p_c_neary@hotmail.com

Grateful dead

Just passed another Dia de Muertos here in Mexico. This year for the first time I saw some Mexican children in costumes headed around for Halloween! Instead of yelling “trick or treat” they shout “queremos Halloween” or “we want Halloween.” It just adds another element to the extensive list of Mexican fiesta activities.

Last year, we visited the local cemetery and checked out some katrinas. This year, Judy got a hankering for pan de muertos, a tasty bread prepared annually for the fiesta. The top is shaped to resembled bones (and a cross); the bread itself is lightly sweet, with a slight orangey aftertaste. She found it at Panadería Rojas, which seems to be the “go-to” bakery locally.

We also treated ourselves to a showing of the movie “Coco” on the malecon. If you haven’t seen this animated movie, do so! I don’t normally recommend Disney movies, and their attempts to depict other cultures have at times been disastrous (thinking of Mulan here). Disney spent three years researching Mexican traditions with respect to Dia de Muertos, and they got it just right. The movie has become an instant classic down here, and it’s a cute movie, to boot!

The setting for watching the film was amazing, with the lake stretching out behind the screen and the mountains rising behind the audience. Proceeds from the event went to support the Dia de Muertos parade the next day; we’ll save that event for next year’s fiesta.

Finally, we had another showing of Coco, this time in Spanish, at our language school (Olé México). It was great to practice our language skills (subtitles in English) and I finally made it through the movie without tearing up (that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!). Afterwards, we learned about the Mexican custom of creating an ofrenda, or altar, to remember the dead. We even constructed one, with the pictures, memorabilia, food & drink, and marigold flowers (cempsuchil in español) which are omnipresent for this holiday.

I think the Mexican culture gets it right with respect to death. People here see it as inevitable, but nothing to fear. Children from an early age learn that it is part of the natural order, and the people’s faith in an afterlife helps immeasurably. I wouldn’t call it fatalistic, like Arab culture, but more realistic.

And I would be remiss if I missed an opportunity to tie Dia de Muertos with the Grateful Dead!

Curbing my enthusiasm

Some people have big birthday parties. Not me. Low key is just fine. I didn’t do anything special on the actual day of my birth, beside show up. And my days are full of blessings already.

Many people want to sing “Happy Birthday” to you on your birthday. I had an impromptu serenade on the way out of Church on Sunday. Very sweet.

Most people blow out the candles on a birthday cake. That was way too pedestrian for me. I decided to blow out a tire on my birthday. Therein lies a Mexican story.

Here in tiny Ajijic, the streets are cobblestone and narrow. Sometimes they are one-way, sometimes two-way, sometimes driver’s-choice. Sometimes you can park on only one side, sometimes both, sometimes in the middle of the street, if that’s convenient for you. Potholes pop up after every downpour during the rainy season, and they vary between a little bump and a real off-road experience. All these points lead one to drive with your eyes on the roadway, and hope for the best with respect to the sides of your car.

Which means when you park, you get as close to the curb as possible, and ALWAYS bend your side-view mirror in. Or else replace it. Or tape it back on. Or not.

On the way to Church on Sunday, when I parked as close to the curb as possible, I heard a very unusual “pfffft” sound just as I stopped. I went to check the passenger side front tire, and it was instantly and completely flat. Seems there were these odd little rusted metal do-dads sticking off the curb. They were all in a row, about a meter apart. Anti-parking strips? No, this was a legal space. Curb protectors? Why protect a huge concrete curb with a little piece of metal? Posts for a sign or sidewalk bumper? Perhaps. Never seen anything to protect a sidewalk in Mexico, but a long-gone sign for advertising? Yes, I could certainly see that in Mexico.

Of course my tire was new and there was no fixing it. And since my car was both new and a different model (VW) than I had ever owned, I got the joy of discovery as I installed my spare. What’s this tool for (removing the lug covers)? Hey, look, there’s a locking lug-nut! I wonder where the special unlocking tool is? Hmmmm, must be a jack in here somewhere! I did have the owner’s manual in both English and Spanish. And the spare had helpful advice in German and Spanish. After a few multilingual swearings, I got the tire changed and proceeded to Mass.

Didn’t even need some of these…wonder what I was supposed to do with them?

50 mph = 80 kph. After that, it’s all Greek to me.

