Month: April 2017

The last stop in our normalization process sent us to the offices of the Secretaría De Movidad, the Mexican equivalent of the Transportation Department, which also runs the equivalent of the stateside DMV, or the BMV, depending on where you live.  Wherever you live, it is a visit most people dread, since the bureaucrats who process drivers licenses are universally considered some of the most inept and/or incompetent on the planet.

(Note: not intending to insult any of my former state and local government colleagues; just making an observation. While I am on thin ice, may I take a moment and request that my Washington, DC-based friends join me in fighting the use of the phrase “the Dee-Emm-Vee” to refer to the Washington metropolitan area?  I hear it with increasing frequency on local radio and TV, and it needs to be crushed as quickly as possible.  It is Washington, or DC, or NoVa if you live on the correct side of the Potomac. Why would anyone want to borrow such an odious acronym? What’s next, a new car called the Edsall? A new dirigible called the Hindenburg?)

Sorry, end of rant.  The SDM complex is in Guadalajara, and we arrived on a recent Tuesday after the long Semana Santa holiday. That detail is important, since the government offices had been closed for two weeks, creating much pent up demand for licenses.  We entered the building and got in a long line, which naturally stretched out into a central courtyard under the tropical sun. The line crept forward, about ten people at a time. A man with an official looking lanyard was giving advice on the testing procedures, and offering to sell a quick look at “sample” test question for a few pesos (free-marker capitalism at work). After about an hour, we worked our way up to the first guard official, who was controlling access to the office.

When he let us pass with a cursory glance at our paperwork, we were in the entrance hall, where four officials were set up to review our paperwork. They ensured we had a valid visa, copies of our passports and US drivers licenses, and a bill or other document attesting to our current address in Mexico.  When they approved, we were let into the main office through another guarded doorway.

This room held about 70 plastic chairs which were numbered, and we were directed to take a seat at the very back. One at a time, the applicant at the front of the room was called forward to the next available official, and the rest of the room got up and moved forward one chair. This went pretty quickly, and within 30 minutes we were being processed, but the musical chairs approach was a sight to behold. According to Francisco, who accompanied us through the process, they used to give out numbers, but people would pay others to get a number for them, so they made it a more physical process. I will admit it was quite orderly, and even when too many people were let in the room by the gate guards, everybody quickly re-established the queue.

Once we were called forward, a nice official took our paperwork and entered it into the computer system, then had us verify it was correct. We were asked our blood type, whether we wanted to be organ donors, and what was our current phone number. Next we went for photographs and fingerprints, which took about 5 minutes, and soon we were in line for the written test.

Most of the people getting their first licenses were very young.  If we had been 60 or over, we could have skipped all the waits and gone straight to the front of the line, but we waited with the young people. We had some fun conversations with Mexicans who spoke excellent English and had been through the same process in the States. Finally, our turn to test came up.

The written test is just ten questions on a computer kiosk, but you must answer all ten correctly. Make a mistake, and you either have to take a training course or come back to retest in two weeks. They show you a video or a road sign and give you three choices for what you should do, or what the sign means. We asked for the “examen en ingles” and both Judy and I were routed to kiosks for the gringos where we were supposed to get an English-language version.

The key word here is “supposed,” because we were dealing with computers, so of course, things started to go wrong. On my computer, one side of the screen read “El pregunto no requiere un imagen.” The other side had three answers, in English.  Hmmmmm. It took me a minute, but I figured out that the left side said “No image was required for this question” but how was I to answer without a sign or question? When the official initialized my test, he simply hit the forward button, so I tried that.  Now I was on Pregunto Dos, with the same “no image” on the left and three new answers on the right. Not good.  I hit it one more time, and of course, the same result: Pregunto Tres, new answers.

I looked up from my kiosk (a no-no) and saw Judy with a similarly perplexed look.  We gave each other a shoulder shrug. We could not talk, nor could we get the attention of the officials who were administering the test. Judy later told me she decided the “test” was fixed, so she started hitting any answer just to get through it. I started waving my hands over my head and said “Una Problema!”

This got the official’s attention, and he was none too happy, not so much with me, but at the distraction from his well-planned administration of the test site. He came to my kiosk, grimaced at the screen, then started re-initializing the test and downloading the English language images (a-HA!). I pointed at Judy, and he went to her kiosk to effect the same fix. However, I was still on question three! So I dutifully answered the rest of the questions. The screen told me I got seven out of ten correct, and the test was done.  Oh-oh.

I got in line to see the official proctoring the test, and when my turn came I started to explain “only seven questions” but he waved me off and said “no, no, ok.” He stamped my form and sent me on my way; Judy got the same treatment. Somehow we “passed.” We got in line for the driving test, where a name check and our US licenses got us past the requirement. Now we just had to pay at one window, then wait about 40 minutes at the second for our final license.

