p_c_neary@hotmail.com

Visiting the Shrine

When we still lived in the States, we made an annual visit to South Bend, Indiana, where the majority of my relatives live. I often described these visits as a “pilgrimage to the shrine,” since we always stopped at the University of Note Dame to take in the beautiful campus, tour the athletic facilities, and buy fan memorabilia at the bookstore.

On one hand, my fanatic support for the Fighting Irish (Notre Dame’s football team) is easily explained. I grew up in the 1960/70’s when the team was dominant, I lived about 3 miles (as the Leprechaun flies) from the Golden Dome, I was Irish Catholic by background, and the local nuns taught us to root for “our team.” Being a Notre Dame fan was an essential, positive part of my childhood.

Well, the connection went deeper than the obvious links. Being a Notre Dame fan was part of rooting for the underdog who overcomes the odds, backing the side that does things the right way, being part of some shared belief in good triumphing over evil. Even when “the breaks went against the boys” in Rockne’s immortalized line, that too was a lesson that sometimes even Good comes up short.

But we all grow up, and leave behind childish things, don’t we? Yes, I went off to school and the Army, marriage and children, career and travel. I realized that other teams weren’t always evil, and some of the Irish players I formerly idolized were, shall we say, a wee bit unsavory. I ran into opposing fans who could not understand my devotion to a school I never attended, or harbored some deep resentment at a loss to the Irish. I even had to get used to not winning all the time, which seemed as remote a possibility as the actor who played the Gipper becoming President. While my passion for the Irish waxed and waned over the decades, it never failed to gel come late August, building to a fever pitch by the end of November.

So I find myself back on campus this year, but the feeling is very different. I muster little excitement for the impending season. The team is talented but underperforming, unable to put-away inferior opponents and easily overmatched by those more talented. The coach has the remarkable ability to turn purple at critical moments, and is unequaled at sharing the blame with others. The program is under the cloud of an academic cheating scandal. The stadium is ever-larger,

as if size really did matter. Classroom and leisure facilities are built onto the stadium on three sides, ostensibly connoting a commitment to academics merged with athletics, but instead literally propping up the luxury suites. The overall architectural effect recalls a Communist planner given too many monuments and not enough plaza. The field is synthetic, since grass is apparently a non-native species in northern Indiana. A Jumbotron hovers over the House that Rockne Built; I am sure it will instruct Irish fans when to “get loud.” Piped in inspirational music and smoke effects complete the scene. It looks like every other Ginormous State University stadium … except it isn’t.

The stadium does look good on the inside, but how long before they are hawking used cars on the ‘Tron?

Which is the point, after all. Change is inevitable, but the changes need to be consistent with something original, something organic, something profound. Notre Dame today presents an updated, Disneyfied college football experience. The emphasis is on appearances, which do not amplify an underlying reality so much as merchandize an existing, fading brand.

Concession tables set up inside the luxury boxes

Don’t get me wrong: I will always be a fan. I will watch games this year, and probably get way-too-involved. But it is much harder to be passionate about a performance by the University of Notre Disney Competitive Generics. Just give me back the Fighting Irish.

The luxury suites rival Touchdown Jesus, which is never a good idea. How did that tower in Babel turn out?

Friends & Family

If you are going to live the expat life, you’ll be away from family and friends for months at a time. This is one of the negative aspects, but it also means you’ll on occasion travel back to visit. We are on one of those visits right now, after six months setting up our casa in Mexico. Is there anything better than seeing old friends, or getting together with your family, especially your grandkids?

We recently spent a long weekend renewing friendships at a small reunion with my old “college classmates”. I use that term only the your familiarity, because I did not go to college, I went to West Point, which has a passing similarity to college, in the same way that a Sunday drive in the country is similar to the Indy 500. I like to say we did not matriculate, we were institutionalized. Anyway, the Long Gray Line has a way of instilling lifelong friendships, so it was great to get together and share stories, learn of life’s twists and turns, and just talk. Because of our shared experiences, we all feel very comfortable around each other and easily fall back into an openness which belies the years apart.

As enjoyable as old, lifelong friends can be, nothing bests family, especially grandkids. Lately I have spent mornings constructing an awesome rollercoaster, taking a canoe trip down the Little Miami river, and having an epic water gun fight, all with my oldest grandson, Ian.

It is a simple joy, but simple pleasures are most often the best. It is hard to pack missed months together into a week or two, but we plan to take advantage of our newfound leisure time to visit more frequently. We are blessed in that Ian’s other set of grandparents live nearby, so even if we miss him, he does not lack for grandparental attention!

Next up, a mini-family reunion and a visit to “the Shrine.”