After Mass, we asked friends Judy & Lorraine where to go to replace the tire, and they agreed (!) on Beto’s. So on Monday I drove down to Beto’s, past a fierce guard dog (not pictured; he was camera shy), and dropped off my tire. The mechanic just laughed when he saw it: no question this was a replacement job, not a repair job. Beto didn’t have my tire in stock, but he said he would go buy it and have it ready to install mañana.

A rule I learned NOB was the better the auto mechanic, the worse the condition of the shop. Seems like real gear-heads like to work on cars, and aren’t necessarily that into luxury accommodations. If you see a cappuccino machine in the repair shop waiting room, run! Beto’s place met my requirements, exactly. The front door is the driveway, which doubles as the waiting room because there is an outdoor couch in it. The stock of tires was limited, but they went out and found me a right-sized Michelin overnight. And they were friendly and efficient. Total cost was $5000 pesos (installed), around $300 US. Very reasonable: I could have gone with a cheaper tire, but this is not an area where I economize.

For locals, Beto’s is next to Tony’s in San Antonio Tlayacapan. The dangerous tire-stickers were along Constitución, just past Galeana.

So I got a new tire and a new mechanic: happy birthday to me!

Church of Saints

In my previous epistle (thanks for that line, Johnny Cool), I went on at length with what I thought was the main scandal facing the Catholic Church today: infidelity to its core teaching about human sexuality. I promised to move from diagnosis to prescription, so here it is.

First, the leadership of the Church (the Pope and the Bishops, world-wide) must commit to radical transparency with respect to the various sexual scandals of the past. While I understand their previous reticence and the importance of not confusing allegations with convictions, the grudging release of data or acknowledgment of wrong-doing has only made the situation worse. Leaders who were guilty must be laicized. Those who were complicit in abetting the abusers need to publicly confess and submit resignations, which the Pope can accept or reject based on the individual circumstances. Since this is not a legal proceeding, but rather a moral one, the default position must be suspicion: too many lies have been told for too long.

Turning to the various dioceses and orders, I would suggest a similar approach. Two years ago, Pope Francis suggested some Catholics might not be validly married, since it was unclear if they had a proper understanding of what marriage entailed. I would suggest (humbly) the Pope build off this approach by reconsidering whether priests have been validly ordained, given their understanding of the priesthood and its vows. This would enable the removal of priests who have failed to live up to, or adequately profess, the teaching of the Church with regard to human sexuality. Bishops and superiors (who have already survived the inquiry mentioned in the previous paragraph) should be directed to conduct comprehensive reviews of the clergy to this end: either ensuring adherence to the Church’s doctrine, or offering the option for removal from the priesthood.

Looking specifically at the United States, I have always opposed the intrusion of secular authorities into the Church’s inner workings. However, I believe the situation there is now so grave that law enforcement should use their authorities to enforce transparency, protect the public, and punish offenders and enablers. These authorities should not exceed established limits with respect to rights, evidence, and statutes of limitation, but should prosecute to the full extent of the law within those limits.

For the faithful in the pews, we must come to come to grips with our own complicity. All of us who winked at adultery, tolerated pornography, accepted contraception or even abortion played a part in this debacle. If you don’t see the connection, go back and read Humanae Vitae, then celebrate its 5oth anniversary by re-committing to its Truth. We need to confess our sins, accept responsibility, and do penance. I suggest committing to daily prayer and regular fasting; I am doing so and it is something anyone can do. Some argue the faithful don’t need to do penance in this matter, since the clergy are at fault; I disagree. The literal meaning of compassion is to “suffer with” and since the perpetrators and victims are our fellow Catholics, we must suffer with them. Even if none of the other things I suggest come to pass, we can do our part. Prayer and fasting are very powerful tools.

The entire Church militant (the Church in this world) should unite in a global act of penance. Perhaps a day-long fast, or a prayer novena for forgiveness, along with acts of collective and individual penance. I would like to see our clergy leading this effort, and especially the Princes of the Church joining in by relinquishing some of their luxuries: fine houses, travel, whatever.

Back in the early 2000s, American Catholics referred to the sexual abuse revelations as “the long Lent.” I would posit the long Lent has morphed into an extended Via Dolorosa. The only possible response to such a situation is to take up one’s cross and bear it. Some will turn away; always have, always will. It will be difficult, and embarrassing, and painful.