All told, about four hours, not including travel time. Francisco, who we retained to assist us, was able to accompany us throughout (except at the test kiosks), which greatly improved the experience. It was a typically Mexican experience, with high and no-tech abiding side-by-side, long lines but orderly movement, and everybody invariably polite. We just heard the Mexican government is introducing an online registration system that will reduce the experience to just the written and driving tests, so perhaps we experienced this particular bit of Mexico just before it passed into history.

One retirement activity we were looking forward to is hiking. A couple can hike together, you can do it at any age and ability level, and it is amazingly good exercise. We had already decided to eventually hike the Camino Frances to Santiago, Spain, next year.  So in the meantime, we joined up with the local hiking club to hike the mountains surrounding our lakeside home.

While long-range hikes require a lot of planning and special gear, day hikes don’t require much beyond good hiking shoes.  Our local club gave us two makeshift hiking poles, and of course we already had the necessary water bottles, hats, and sunscreen. But all we had for our feet were running shoes, which only work for long flat hikes.

That led us to the Merrell store in Guadalajara to get good, lightweight hiking shoes. The store, set in a mall, was a little underwhelming. The place was tiny, and the staff did not seem to have any expertise in hiking. We had done research, and seemed to know more than the sales staff, who did not even have a device to measure our feet.

Using our limited Spanish, we were able to make our needs known, but it quickly became apparent this was going to be complicated.  First, we had a challenge about shoe sizes.  We knew our US shoe size, and the Merrell shoes have sizes listed in US, EU, and CMs, so this should have been an easy translation, but they had almost no inventory in our size for the shoe we wanted. Mexican feet run smaller, apparently.

We looked at other models, but they had no women’s shoes large enough for Judy.  Mexican women’s feet run even smaller. So we were both looking at the men’s selections. As I asked for various sizes to try on, my poor Spanish confused the staff about whether I was asking for US, EU or CM sizes, so I was getting a random selection of sizes. I built up a pile of rejected shoes next to me as I waited for the next offering from the shoe lottery.  Eventually we both found acceptable hiking shoes. We almost left without buying Merino wool socks (a must!) because the sock display was turned toward the back wall, where customers could not see it.

Back home we started meeting with the hiking club, which heads out from the local donut shop (no kidding) every Tuesday and Friday at 9:00 am. The club informally breaks out into a beginner’s group (usually a 2-3 hour hike on a trail up the mountains), an intermediate group (4-5 hours, sometimes on less improved mountainside trails).  Some real hard-core types go off in a group for really long hikes to make new trails or clear old ones.

Here are shots of the flora along the trails; lots of prickly things!

In addition to exercise, the hikes are a great way to meet other expats or visitors, see great lake vistas, and learn a little about our unique environment.  Sometimes we hike trails in ejido land, land given to the indigenous Mexican peoples during the early 20th century land redistribution.  It is often on the mountainsides, with little or no access or infrastructure.  Local peoples still clear it, farm it, graze cattle on it, and sometimes live on it. We have had to share the trail with dogs, horses, and even cattle, who seem as surprised to see us as we are to see them!

Holy Week, as it is known NOB, is a whole different enchilada here en Mexico (pun intended). First off, the holiday comprises two weeks, Semana Santa (Holy Week) and Semana Pascua (Easter Week).  Second, it is the official vacation season in Mexico: schools close, the government shuts down, and Mexicans head to the coast or their favorite colonial cities in the mountains for a break.

To put it in an American perspective, Semana Santa is like Easter, Labor Day, and Spring Break combined. The emphasis on Holy Week may not surprise you, given that Mexico is an overwhelmingly Catholic country. But it is not only that; it is also the fact that Mexico is a Catholic country with a connection to a Latin (i.e., Spanish) heritage that helps to explain the importance of this week.

Semana Santa officially begins on Domingo de Ramos (literally, Sunday of Branches, aka Palm Sunday). Here in Ajijic, there is a festival in the town square starting at 4:00 pm and running into the evening. Volunteers provide all the goods for sale, do the cooking and cleaning, even provide the bands for entertainment.  We enjoyed the bands and the tostadas, pozole, and tamales, all home-made.  All the proceeds go to cover the expenses of the annual passion play, which are considerable. The highpoint of this day’s activity is a procession which starts at the end of town and proceeds past the square to the Church for a 7:00pm mass.  Townfolk line the procession route and cover the cobblestones with alfalfa; actors playing the parts of Jesus and the 12 apostles lead the procession through town and into Mass.

