Last night P and I went to a salsa lesson at Mama Mia’s. It was a beginning class so we had no problems. Patty would have no problems in an advanced class, but she’s encouraging me to dance. Salsa is wonderful with small steps and sexy attitude. There were many women there, mostly young North Americans. They looked awkward as they gave it a first try. It was very crowed and I kept bumping into these young girls. I’m sure that that gave them a trill. After that we went to a restaurant where Doc Severenson and band played. The place was packed with mostly N. American’s. A steal at $25 minimum.

I spoke with Doc before and after the gig. Ray Sasaki had bought one of Doc’s horns and was aware of Ray. Really nice guy and at 80, looks great and still plays his ass off - big intense sound all over the horn. I’m told that he has always practiced a lot and his practice room is a bath room where he gets immediate feed back and without having to play loudly.

The group was comprised of this dynamic duo of violin and guitar - these are two of the finest musicians I’ve ever heard in person. I’ll find their names for they have CDs of their duet. In addition, there was Doc, a double bass and percussionist (hand drums). The arrangements were skillful and were performed to perfection with no written music to be seen. Mostly Latin music was the fare but certainly not fair. The group performs Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Ray and Jeanne, it wold be good to bring Sara and Miki down here to hear these guys AND it would be deductible! Seriouly, they should hear these guys.

Jim and I got stinkin’ drunk on tequila shots. Patty had her one beer, OK, maybe two. We met a couple, hmmm, in their late 40’s early 50’s from the bay area who just got here and love SMDA as most visitors do. After the gig the four of us walked to a club looking for salsa but we arrived too late, so we walked back to El Jardin and hung there until almost 1 AM. We seemed to have made fast new friends.  Afterwards, I staggered home with Patty. Jim staggered home around 11.

The streets of San Miguel

Up and down and around on cobble stones. It is a workout for the feet, legs heart, lungs. It is easier to go down than to come up - and it’s not my old age and as long as I can do both, I will. With all this activity, still a few lbs seem to have found my mid-section.

I’ve wandered all over this town on foot, sometimes getting disoriented but all roads eventually gets one back to the center and El Jardin. The streets are very narrow and it’s a close call each time cars pass. If there is a big US pickup on the street, it has to drive up on the side walk to pass. The same is true for the sidewalks which are very narrow and built up above the street by about a foot. When meeting someone, one has to twist the body in order not to collide. When the hard rain comes, water runs down the steep streets with great force but the stones stay put. Buses are used to good advantage here. Recently the city bought new Mercedes buses and doubled the fare to $.40, a good deal for us but not for the workers here. The entrepreneurs here, Mexicans and US citizens tell us that it is a good place to own a business for the wages are very low and profits high.

 

“She’s a good singer but she’s no fried chicken.” Durwood

One can’t help but observe the beauty of the native people. The young mexican women are particularly attractive. They observe the long tradition of not wearing shorts, but they make up for it with their tops which are most revealing. Someone told of this. Many wear heavy makeup which for me is too much. Not like “Too much man”, but really, TOO MUCH.  They wear beautiful clothes and jewelry. The most beautiful of the women and men for me are the indians, short in stature and with magnificent faces which are deeply wrinkled with a magnificence about them which draws me to them wondering of their history and present life. Unlike others, they are not prone to beg with hand extended, but rather stand near us and when given a couple or five pecos show much gratitude. I feel good donating to their life for obvious reasons.

For reasons unknown to me, there is an abundance (bun dance) of single USA women here - ten for every one USA man. There is this local joke, which is no joke: A woman is sitting on a bench in the park when a man sits down beside her. She asks, “You’re new here. Where are you from?” “Well, I just got out of prison.” Oh”, she responds, “what were you in prison for?” “For killing my wife,” he says. Without hesitation she says, “Oh, then you’re single.”

