Month: January 2020

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Wheels

This week we bought a car for $3400. I’m ok traveling around town by bus. Occasionally a musician will come on the bus through the front door and pay the driver a small fee to play for the passengers. This week a musician strummed a ukulele and belted out a beautiful Mexican ballad. When he finished, he went up and down the aisles, collecting coins for his performance. That doesn’t happen often enough.

Neto has needed a car for a long time. It takes him hours to get around the city on foot and by bicycle. And then, two months ago, his bicycle was stolen. He used to have a beautiful blue 1996 Ford truck but that was impounded when his mechanic left town to live in Brazil. The mechanic’s family had been killed by gangsters and he needed to get out of town in a hurry.  All of the vehicles he’d been working on were locked up behind a chainlink fence and that’s where they still are, unattended and turning to rust. 

I wanted a car to take day-trips out of Mazatlan to some of my favorite places ~ Brujas Beach, El Quelite, Teacapan, and maybe even Las Hacienda, the town where Neto’s mother was born. 

On Wednesday, Neto found a good car ~ a bright lime green 2007 Nissan Tiide. Those models are work horses. They can go long distances and are easy to fix. The car came without a radio (stolen the previous night when it was left outside), gas in the gas tank, a spare tire or a jack. And, of course, it needed insurance and license plates, a lock for the gas tank and one for the steering wheel. 

Driving in Mazatlán is not like driving in Denver. There are potholes and speed bumps on nearly every street and very few stop signs. Drivers cut in front of one another. They dart in and out of traffic. They make U-turns wherever they want and don’t watch for pedestrians. It reminds me of a giant bullfight. Sometimes you are a toreador and sometimes you are the bull. 

Neto’s driving ability has improved with age. It’s a good thing. One time, while taking his mother to La Hacienda in his blue truck, he hit a cow. He claims he didn’t see the cow because it was nighttime and the cow was a dark brown color. She was grazing on the side of the road when BAM! he hit her. Mamacita started screaming and the farmer came cursing out of his house. The cow was not killed but was badly injured. The same was true for the truck.

“You hit my cow, cabrone!” yelled the farmer.

“Your cow is going to be ok. I didn’t kill her.” argued Neto.

“No, but you have to pay me for hitting my cow.”

“How much is it going to cost?”

“6500 pesos.” (About $400.)

“No way. I could buy you a new cow for that much money.”

“Ok. Pay me 6500 pesos, I will sell you this cow.”

“What am I going to do with this crippled cow if I buy it from you?”

“You can take her with you in your truck or you can leave her here with me. I’ll take care of her for you.”

So that’s what Neto did. He bought the cow for 6500 pesos. He named her Prieta (dark girl.)

He continued his trip to La Hacienda. When he returned, he visited Prieta. She was fine.

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Bienvenido a México

 

 

Welcome to Mexico! I’m delighted to be here. But why is traveling always so much more difficult than I think it is going to be? 

To start with ~ ten years ago, flying to Mazatlán from Denver was an easy, direct flight, taking just under 3 hours. We were given blankets if we were cold, food if we were hungry and refills on whatever we were drinking. We were spoiled. Now the flight stops in Phoenix, takes 7 hours total and costs twice as much. No blankets. No food. A cup of coffee, water, or soda. One cup. No refills. Expensive, tasteless food in cardboard boxes is available from the crew and can be paid for only by credit cards. Every fifteen minutes flight attendants come on the loud-speaker and try to interest us in signing up for the company Mastercard. I believe they earn a commission. I think it is considered their retirement fund.

Neto met me at the airport with his nephew, Joshua, driving an Uber car. We loaded my forty-three pound suitcase and my backpack into the trunk and rode the rest of the way in silence. Neto was tired and immediately fell asleep in spite of cars honking all around us and people dodging traffic. Joshua goes to the Mazatlán Nautical Academy and knows a lot about driving cars and boats but not much about speaking English. After a long day, the silence was golden.

Often I am my own worst travel nightmare. Those of you who know me, know that I worry too easily. I worried that our condo would be a dump. No way! It is simply beautiful. Very upscale in a fancy European sort of way with huge ceramic tile on the floors and bathroom walls. Rooms are painted light grey, dark blue and mauve. The kitchen is gorgeous, well-equipped and has plenty of hot water. Poly, our Airbnb host, is gracious, thoughtful and kind. We are two lucky travelers, indeed.

So far Neto has done all the cooking because he’s the best cook. We eat simple Mexican food ~ beans, tortillas and tortas ~ ham sandwiches on bolillos (buns) with avocado, tomatoes and queso fresco cheese. The first night Neto found a taco stand in the neighborhood and brought back a delicious soup made of potatoes and cheese in a spicy tomato broth. After a long day of traveling, it tasted heavenly. I wash the dishes. 

Day two: We unpacked and then walked to a large grocery store about a mile away, where we bought all the things we’d need for the next week ~ cans of tuna, loaves of french bread, ham and cheese, cereal and milk, tortilla chips and sweet pastry. Fresh tomatoes, avocados, bananas, onions, apples, and two kinds of chiles. Jars of salsa and cans of charro beans. Instant coffee, sugar and cream. We took a taxi home, put the food in the cupboards and we were set. Worn-out and hungry, but all set.

Day three: We walked to the ocean (about a mile) and caught a bus downtown. Neto had business to do for his mother and I came along for the ride. The city is getting ready for its world-famous Carnival celebration. Manigotes, huge statues representing the Carnival theme, are being erected along the parade route and in the main plaza. We stopped for lunch at a familiar outdoor restaurant, Tortas Kuwait, that has not changed in the ten years since I lived here. Five thousand steps later, we arrived home, exhausted and happy to be back in our lovely condo. 