We are a Church of sinners, desperately trying to be a Church of saints. In the end, we are reassured by the admonition that “my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

Church of Sinners

As a cradle Catholic, you might imagine the last few months have been especially hard for me, and you would be right. I have felt a variety of emotions: deep compassion for the many victims of clerical abuse; sympathy for the vast majority of faithful priests; roiling, righteous anger at those who hid the abuse, attacked the victims, and perpetuated the sins; and charity towards anyone who finds faith shaken by the news.

One feeling I did not experience was shock. I admit, after I read the entire report from the Pennsylvania Attorney General’s grand jury, I did feel sick to my stomach. It is 1,356 pages of non-stop perversion, lying, and cover-up, and while it is available here, for once I do NOT recommend reading it. Take my word, it is horrible. Horrible, but not shocking to me, because some fourteen years ago, I read another document which confirmed me in the suspicion that more was coming.

Near the end of the revelations coming out of the Boston Archdiocese about the sexual predation which occurred there, the US Catholic Bishops’ Conference chartered the John Jay College of Criminal Justice at the City College of New York, known for their investigative and forensic faculties, to gather the relevant data about the crisis in the United States. This report, known as the John Jay Report, was published in 2004. While it has none of the terrible specificity of the grand jury finding, it has three hundred pages of dispassionate and comprehensive analysis.

I was not surprised that the institutional Church tried to avoid bad publicity: this is classic institutional behavior, even if the institution in question claims to be holy. What jumped out at me from that report was the simple fact that so many Church leaders at all levels avoided punishing even the most unrepentant repeat offenders. At the time, some clerics offered the defense that they followed the reigning psychological treatment which emphasized therapy. That was true, and for a one-time event even defensible. But many of the offenders came out of therapy and re-offended, and the Church leaders just kept repeating their original mistake. It seemed clear something else was going on here. What it was, was an appalling lack of fidelity among Catholic clergy.

That lack of fidelity was to the Church’s teaching on sex. Which has been very simple and consistent: sex is a gift from God for the procreation of mankind and the bonding of married couples, two inseparable conditions. Period. End of sentence. Exclamation point. Which means it is (1) only between a man and a woman, (2) only permitted when those two are married, and (3) only allowable when the act is open to the possibility of new life.

This was always a hard teaching, and Jesus doubled down on it when he added that even thinking about sex with someone else, when married, was adultery! Of course, human history was rife with transgressions of this hard teaching, but all Christian denominations held to it as true, even as they practiced mercy when the faithful inevitably sinned.

That all changed during the sexual revolution. The notion that anybody could live without sex, or should do so for even a period of time, was stood on its head. Now, everybody should have as much sex, with anybody/anything/nobody as they want, without any consequences. Abstaining from sex in any way is considered unnatural and perverse. The only sin is to deny oneself sexual pleasure.

The Catholic Church maintained its original teaching, most famously in Pope Paul VI’s encyclical Humane Vitae. This is one I do suggest you read, as it is only thirty-one paragraphs and has some of the most amazing predictions of what would (and did) happen as a result of the sexual revolution. The teaching was not well received, including by yours truly. Like many Catholics, I didn’t read the encyclical even when I became an adult, and I rejected the teaching as old fashioned and incoherent…without ever reading it. Many Catholic clergy had to deal with Catholics (like me) in the pews who were openly hostile to the Church’s doctrine. In fact, some of those same clergy that hoped for a change in Church teaching were themselves engaging in sexual acts, and excusing themselves by the same reasoning that the sexual revolution provided.

Now mind you, I know many otherwise intelligent people who have told me that the Catholic Church’s problem is that it is obsessed with sex. Funny thing is, I have been going to Mass more than once a week for over fifty years, and I can count on one hand the number of times I have heard sex mentioned in Church. Of the roughly 300 Papal Encyclicals written in the last 300 or so years, sex is the subject of only a handful. Sex is mentioned in 33 paragraphs of the 900 pages of the Catechism, and most of those references are to the “fact of” two different sexes. I challenge anyone to watch one evening’s worth of cable TV and count the number of sexual ads, comments, situations, and graphic acts, then tell me who is obsessed with sex.

If you read the John Jay report, and the recent report by the German Catholic episcopate, you will see some data ignored by the press coverage. Most of the victims were adolescents older than twelve, indicating ephebophilia rather than pedophilia as the predominant problem.* Between 70 and 80% of the victims were adolescent boys; all the perpetrators were men. This indicates, as the German report points out, that the formation process for Catholic clergy attracted an unusual number of men who have same-sex attraction and underdeveloped sexual maturity. These are just data.