Tlaquepaque and Tonalá

Most everyone who visits Guadalajara finds their way to two famous shopping locales called Tlaquepaque and Tonalá. Both were once small towns near Guadalajara, but as Mexico’s second largest city sprawled out, it subsumed them. Each retains some of its original character, but seem now to be just neighborhoods in Metro Guadalajara.

Tonalá (“Tone-ah-LAH”) was traditionally an authentic artisan location, full of small shops and factories making unique arts and crafts. Tlaquepaque (“Tah-lock-ee-pock-ee”) was similar, but slightly more upscale, with more recognized artists, restaurants, and retail stores. Over the years, many of the artisan shops in Tonalá have moved, some to Tlaquepaque and some elsewhere in the region; they have been replaced by a potpourri of small shops selling a mixture of just about anything.

Tonalá has no organization: you’ll find a ceramics store next to a religious figurines place across from a glassware shop, and then the same odd mixture on the next cross street. The streets remain open to traffic, so one need be cautious in window

shopping. Some streets and the area near the plaza have stalls selling their wares, creating a tianguis or market atmosphere. Tlaquepaque has a pedestrian zone lined with upscale restaurants, galleries, and numerous boutiques for high-end jewelry, couture, or objet d’art. If you wander off the more touristy path, there are still remnants of the original artisan workshops.

Our good friend Lorraine showed us around on visits to both “towns” as we sought some authentic Mexican dinnerware. One thing she mentioned time and again was how much each place has changed: both are more commercial, more touristy, and less authentic than in the past. We eventually found a real ceramic factory (Ceramica el Palomar) off the beaten path in Tlaquepaque. The owners literally “turned on the lights” in their showroom for us; they weren’t expecting any walk-in traffic. After we exchanged pleasantries and explained what we were looking for, they offered to take us on a tour of the factory behind the showroom. We found a nice set of dishes, each individually signed on the back (with a symbol) by the artist who made them.

Our pattern: you can see the artists “fish” symbol on the mug

If the name Tlaquepaque seems oddly familiar, it might be because you have visited Sedona, Arizona. On a trip there last year, we found an upscale arts-n-crafts mall called by the same name. Life imitating art imitating life, as it were.

If I had to choose between Tonalá and Tlaquepaque, I would spend the time and money in Tlaquepaque. If you want to have a real Mexican market experience, you should go to the Mercado Libertad, but that is the subject of another post, another day!

it’s not a trip without a restaurant visit: Judy & Lorraine

Where in the world…?

So if you are an expat, occasionally you will have the opportunity to “return home” to the US of A. For us, that involved a drive from Ajijic to the border, which we just accomplished. While “all’s well that ends well” is certainly the case, the trip was not uneventful.

The drive from Ajijic to the border at Laredo is about 11 hours, so you might end up driving at night (or at least dusk) in Mexico if you try to do it all in one day. Nighttime driving is a big no-no south of the border, just because livestock graze along the highways, and nothing says “stop” like coming across a cow looking for better grass in the middle of the cuota (toll road)!

So we drove to Monterrey and staged there for the next day’s assault on the wall, err, I mean the border. Tip for Lakesiders: the City Express Hotel Norte next to the airport in Monterrey is a great choice: under $50 US, clean, next to the main road north to Laredo, with a few adjacent restaurants. Our first day’s drive was uneventful, with the exception of a severe rainstorm we eventually outran.

Our second day went differently. We made it to Laredo by 10:00, but there was a 90 minute back up at the border. Even our Waze app (highly recommended) abandoned us, as it tried to take us across a closed bridge. Judy was driving the first vehicle in our convoy, and of course she got the border patrol officer who wanted to do a full car search, uncovering her “stash” of contraband, which you and I would call bottles of Limoncello made by Benedictine nuns. Fortunately, she just had to pay import duty, and we went on our way.

We made it to US highway 59 outside Laredo. If you like driving, you owe yourself a trip to Texas just to drive on this take-off/landing strip which pretends to be a highway. Several hundred miles of two-lane pavement (with ample shoulders) with regular passing lanes. Flat and straight as an arrow. 75 miles-per-hour, and the only people in uniform you will see are US Border Patrol. Oh, and this part of Texas has plenty of nowhere, as in you might not see anything beside the road beside scrub brush.

Things were going well but running late as we approached Houston. Texas had not properly welcomed us yet, so it chose this time to do so. We saw some ominous clouds, and then as we were just an hour outside Houston, we met a literal wall of water: a true Texas-style storm. It was like driving through a waterfall, or driving inside a carwash. This caused the native Texans to slow to almost 60 mph, and yours truly played along. I always say seeing is overrated when it comes to driving!

Judy kept up in the chase car, although all she could see at times was my emergency blinkers disappearing in the mist. We eventually made it to the CarMax in Houston. They processed my Toyota FJ in about ninety minutes. Car-selling tip: check out CarMax even if you are not trading in, but take along an “instant offer” which you can get online from Kelly’s Blue Book. This ensures you get a fair price. Since my car is sought after, they made me an offer AND did their own double check on Kelly’s, then said they would match the Kelly’s price, which was greater than their offer or my original Kelly’s estimate.