The next few days are quiet, leading up to Maundy Thursday, or Jueves Santo. After a re-enactment of the Last Supper, the crowds move up a steep hill overlooking the town for scenes from the garden of Gethsemane. This location will also serve as Golgotha on Good Friday (Viernes Santo). The night ends with Jesus’ arrest and a torchlit procession to take him back to the church square for his trial the next day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The theatrical quality peaks on Good Friday morning.  Crews erect an impressive stage and backdrop, which is modified ingeniously between sets to portray the outside of Pilate’s Palace, Herod’s palace, and back to Pilate’s palace. A crowd of locals fill all the Passion play roles, from Roman guards to the Apostles, the Sanhedrin, and even human statues. The dialogue, costumes, and sets represent a significant commitment in terms of time and money, all done by volunteers.

Quality sound and light-systems and special effects complete the scene. The most surprising thing about all of this is it is staged by a small Mexican village, and it is only one of many Passion plays staged in our area (Lakeside)

Locals consider it a high honor to be chosen to participate. The day concludes with a Via Crucis (Way of the Cross), as Jesus carries his cross back up that steep hill for the crucifixion.

Sábado Santo (Holy Saturday) is the grand finale; the day is mostly quiet until the vigil mass of the Resurrection (with a re-enactment, naturally) in the early evening  and a large festival afterwards. The festival includes la quema de Judas, where Judas effigies (including fireworks) are set alight. Sometimes unpopular political figures are also burned/exploded, all in good fun.

Like many holidays in Mexico, Easter Sunday is quiet time to spend with the family, or to recover from the vigil parties. If you are ever in Mexico during Holy Week, do brave the sun and the crowds and enjoy a Passion play experience for yourself.

Hope you enjoyed this overview of Semana Santa, and Happy Easter all!

You don’t go on the internet to get something done in rural Mexico.  You certainly don’t look for advertising in a paper or on TV. I have never seen a Mexican phonebook.

No, when you want to get something done, you tell a friend, and they tell you about “the guy” they have to get it done. Now I know you’re thinking “that’s no different than in the States” and to some extent you’re right.  Back when we lived stateside, we had a go-to mechanic and a guy who did home repairs. But for most things, we could do a search, use Consumer Checkbook, the Better Business Bureau, even Yelp for good tips.

Mexico, at least rural Mexico, is very much a word of mouth society, and it works.  We have a “guy” for just about everything… even though many of them are “gals.”

Julia Vargas and her associate Francisco have guided us through the immigration and visa process, and we’ll work with them to get our Mexican drivers licenses next. Working with them, we avoided long lines, paperwork mistakes, and all the potential hassles one could encounter when dealing with any government bureaucracy.

Christina Peña is our interior designer, arranging for all the purchases to equip our new home, and even driving us to Guadalajara several times to visit the various carpenters, artists, plumbers, etc. we needed to see. We

never would have found the places she took us to shop and outfit our home, and in some cases, if we had found them, we would not have been let in, as they don’t market their wares retail.

Marcos oversaw the building of our house, and we ask him back to consult when we make any changes. He has been responsible for many of the handyman services involved in complex installation.

Georgina Russell is our property manager, making sure our taxes and dues are paid on time, arranging for our gardener and house-keeper, and watching over the place all those years before we even moved here. She also advises us on maintenance issues and watches out for us in general.

We just met with Spencer Shulman, who serves as the middleman when dealing with all the new car dealerships in Guadalajara. New cars here are “set-price” but there is all the paperwork that goes with licensing, as well as the requirement to have all servicing done by the dealer, which his office can facilitate.

We’ve gotten tips on where to meet the “vegetable guy” for fresh produce from a local farmer, the “coffee guy” who comes to town a few days each week with newly harvested beans, and the “steak guy” who sells filet for a few dollars a pound.

When I needed a special type of masonry screw, I even got a tip for the “screw guy,” which could have lead to many different types of places, but eventually got me to a hardware store. 🙂

 

Some of these services are “pay-as-you-go” at the very low local labor rates. This replacement job on our shower (along with installing the aforementioned headboard) lasted several hours across two days and cost us about one hundred dollars.

Some of the more selective services are retainers, with a fee based on what you purchase or which services you use. Again, rates are very reasonable. Can you process your own visa? Yes. Can you buy furniture and art on your own? Yes. Could you replace your own shower? Yes. What you are buying in each case is local knowledge and expertise. You are paying someone to reduce the friction, either because they know how the shower was constructed, or they know how the immigration office works, or they know which woodworker makes the exact table you want.

All of these services work to make the challenge of becoming an expat that much easier. But they are also part of learning how things are done here, by “the guy” or “the gal.”