These same men, corrupted by their own lust, proved unable to defend or even explain the Church’s traditional teaching. They emphasized excuses, extenuating circumstances, and mercy without repentance, because that is what they themselves desired. Some continued to rise into positions of power, and looked out for those who were like-minded. Some Bishops looked the other way, either because they were implicated or they lacked the courage to profess the Church’s teaching in the face of ridicule. And the scandal spread. All this was clear back in the early 2000s, yet ignored.

The problem was not the Church’s teaching, which proved to be best for all concerned in the long run. Once I finally read Humane Vitae, I saw its logic and reason and self-evident holiness, which contrasted remarkably with the state of society after the sexual revolution. The problem was not clericalism, that is the treatment of those ordained as somehow better than others, for in fact the clergy was behaving exactly like most of the people. The problem was infidelity. And infidelity should rarely surprise us.

Among the original Apostles, one was a betrayer complicit in murder. Another had so little faith he responded to the Good News of the resurrection with a literal “habeus corpus?” Two counselled calling fire down on one’s enemies, and were overly concerned with having choice seats at the heavenly feast. All but one ran away when the going got tough. Their first-among-equals was called Satan by the Lord Himself, denied Jesus thrice, and even at the end had to be reminded to have faith (“quo vadis?”).

“Put not your trust in princes” (Psalm 146:3), even Princes of the Church, apparently.

I’ll posit what all this leads me to believe in a future post.

*In case the terms are unfamiliar, pedophilia is a sexual crime of power where the perpetrator sees the victim as an object to control; ephebophilia is a sexual crime where the perpetrator sees himself as sexually equal to an immature victim. In the first case the attackers rarely show remorse or awareness of the victims; in the latter case, the perpetrators often express their “true attachment” to the victims.

Virgins & Turkeys

Admit it, you’re wondering where this is going to go!

Living in an expat community like lakeside is an opportunity to celebrate with other cultures. I have previously touched on such subjects as the Day of the Dead, Cinqo de Mayo versus Mexican independence day, and even the Christmas holidays. Now let’s talk turkey.

The second Monday in October is Thanksgiving in Canada, and since we have a numerous Canadian expats here, it’s the first of two Thanksgiving holidays lakeside. Canadian Thanksgiving looks very familiar to an American: turkey and squash and pumpkin pie. That’s because many loyalists from the American revolutionary war headed north to Canada, and brought the traditional standards from the American Thanksgiving celebration with them.

However, Canadians actually have a valid claim to having originated the concept of the holiday in the Western Hemisphere. Predating the Puritan story of 1621 that Americans know so well, Samuel de Champlain celebrated a feast of thanksgiving with First Nations peoples in 1604 in Canada. According to my Canadian friends, today’s feast is full of good food, family, and even a football double-header (CFL, of course!).

So we celebrated in true multicultural fashion by going to Gosha’s restaurant, which put on a special menu for the occasion. And when I say multicultural, I mean multicultural. Gosha’s is owned by Carlos (a Mexican man from Yucatan) and his wife Gosha (from Poland). We were joined by our American friends John & Barbara, as we celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving.

Meanwhile in Mexico, October is dedicated to the Virgin Mary; Catholics in the U.S. and Canada celebrate this in May. I have to admit that I prefer the Mexican date, since it coincides with college football season, where I end up saying many “Hail Marys” anyway. Mexicans celebrate with fireworks (as always), daily rosary recitals and processions. We have a special chapel dedicated to Our Lady here in Ajijic, with a small statue that is specially dressed up this month. The statue is moved from church to church with great fanfare. You can almost track its progress by the boom of the cohetes in the morning.

Right now, the statue is at San Andres, our parish. Here she is in all her finery. There are similar celebrations across the country, and Guadalajara has one of the largest. On October 12th the Virgin of Zapopan will be processed for hours from the main cathedral to her original home in the (now) suburb of Zapopan, accompanied by crowds estimated at two million!

Here is a link to a video of what that procession looks like:

It is truly a joy to learn of others’ celebrations, see their traditions, and join in them.

The Republic of Sound

Before we left the States, we noticed the growing trend of people wandering around, about their daily business, wearing earbuds or head-phones. Commercials even picked up the meme of placing the events of your day against your personal soundtrack. And of course you can find YouTube videos of such folks walking in front of a bus or otherwise acting oblivious as they are lost starring in their own little iTunes world.

