Culture – Pat the Expat

Thoughts on immigration

From an immigrant, emigrant, and expat, but not a refugee. Cue Tom Petty:

Few things get my goat more than people talking about immigration without any experience or understanding what they are talking about. I’m talking about people making broad generalizations (Trump, 2015: “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. […] They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people.” I’m talking about people citing the words (“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”) of a poem placed on the base of the Statue of Liberty as a fund-raising gesture to pay for its completion, and treating it as constitutional law. Get a grip.

I’m an immigrant. My status under Mexican federal law is residente permanente (permanent resident) and I am covered under El Instituto Nacional de Migración (INM), which means legally I am an immigrant because I am someone who has come to live in their country. The United States could consider me an emigrant, because I have chosen to live in a country other than the one where I am a citizen. I am still a citizen of the United States and the State of Ohio (O, H, oh, never mind). I pay all applicable federal and state taxes. I vote. I have a driver’s license (actually two). I did not move for any political reason: I simply found a place I thought my wife and I would really like to retire to, and we do. We have no intention to live anywhere else.

Long ago, people only left their homeland because they had to (refugees or deportees, which by-the-way was the original Latin meaning of expat). Modernity created a push-pull among people seeking a better life for themselves and their children. The Western Hemisphere in general and the United States in particular welcomed such people . . . but always within limits. If you know American history, there are cycles where immigration soars until the resident population reacts, then the tides reverse for a period. Long ago, all of this was legal: the law allowed people to stay and become citizens if they simply made it into the country. At times when the nation became concerned, it could become illegal to do the exact same thing. So please don’t suggest everybody came to the States in the same way.

I choose to be called an expat because it better describes my situation, not to demean anybody else. It galls me when the same people who tell me what pronouns to use try to tell me I’m a racist/class-est/whatever-ist because I choose to call myself an expat. Just honor my chosen noun, like you insist on others pro-nouns. The difference I see is I neither reject my former country nor wish to join my present one. It’s a unique happenstance of modernity that this option is available to people, but it is real. People walking up the Central American isthmus to come to the United States want to become citizens there. If you offered it, about half the world would accept the honor. That’s a big difference between an immigrant/emigrant and an expat.

As an expat, I abide by all the laws of both my country of citizenship and country of residence. There is no escaping US taxation, legally. I am enrolled in Medicare even though it does me practically no good. There are places I can’t go based on US State Department guidance and federal law. I carry a green card, the proof of my Mexican residency, with me at all times. I can be asked to display it even by the tránsito cops who do nothing but enforce traffic laws (or collect bribes). It’s no more an imposition than carrying my US passport when traveling abroad, so don’t lecture me about autocracy and “papers, please.”

My rights as a permanent resident in Mexico are enshrined in the Mexican federal constitution. Read that as you will.* All residentes must avoid becoming involved in Mexican politics. I know American expats who love to protest in public against the current American administration, but don’t seem to realize the possibility if the Mexican federal government wants to side with that administration on some issue, you might be involving yourself in Mexican politics. Ignorance is bliss. Better to avoid it all.

There are gringos who came here when Mexico had no way of keeping track of visitors, decades ago, and simply stayed. Occasionally, they are caught up in a sweep and deported back to the United States or Canada. There is no sturm-und-drang, no Nazi references, no protests. You can’t just come to a country and live there, no matter how peacefully, just because you want to. Many federal police here carry long rifles (you might know them as “assault weapons”) and wear face masks. They aren’t the Latin Gestapo, they are hiding their identities from the cartels. Funny how that works (and for the record, the Gestapo never wore masks: they didn’t need to). They all seem very intimidating until you see a convoy of Guardia Nacional, masked in trucks with crew-served automatic weapons, stuck in a traffic jam and being ignored by all the Mexicans driving around them.

Now on to compassion. Some of my brother-and-sisters-in-Christ (Christians) like to chastise (not literally) those of us who don’t seem sufficiently compassionate to people arriving undocumented, as they say. They cite that Statue of Liberty poem (irrelevant), several Old Testament verses (where do they stand on the rest of the OT?), or Christ’s command to love one another. That last one is indisputable as a command to be compassionate to (i.e., “suffer with”) others. But there is nothing compassionate about encouraging someone from a different and strange culture to uproot themselves from it, travel thousands of miles endangering themselves and their family, all for the better job of mowing your grass, doing your laundry, cleaning your home, or caring for your children. Sorry, that’s not the story Christ was telling.

Likewise, the Holy Family weren’t illegal immigrants/undocumented (they crossed no international border, needed no papers). The Good Samaritan isn’t about government policy, it’s about your personal responsibility. Recall that Jesus told the story to respond to an expert in the religious law who wanted to justify himself . . . funny how people today cite it today to . . . justify themselves. Pot meet kettle. The Good Samaritan didn’t rush to Jerusalem to lobby for universal health care; he simply took care of his neighbor. Anybody wishing to sponsor immigrants with housing and jobs and taking responsibility for them? God bless you. Or forever hold your peace.

I recently had another (yes, it’s happened before) person on social media call me a racist “who was simply afraid to live among all those brown people” (her words). I probably enjoyed too much explaining to her that I live as the palest-of-the-güeros among a nation of what she terms “brown people.”