Jim Lewis and I went to hear a “jazz” concert last night at the local theater of some traveling “Pros” - that means they are not from here. The young drummer came from the rock world, his set was untuned and deserved what it got from the player. The bass player and leader, came on stage with the others and tuned his bass with a tuner, one note at a time. I knew it was going to be a long night. The electric guitar (OUCH!) player did all of the pedal crap that is available. But at least their ensemble was poor. Then there was the older one, the singer. Need I say more? Actually she was by far the best musician and did interesting tunes in unusual ways, .e g. “Lush Life” in a “free” way - like the band asked her what the tune is and she says, “You’ll hear it.” .  After that we met Patty and went to Mama Mia’s and heard this fabulous Andean band. Each of the four musicians played multiple instruments and sang. The ensemble was magnificent and the music flowed beautifully. This was music and I was happy again.

 

Happy Bastille Day!

I know this is supposed to come early in the story, but I just might be able to help someone out here (this could be for you, Esmé). San Miguel is very casual. I actually did a pretty darn good job of packing for this month-long trip. But that’s almost the same as packing for 2 weeks, I think. In a nutshell, bring one or two of everything. It’s warm in the daytime and can get quite cool some nights. We went through a heavy rainy cold period for about five days. So having a second pair of long pants that were drying out while I wore the other was greatly appreciated.

 

Underwear, whatever you need, but in my case I need armor (read bra) which I usually neglect in favor of little camisoles, but in this culture, out of respect, I don’t think you want to reveal too much.

2 capri length pants, one dressy, one utilitarian, both neutral colors (black or khaki)

1 long micro fiber pants like Chicos which wad into a ball and still look great

one dancing skirt

one pair cotton knit gaucho pants (unnecessary, but nice for a change)

5 or 6 solid color T-shirts (some of them dressy)

2 pair dancing shoes (I should have settled on one, either the dance sneakers or the heels)

2 pair short socks; 1 pair regular athletic socks

sandal/shoes, the hi-tech waterproof variety that are good for wading thru flooded streets

step-in sandals for at home (you know, to use as slippers)

rain poncho (mine is only rain resistant; rain-proof would be much better)

silk or very light weight sweat pants for lounging

Lotions and cosmetics and toiletries – sample-sized like Clinique gives away

Sunblock; visor or hat; shades. All are essential.

Swimming suit if you plan to swim (and there are pools here). And a swim cap which is required.

 

Be sure to bring a back pack for day or overnight trips.

And all-important is what you wear on the plane down:

Jeans, long sleeve t-shirt, light indoor jacket, outdoor leather jacket, athletic socks and sneakers.

 

I also brought books and my iPod; be sure to leave room in your suitcase for purchases made in Mexico. Don’t bother bringing an umbrella, you can buy a cheap one here of the need arises. It’s supposed to rain only an hour each day in the rainy season (now), as it did today and most days. I think that pretty much covers it. We have use of the washing machine here and the clothesline.

 

If you’re going to check luggage under the plane, be sure you bring a carry-on bag that will supply your family for a couple days, in case the bags are delayed or, god forbid, lost. International travels have gotten more restrictive and this time my laptop counted as my carry on. Oh yeah, I brought my laptop and my current writing project. Haven’t glanced at that project. 

I have other things to say about packing, but I thought I’d start here. San Miguel is nestled in a valley and extends up the steep surrounding hills. The streets are paved with stones, rounded stones, I guess, cobble stones, but there’s nothing regular about them. In the center of town there are narrow flagstone sidewalks on major streets, but as you get away from the center, there are fewer sidewalks and now I’m going to tell you about these and why you needn’t bring your blades or boards. It’s very steep. And the further you get from the center and toward our casita and beyond our casita, it gets steeper.

 

As you get further from the center and beyond our casita, where it is quite clean and is swept regularly, it becomes…uh, less clean. Between the cobblestones are stones, dust, ash, broken glass, degrading plastic bottles, odd items of unidentifiable clothing. Who says plastic doesn’t degrade? You can see it in all stages on the outskirts of town.