Mexico has its own soundtrack. You don’t need earbuds or a smartphone; you just need ears. Welcome to the Republic of Sound!

Your aural day in Mexico will probably begin at daybreak, with the sounds of roosters. No, you don’t need to be in rural Mexico. Somebody in your neighborhood will have a few roosters, even in a city. I have learned that roosters have a terrible sense of time, and begin crowing at all hours after midnight. Here, that amounts to a “ki-kiri-ki” to replace your alarm clock.

If your local roosters let you sleep in, you might awake to a Mariachi band. One of the sure-fire ways to say “I love you” in Mexico is to hire a Mariachi band to serenade the recipient at the crack of dawn. Your wife, your mom, your sister on her birthday, it doesn’t matter why; it is always appreciated by the intended.

Now that you’re awake, its time for a religious experience. Since you live in Mexico, you are within earshot of a church. That church has bells. Real bells, not some taped Muzak version of church bells. The bells are large and sonorous. They are attached by long ropes to a place where very energetic young Mexican boys can jump and down, holding the ropes, making the bells do what bells do. It is time for Mass. Or it is nearly time for Mass. Or its time for the consecration of the Mass, or the end of Mass. And you will hear it. Other times you will hear a loud but indistinct chant that runs on for half an hour. Some parishes say an early morning rosary. For the benefit of those too infirm (or too lazy) to attend, the parish broadcasts the rosary over a loudspeaker, generally situated on top of the bell tower for maximum coverage.

Awake and inspired, you decide to go out for breakfast. At the local restaurant, you will be nonplussed to find a travelling musician, singing Mexican ballads while strumming a guitar. These troubadours are everywhere, all-the-time. Restaurateurs tolerate them, and they graciously accept tips while never being too pushy in seeking them.

You decide to walk down to the plaza. On your way, you’ll doubtlessly pass an open-backed truck with a large speaker hardwired into the electrical system. A pre-recorded voice will intone–endlessely–“jitomate, veinte pesos” or some such jingle designed to get you to buy fresh produce. Or you’ll hear the local butane gas dealer with their signature call “Zeta Gaaaaaaaaaaas”, in case you need a refuel. Or if it happens to be an election cycle, you’ll see a small car with a giant speaker on top broadcasting a stirring, speed-of-sound call to vote for someone or something. Very loud, but not very distinct; always hard to decipher.

It’s afternoon, so you head home for a siesta. Most of Mexico observes this ritual as, at least, a time away from the work day, if not a literal nap. But there are exceptions. If you live in a development with extensive gardens, the local jardineros (gardeners) may be hard at work, taming the abundant and flourishing tropical flora. And they will do so in the most imaginative ways. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen (and heard) a jardinero standing on a ladder trimming a palm tree…with a weed whacker!

Its been several hours since you last ate, so you head back into town to visit a restaurant for dinner. But the street is closed and parking is hard to find, as a fiesta has broken out. It might be the novena of the town’s patron saint, or a national holiday, or just an obscure local cultural event, but there are crowds, and bands, and foodstalls, and why go to a restaurant? So you join in the raucous fun, but don’t wander too close to the fireworks display, because at some point it will ignite sending sparks, flames, and explosives into the crowd. What? Oh, yeah, there is no OSHA, so it will be explosively loud, and you will be temporarily deaf. At least I hope its temporary.

You can still see, so you head home as it’s dark and late. Safely in your casa, your ears are still ringing, but you can barely make out the sound of loud music; is it real, or just in your head? No, its the evento down the street: someone is celebrating a quinceanera, a wedding, or a graduation, and the banda music is still loud enough to be heard over the ringing in your ears.

Finally, the local trash truck comes by, with its expert team of trash collectors. They empty your trash cans and simultaneously shout directions in the dark as the large truck, with trash hanging in bags off both sides, expertly navigates your cul-de-sac both forwards and backwards. As they turn for the open highway, they even break out in song!

A long day. You can still barely hear the banda music, but you’re tired, so its time for bed. As you drift off, you continue to hear cohetes (fireworks) exploding. It could be your imagination, or the end of the fiesta. It could be the wedding, or it might just be your neighbor celebrating a victory by Chivas. It’s Mexico. You don’t really need an excuse for a song, or a chime, or a shout, or a bang. Not in the Republic of Sound.