The best part about being here is that it is warm. About 80 degrees in the daytime and 68 degrees at night. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be so cold back in Colorado.

I don’t think I have anything left to worry about. 

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Mazatlán ~ Here I Come!

On Tuesday I board the plane from Denver to Mazatlán. Ernesto and I will spend two months in a beautiful Airbnb condo, about a mile from the beach. Mazatlán is the city where I first met Neto. The city where I bought a big house and remodeled it into a hostel for guests from around the world. A city I have not visited for the past nine years. Two months in Mexico! It sounds like heaven on a cold night in Colorado. I can’t wait to get there.

What am I looking forward to in Mazatlán? I’m mostly looking forward to seeing Neto again and having time to write his story, A Citizen of the World. I’m also looking forward to:

  • Eating fresh, warm corn tortillas, homemade ceviche and eggs that were laid that very morning. Drinking homemade limeade and jamaica, a semi-tart drink made from hibiscus flowers.
  • Watching beautiful sunsets. Seeing geckos climb nearby walls. Hugging old friends as we meet again.
  • Listening to mariachis on the beach. Hearing Mexican music fill the air from open windows. Trying to understand Spanish words and phrases that I hear in stores and on the street.

But mostly, I’m looking forward to watching Neto surf the waves of Mazatlán. He is a smooth, graceful surfer who catches waves that most people shy away from. When he comes out of the water, people on the beach are eager to shake his hand. They call him, Ruco, which means “old man” or even “old fart.” In his case, it is a sign of respect that a man his age can outperform all the younger surfers in the water.

But first I need to get through Security and Mexican Customs. I pray that I don’t have to open my backpack in Denver or my suitcase in Mazatlán. I typically don’t take many clothes and I only have the shoes on my feet. I need suitcase room for more essential items.

What, you ask, is more essential than shoes and clothes? I bring a sharp cooking knife and measuring cups and spoons. Nightlights and flashlights. My own dishtowels and dishrags, because Mexican hosts never provide them. I’m bringing a big container of homemade chai latte mix, plus a coffee grinder and special spices in case I need to make more. Oh, and I’m bringing a lot of socks for Neto to wear.

Although these items may seem odd, they are not as strange as some things I’ve carried across the border in the past. I once tried to bring a big sealed jar of Skippy Peanut Butter in my backpack. It was confiscated by Security, who claimed it was a liquid and could be used to make a bomb.

Another time I carried a water pump for a Ford truck in my backpack. I knew I would be stopped for that one. The security guard was very nice when I explained I was bringing it for a friend who couldn’t find one in Mexico. 

He smiled and said, “You must be a very good friend.” 

“Thank you,” I answered. “I think you are probably someone’s very good friend, too.” And I’m sure he is.

Finally, the item that almost didn’t make it through Mexican customs was a roll of fifty yards of fiberglass, used for making and patching surfboards. Because I didn’t bring a receipt showing I purchased it legally from a supplier in California, I had to have an extended interview with a top official. She told me I must to pay a “sales tax” of $25.00 to bring it into the country. I gladly paid the tax and she let me go.

Ah, life in Mexico! I can’t wait to get there.

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Dia de Los Reyes

Oh, no! Not another Mexican fiesta!

Oh, yes! January 6, is Three Kings Day. Like most holidays that mirror Catholic feast days, Dia de Los Reyes was introduced by priests from Spain as early as 1521. It is a day that honors the legend of the Three Wise Men, who followed a star to Bethlehem and presented gifts to the Baby Jesus. 

Children in rural areas traditionally receive gifts on Three Kings Day ~ often candy, clothing and school supplies. They write letters to the Three Kings and place the letters in their shoes, next to a small dish of straw for the kings’ camels. It is an endearing tradition that is celebrated in homes and businesses and is marked by a Rosca de Reyes, a King’s Cake. 

The King’s Cake is baked in the shape of a crown and has a small doll inside, which represents the infant Jesus hidden from King Herod’s troops. The cakes are decorated with candied fruit to look like a crown’s jewels. Tradition says that the person who gets the slice of cake with the doll inside must provide tamales for Día de la Candelaria in February.

Children return to school every year on January 7th. They are happy to see their classmates, to talk about the gifts they received and tell how they celebrated the holidays.

Public schools in Mexico are very different from schools in the United States. All children wear uniforms. Some teachers are well-trained but others inherit their positions from family members in government sanctioned nepotism. Children go to school only four hours/day, either in the morning or the afternoon. They don’t go to public libraries or have books to read at home. A favorite activity for girls is coloring, while boys prefer to play outside. Children often fail grades and it is not unusual for students to be thirteen years old and still in elementary school. By the time these students are ready for middle school, the girls are well-developed and gorgeous. They boys have broad shoulders and facial hair.

When I worked in Colorado public schools, niños like Neto were considered “hard and fast” little boys. Although he was bright and loved to learn, Neto was expelled from kindergarten after just one day and sent to a military school in Tepic, a busy city five hours away. 

Neto tells the story of, Mudo, a classmate he met when he returned to Mazatlán at the end of fourth grade. By that time Neto was a hard-working, well-disciplined student who had been in a military classroom eight hours/day for the past three years. He surely was the most advanced student in his class.

Mudo was given his nickname (mute) because he never spoke. Their teacher, Enrique, maintained discipline by walking around the classroom with a ruler, hitting boys who were not paying attention or were causing a disturbance. Enrique was a small man, smaller than either Mudo or his friend, Bebe, who were clearly much older than Neto. 

One day, Mudo had enough. Just as Enrique raised his arm to hit Bebe with his ruler, Mudo stood up at his seat, walked over to the teacher, silently took the ruler out of his hand and punched him hard in the jaw. School was dismissed for the day and Mudo left school to go to work with his father. It was a dramatic end to his school career.