 

Jim, Morgan, and I climbed up the hill from our casita to the Botanical Gardens on the edge of town. Itwas a bit farther than I anticipated and we, stupidly enough, turned down a taxi drive part way there. The Botanical Garden is a canyon that runs along the edge of town and became a conservation area when they built the dam. Looking into this spectacular canyon, you see waterfalls and descending pools of water below, sprinklings of wildflowers and along the paths are spreads of magnificent cacti. Wait till you seethe photos

 

Yesterday after going to both downtown downhill markets, Morgan and I climbed up to a vista market. The view of the city, from the opposite hillside is remarkable. And all the callejons or alleys, aim for the parrochia (church) so the views down these streets are inviting, picturesque, shaded with trees overhanging the stone fences and spilling over stone walls. I’d bought enough “jewels” and such in the downtown markets that there was no need to buy anything but cerveza for the evening. But we decided to climb up a callejons stairway even above this vista. It required a few rests along the way, but we met a lovely not-young gringo/Mexican couple who lived up off the stairway so we stopped and chatted with them, and we saw a guy walking his motorcycle down this endless stone alley staircase. At the top was a field where you could see everything. I mean, the apex of it all. So we split a beer, on top of the world, identifying the chimneys of our casita, the jungle of Betse’s hacienda, the arches, a couple of the houses that Jim looked at with his realtor, before heading down.

 

And on the way down, we see a landfill pit, which we gingerly skirt and find the magical looking stairway that we think will take us directly to our casita, at right angles to the one we climbed. Wheew. At the top, the stairway is landfill trash, I think, that they just filled in with concrete so the shampoo bottles, old shoes, broken glass and disintegrated god-knows-what won’t spill down the hill. Eventually, walking down, taking some curves, picking our way through concreted garbage collage, we get to the stairway that we can view from our street, lined with bougainvillea and looking so magical and at the bottom is our big wooden door, which we unlock and arrive at our cool clean stone and tile stairway, that opens on to our patio/deck which surrounds our landlords courtyard below and we’re home. Jim has fixed dinner on the grill.

warrenhardy.com  The Warren Hardy (obviously a gringo) started his method here in SMA. Besides himself, all his teachers are Mexican native Spanish speakers.

 

 A few people have asked about this great Spanish language system, which you can do on your own with workbooks and CDs (and flashcards and game cards, which I don’t think are essential) purchased at warrenhardy.com. As I mentioned before, the system is designed for adult minds, which are no longer wired to learn language. There’s loads of repetition and in class you work with a partner. As you learn, you feel successful because you’re building in an inspired manner. Just the right new material is added, at just the right time. (Each session as it is taught in San Miguel is 2 and one half weeks). The system is being introduced at a couple U of TX branch schools. And Warren is now reversing it to teach English to bright impoverished Spanish speaking college age kids from the countryside around San Miguel.

 

I did Level I at home with the book and CDs on my iPod. I studied Level II, which is considered the trial by fire; I’ll do Level III at home.

 

Level I – you learn and conjugate 6 “power verbs” in the present tense, which you join with hundreds of different infinitives to make sentences, ask questions, to help you get you around. Very effective. The 6 verbs are:

puder – to be able – (I can…)

necesitar – to need (I need)

le gusta – to like

ir a – to go to (I’m going to…)

querer – I like

tener que – to have to (I have to…)

 

And then they slip in a few reflexive verb infinitives; ser and estar; when to use por and para, etc.

 

Level II – you learn the preterite (simple past) tense; direct and indirect objects (which is hellish because the syntax is so different)—with a special emphasis on learning the 12 irregular verbs; the idea being that you learn the past tense (rather than present tense) so you can talk about what happened).

 

Level III – you learn all other tenses including the present, imperfect, future, conditional, commands, present and past subjunctive, participles, gerunds. And keep adding vocabulary.

 

Level IV – I don’t know what they teach in level 4

 

 

Traditionally one learns the present tense first, but who wants to go around saying, “I go to the store; I run in the street; I play the guitar.” It’s so much more logical to be able to tell about what you did in the past: “I went to the store; yesterday I ran in the park; I played the guitar for 3 hours; We traveled to Guanajuato by bus, had a great time, bought earrings for my sister so we can give them to her on her birthday. ”

 

So that’s the quick run down. Check it out on line or ask me about it. It’s really working for me. See how well I can write it in English.