The Goat. The G.O.A.T.? Just goats

Back last millennium, when I was at West Point, the cadet who graduated last in our class was called “the goat.” The goat won a bounty of $1 per member of the class in recognition of the achievement. It came to over $700 dollars, as I recall; not a bad reward for sustained performance!

Now I see references in sports to “the G.O.A.T.” or “the greatest of all time.” I oppose making acronyms just for their own sake. This one confuses, too, because in general being the goat is not a good thing.

We spent our time this weekend with some real goats. The four-legged kind. We visited Gallo de Allende, a new family-owned business along the lake. Juan Diego and his wife Laura have a hillside goat farm above the town of Mezcala, and they are offering tours in addition to selling goat cheese and milk at local markets.

Mountains tower over the parking area and pasture

The couple has taken the property from a scrub-covered, rocky field into a cleared and cultivated farmstead with amazing views. While they are focusing in the near term on growing their herd (32 head), they are also considering eventual expansion which could include a guest house, a cellar for aging cheeses, maybe even a place to host weddings. Juan Diego and Laura emphasize the quality of the natural feedstock their goats consume and the resulting quality of their milk and cheese.

Juan Diego and his goats take in the view

During the tour, we had a great breakfast of Mexican coffee, fresh fruit, goat-milk yogurt, and homemade granola. We got a chance to feed the goats and take a little tour.

Judy wanted to adopt the littlest one, but I don’t thing our dog Tucker would have approved.

We finished off with a nice little picnic consisting of wine, various cheeses, chimichurri, and plum jam. Delicious!

We had a great Sunday afternoon, leaned a lot about goats, and ate well. You can buy the farm’s products at the Tuesday market (Ajijic), take the tour (which starts at the bus stop in front of WalMart), or visit their FaceBook site.

Happy Independence Day

Mexican independence day, that is. September 16th is the annual fiesta for el Dia de Independencia; let’s see how it compares and contrasts to the 4th of July.

First, historically, there is a major difference. In the US, independence day celebrates the declaration by the Continental Congress establishing the necessity of independence (“When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…”), some fourteen months after the first shots were fired at Lexington and Concord. Mexico celebrates its independence day on the anniversary of the day its war of independence began, when Catholic priest Miguel Hidalgo rang the church bells in the city of Dolores as a call to arms against the corrupt Spanish colonial government. His cry is known as “el Grito de Dolores”, although if you Google El Grito in English you might get this result:

The city is now called Dolores Hidalgo in his honor. El Grito began the insurrection in 1810, and it ended ten years later with Mexican independence. The exact words of Padre Hidalgo are lost to history. Almost certainly he did NOT say “Viva Mexico!” as the province was known as Nuevo España and the term Mexico only later derived. Most historians agree he did call on the people to support Our Lady of Guadalupe, the revered Catholic icon, which also explains the close connection between Mexicans of all persuasions and la Guadalupana. As an interesting historical aside, Padre Hidalgo also called out Napoleon, as the French Emperor had recently conquered Spain and was responsible for Nuevo España when el Grito was made.

In terms of a party, there is much similarity to the US 4th of July. There are bands and parades, lots of flags, fireworks and military displays. Everything seems to be in Red, White & Green, the colors of the Mexican flag. Most towns re-enact el Grito around midnight on September 15th; the biggest celebration is in the Zocalo or main square in Mexico City, where el Presidenté reads el Grito then leads the enormous crowd in a series of ¡Vivas! followed by hours of fiesta.

We went out for dinner last night, and of course one course was the dish Mexicans associate with their independence day, chiles en nogada. As I said, everything is the colors of the Mexican flag! Viva!

¡ Guadalajara!

Last weekend was the beginning of college football season, so I dutifully sat on my couch and watched every single game that was available from Thursday through Monday. Actually, I will do that most of the rest of college football season…just until January. My dear wife Judy has no such affliction, so she decided to go on a tour of Guadalajara. But her trip did give me an excuse to insert one of my favorite Mariachi tunes:

Our Spanish language teacher, Gabriel González, is starting a new tour business called Mexplore (note to local expats: check out their Facebook page for further info. His first trial-run was a day tour of Guadalajara. The tour did the greatest hits of the Centro (downtown) area of Guadalajara, including:

This church which features a continuous exposition of the (huge) Blessed Sacrament above the altar;

A park honoring “illustrious citizens of Jalisco” (the Mexican state in which Guadalajara resides), which includes a rotunda where the ashes of some these citizens are interred;

This bronze relief representing the original settlers of Guadalajara;

The original Cathedral of Guadalajara from 1549;

The Museum Cabañas, a former orphanage which is now decorated full of stunning murals by José Clemente Orozco, a unique artist known for his mix of stark realism and visionary symbolism;

and the iconic current Cathedral. This walking tour also took time out for a lunch break at a typical local restaurant, and visited the literally endless Mercado Libertad, which could easily take a day by itself!