An hour of Houston rush hour traffic later, we made it to our hotel in Baytown (east of Houston on I-10). We were one car lighter, had some US change in our pocket, and were safely across the border. Now I just have to stop saying “Buenos Dias” to everyone.

Villa Infantil

We really looked forward to getting more involved with hands-on charity work in retirement, and now that we are there, one of the charities we most enjoy working with is Villa Infantil. The Villa is a local orphanage run by some Mexican nuns. They have a nice compound on the south side of the lake, about one-half hour from our house. There are about 35 children at the home. Every one of them has a heart-breaking story, but in most cases it has the happy ending of them being at the Villa. Our parish helps by (among other things) collecting supplies and groceries once a month, running an annual fundraiser, and holding a party for those children who have a birthday each month.

We attended the birthday bash this month. The event began with Mass in the chapel, where we got to enjoy the children singing and high-fiving Father Basil as he processed to the altar. At the end of the Mass, the children orderly exited one row at a time under the watchful eyes of one of one of the Sisters. One of the youngsters, Santiago, gave us a guided tour of the premises. The younger children were thrilled with some large marbles thoughtfully provided by a volunteer; some of the older kids played games like t-ball or catch with an American football. Once the lunch was ready, the kids took their seats and we served them hamburguesas with potato chips. We all sang Happy Birthday and ate cake, then each child with a birthday that month got a set of presents again provided by volunteers.

You’ll never see kids happier with a toy, a game, or a ball and a chance to play catch. Whatever joy those children felt, I bet all the volunteers would agree with me that we had “the better part.”

Español, por favor

One challenge every expat faces is “what to do about the local language?” Do you just ignore it, speak English very loudly, and hope for the best? Do you learn a few phrases, so you can ask for another beer, or where the restrooms are, and just get by? Do you rely on Google translate and hope we get the Universal Translator before you croak? Do you just keep trying through experience and osmosis to pick up the language? Do you go online and try the free or pay language training sites? Do you take language classes in person?

We always assumed we would learn Spanish, just to be comfortable in our new home. We both have foreign languages in our past: I spoke German and some French; Judy also spoke German and had four years of high school Spanish. We thought we would find some immersion training in Guadalajara, since it has a major university and is known for immersive language training. However, most of the immersion training is aimed at college students, and we weren’t interested in moving into a dorm for six weeks (imagine that!).

We found many great language aids online. YouTube is full of decent instructional videos. We weren’t partial to Rosetta Stone, but we did like Synergy Spanish and look forward to following Destinos when we learn a little more vocabulary. We really like free apps like Memrise or sites like Spanishdict.com, which can really help with practice or training aids. Judy has done a great job putting new vocabulary words on flashcards on Quizlet.

In the end, we needed more structure: we learned many phrases and short questions/answers, but we weren’t learning the language. So we decided to try a local language school, Olé México. We meet three times a week, for 1 hour and 45 minutes each class. Our class is just four students and one teacher, so we get ample opportunity to practice speaking.

We started with the alphabet and pronunciation drills, and then began conjugating regular verbs. We keep adding vocabulary by learning sets of words, like directions, or adjective pairs (strong/weak, short/tall), or noun groups (Mom, Dad, Son, Daughter, Family). We just tackled the ever-difficult “when to use Ser versus Estar” lesson. For those who don’t know, Spanish has two different versions of the English verb “to be”, and they are used for different qualities of “being.” Ser is for essential characteristics, and estar is for more transitory characteristics, mas o menos.

I always heard from language teachers that Spanish was the easiest foreign language for English-speakers to learn, because many words translate almost directly (like anything ending in -ion), and in Spanish the vowels and consonants have only one sound and you sound them all out.

Our teacher, Nadia, has done a great job. We enjoy lessons where she asks us to describe our favorite actor or singer, and the class has to guess who it is. We just finished describing our extended families. Or sometimes she asks us a basic question like “where were you born?” and then asks us to describe the differences between that place and where we live now. It is a lot of oral practice, but we can already see a difference in our language capabilities. We can hold basic conversations with merchants, exchange pleasantries with people we meet, and at least make ourselves understood, even if we don’t always know the correct terms.

Perhaps I will try out a dual language post in the not too distant future!

Mexican Water Torture

I thought about titling this post “leaks and dirty leakers who leak them” (apologies to Al Franken) but then I realized some might mistake the topic for something which goes on far too often in Washington, DC, and that’s not the case at all. No, today I am covering the neverending story which often accompanies life in the tropics: leaks during the rainy season.