That said, the tour took all of nine hours, including travel time to/from lakeside, and was a big hit. I hope to make a future tour, perhaps for an evening of Lucha Libre!

Customer Service

I don’t really care why a business treats its customers well: because they have to (by law), or because they want to (for more business), or because they really do care. What matters is that they do provide good customer service. Two recent examples herein:

I promised y’all an update on the post about EU rules, and the verdict is in: they rock! You can review the whole story here, but the punch line was when you have airline travel delayed or cancelled and any part of your trip falls within the European Union, they have very strict rules on what the airline owes you.

I received a sizable compensation claim in one week from SAS for a flight they cancelled on us, even though they flew us to our destination later that same day. In effect, the flight was free. Our flight home from Gatwick (London) airport was also cancelled, leading to a three day stay in the English countryside. I filed the appropriate forms with Norwegian Air, and waited.

And waited. And waited. Two months to the day after I filed, they responded with an e-mail explaining that they would reimburse me the standard compensation (which amounted to a total of E1200, or about $1400 USD), but they would only pay for one day’s room and board, because they contended that we chose to stay in London that long and did not accept the first flight they could arrange. Harrumph, I say! They also refused to reimburse me for the second flight (which we ultimately took to get home).

This was more than a little aggravating. I stayed the extra days because they sent me a text message telling me their customer service was overwhelmed and I should arrange my own follow on flight and room to stay. If I had waited in line for four hours or so, they could have stuck me on any other airline that took me to LAX at any time, which was not what I was willing to do. Since I insisted on flying their airline, and their next flight availability was three days later, I felt the delay was justified. Unfortunately, my cell phone was stolen in the interim, and my text message history was gone, so I could not prove it. Argh! So I decided just to eat the extra costs of the rooms and meals.

However, I applied for the reimbursement of the second flight because their forms required me to list a dollar value for everything I was claiming. I thought, “well, I paid for the first trip, but only got halfway home, so they should cover the second trip.” Plus, how do I value part of a flight?

Regardless, I had paid for two separate trips home, and I only took one. I sent them back an e-mail asking for a refund of the part of the flight they cancelled, and this time they responded in three weeks and admitted, yes, they should have included this refund in the first place and thanks (not really) for bringing this matter to their attention so they could refund my credit card. Bottom line: after reimbursement and compensation, our flight home was free, too!

I had a chance to witness some good German-Mexican customer service this week, too. We went up to Guadalajara to have our VW Tiguan get its second annual service. Volkswagen is maniacal about maintenance, going so far as to forbid you using anything but their specially formulated antifreeze in your auto radiator. I managed to navigate the dealer’s website (en español) and make an appointment for our second annual service. We arrived, dropped off the car, and asked how long the service would take? “Five hours” the service manager responded. ¡Ay, caramba! But he offered us a taxi (gratis) anywhere we wanted to go, so we went to the nearest mall, did some shopping, got lunch, saw a movie (The Wife with Glenn Close, in English with subtitulos en español), walked back to the dealership (it was very close) about an hour early and they rushed to complete the paperwork and get us back on the road. We could have just stayed at the dealer and had espresso from the coffee machine or popcorn from the popcorn maker and surfed the internet.

My VW. German engineering comes with German prickliness about maintenance… “Mann macht es nicht!”

The VW dealer was very thorough, explaining everything they did in Spanglish so we understood, cleaning the car from top to bottom, and doing an inventory to show that everything we left in the car was still there. Total cost was around $150 USD. Muy bien.

Both these stories are relevant to expat life. The first reminds one that the rules vary from place to place, and it literally pays to know a little about the rules where you are travelling. The second is more mundane, but something as simple as getting a car serviced can be fraught with difficulty if you don’t speak the language, don’t understand the culture, or aren’t flexible. We all regularly experience poor customer service; makes the good service stand out that much more.