Most people know that a tropical deluge can represent several inches of rain in a single day, followed by more of the same the next day in the rainy season. We’ve had several nights of rain in a row recently. We have a mostly flat roof, with a gently sloping surface that feeds run-off spouts which let the water fall directly next to the house; since we have no basement, there is no need to worry about flooding a lower level. The roof is treated with a water-proofing cover that resembles asphalt paper, and the more decorative sections (like the cupolas) have a painted stucco exterior over a waterproof fiberglass material covering the brickwork.

Over the course of time, that constant flow of water wears down the waterproofing, and cracks form, letting water into the house. This is not the major crisis it would be north of the border. The interior is brick and stucco, the floors tile; there is no wood, baseboard, or wallboard to absorb moisture, be ruined, and require replacing. So the key is to sop up the rain and get the crack sealed; too many leaks in the row are nature’s way of telling you to reseal the whole roof.

So I am sitting at the table, surfing the web one morning, and I hear the pleasant hum of rain outside. But in among the rain-sounds is an occasional “thump.” It sounds closer, and not at all natural. Unless you consider the sound of water dripping from your ceiling onto a custom-made Spanish leather storage chest “natural.” Yes, we had a small leak above the windows in our cupola, which was dripping on the furniture. It was in such an out of the way place, we even developed some mildew,

since we did not discover the leak until several rainy days in a row generated enough moisture for it to leak down into the ceiling and fall. We called Jorgé the repair guy, who dutifully patched the cracks and resealed the cracked areas of the cupola.

and on the corners of the boveda ceiling

Several more days of rain revealed more cracks, and more repairs. Now we have been two rainy days without leaks, so perhaps we are done. We’ll re-evaluate whether to replace the entire sealant on the roof when the rainy season ends.

Looks like the neighbors are repairing, too

If you have ever had a serious roof leak, or worse yet water in your basement, you know what a drill it can be. Leaks are a fact of life here, but more of an inconvenience than a major deal.

Nuestra Casa

I continue to experiment with this medium. I trust the photos I include are getting better, or at least they are all now “right side up!” Now I am tackling video. I apologize up front for the resolution: while I could take the video in HD, getting it uploaded to the cloud and then onto this site was impossible. I filmed it in HD and then retrofit it to a lower resolution to make it fit, but I think it is still pretty viewable.

For those considering visiting, consider this a preview. For those who aren’t, see what you’re missing!

Enjoy!

Where do they get their groceries?

When my dear wife and I travel, we often play a game where we look at some small, out of the way hamlet and ask “where do they get their groceries?” Sometimes the answer is just around a corner, where we pass a general store, but often there is no obvious answer.

Here in Mexpat land, there are several obvious answers. First off, we have mega-chains like Costco and Sam’s in Guadalajara. We also have traditional supermarkets, including a Walmart here in Ajijic and a Soriana next door in Chapala, and another called Mega near Guadalajara. All of this retail infrastructure would be very familiar to any visitor from NOB. While prices at these retailers are good, they are not the budget-friendly option in Mexico. Places like SuperLake stock the usual local foodstuffs but also exotic imports–at a mark-up–for the expat crowd.

Next there are the small specialty stores: the butchers, the bakers, the tortilla-makers. These are generally small shops run by families and marketing a very specific product. Again, not unlike the American market 50 years ago, but here the small retailers were never run out of business like they were so often in the States. Today in the States, these small shops are usually high-end or boutique retailers, while in Mexico they are budget-friendly providers.

One variation on the specialty shop is also one of the more unique retail operations in Mexico: the “guy-with-the-truck.” We can track the Dairy Guy, have heard rumors about the Beef Guy and the Fish Guy, and we absolutely rely on the Coffee Guy. These entrepreneurs load up their specialty wares and stop at specific locations on specific days, where you can walk up to their trucks and purchase your food. Somewhat like the food truck movement NOB, but for the raw ingredients, not finished meals.

Another retail form are abarrotes, literally grocers. These are mini-general stores, usually run out of the first floor of the home or even a room in the family’s casa, and they stock the usual suspects: things in constant demand by locals at very low prices. They are ubiquitous.

Finally, the most important retail operation in any village or town is the tianguis, or market. Usually set for a given day and deconflicted with neighboring towns (so if you miss your tianguis, you can take the bus down the road and visit the next village’s tomorrow), tianguis are a melange of fresh fruits and vegetables, snacks, toys, electronica, carry-out meals, pets, you name it. The tianguis is as much a social event as a shopping trip.

The tianguis is a cross between a farmer’s market and a county fair. It sprouts up once a week, transforming the street in the process. Wonder how the stalls get the power to run their cooking or entertainment devices? If you enlarge my photos, you’ll see an multiplug stuck into an extension cord leading up the stone wall. Somebody climbs a pole and hacks into the overhead electrical wiring!