“It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt”

— a paraphrase of Proverbs 17:28

One of the staunchest American voting blocs for strict immigration enforcement is recent legal immigrants. These are the people with the most in common with those illegal or undocumented persons seeking the same advantages. Are they anti-American? Are they racist, or xenophobes? No, they’re just people who have gone about and done the right thing, and resent others who don’t. Nobody likes a line-cutter, but they only cost you a little time. Illegal immigrants have many other costs, costs born not by those same people arguing in their stead.

As an immigrant, I am very pro-immigration. Done correctly, I think it enriches the immigrant and the nation welcoming him/her. There needs to be vetting, limits, rules, and enforcement of each. It amazes me when people act like all the “legalized” immigrants (a temporary status granted by an administration) are completely vetted. How does the US government vet a person from Somalia, where there is no government? From Venezuela, where until recently, the government was antagonistic? From China; do I need to point out they might not have our best interests at heart? Really?

There is no law without enforcement. And when enforcement has been lax, its reinstatement will seem harsh. That’s where America is today. It can’t simply go back to lax enforcement, nor to endless bureaucracy (more judges!), nor opt for an amnesty which just resets the clock on an intolerable situation.

But if you don’t have skin in the immigration game, have a little humility toward those of us who do.

* By the books, the Mexican Constitution is very hard to change, almost as difficult as its famously-intransigent US cousin. In reality, it is one of the most amended existing governing documents, with over 750 article changes since it was promulgated in 1917, and six times as many words as when it was written!

Power & Consequence

As an expat, I write frequently about how much we enjoy this lifestyle: living in a different culture (a less expensive and less acquisitive one), still full of new things to learn, new people to meet, new places to see. We know it’s not for everyone, and that’s fine. If we didn’t love it, we wouldn’t still be so happy after eight-and-a-half years as expats!

This is not one of those times. We recently had a few, shall we say, challenging experiences I wish to relate. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m going to complain, but rather, shed light on something common to expats that may go missing in the glossy pages of International Living or the TikTok feeds sent to you about the glories of expatdom.

Late last year, for absolutely no valid reason at all, my state of Jalisco announced it was invalidating all old licence plates and replacing them with new ones. Actually, they did state the new ones had a QR code embedded in them, but some of us already had such codes on our old plates. The good news was the turn-in and replacement would happen over the course of the entire year, in an orderly fashion (right!) based on the last digit of your current plates. The better news (from the government’s perspective) was you could pay in advance online for your new plates, your required annual registration, and your emissions inspection, all bundled together at a discounted total price. It was good news for the government because virtually no one went and got emission inspections, so now the government at least got you to pay extra, whether you ever went and got your emissions inspection or not. I give them credit: that part was clever.

The bad news for the rest of us was the “orderly fashion” turned out not to be so. People due to change plates early in the year reported long delays, because the new plates weren’t ready to be issued yet. The website we were supposed to use didn’t work at first, then it only worked with FireFox browser (who knew FireFox was still around?) Or you could go to the clothing shop next door to the recaudadora (DMV) office–and no, I am NOT making this up–and the woman there could use her desktop to make your appointment for a small fee.

Others reported a quintessential problem of Mexican bureaucracy: the petty bureaucrat at the recaudadora. The government specified what you needed to bring in: proof of residence, proof of identification, proof you paid online, and your original factura (the original sales receipt for your car, which passes for a title down here). That last document is a real challenge: there are many types, based on whether you bought new or used, and you’re never supposed to have it in your car, as the paper itself proves ownership: if someone steals your car with the factura in it, they can claim it’s theirs!

Those necessary documents are pretty straightforward: here’s where the pettiness comes in. Original and one copy, or just original? Copy on both sides, or one per page? How many forms of identification? Copies in black and white or color (the latter being considered a sign in Mexico of potential forgery, so . . .)? I guarantee you, whatever set of copies you have, they’re incorrect.

I let the matter rest for most of the year, until I saw about one-quarter of the cars on the road with new plates. Then I saw some online posts that the system was more regular now, so I figured it was time to bite the bullet. I downloaded a Chrome Extension to run FireFox, accessed the website, made an appointment, and made all the appropriate copies (or so I thought).

But wait, ¡hay mas! as they say down here. We arrived for our appointment to find that citas (reservations) are just a thing, not real. You get in line like everybody else. I noticed while we waited that about two-thirds of the people trying to get new plates were turned away: not a good average. At least it wasn’t a gringo thing: the pinche burócrata was treating the poor Mexicans in line just as badly as he would soon treat us. We dutifully arrived at the front, where the official told us we needed copies of our Permanente cards, not passports, and a different form showing we had already paid. Strike One. He sent us to the helpful office around the corner where another enterprising pair of women had set up a copier and printer to help us. We made new copies and printed another receipt. “Nope, copies too dark, and this still isn’t the correct receipt” he told us. Strike Two. We didn’t have any more options for receipts, so we retreated to eat a delicious lunch of sesame-crusted tuna, then home to lick our wounds and scour our receipts for the right one.

In the official’s defense, we did have the wrong receipts. In Mexico, when you pay an official fee online, you often get three or more documents verifying your payment, but some of them are just links to a different government website where you have to print out yet another form. You have to have just the right form, although ALL the forms show you paid the correct amount, and in fact you couldn’t even get this far in the system (if one wants to call it that) without having already paid the right amount. *Sigh* In our defense, we pointed out we used the helpful ladies the official pointed us to, so how come their copier wasn’t sufficient? He shrugged, called his boss over, who also shrugged. We left the line. Maybe next time. This was all just a reminder that humility and acceptance are graces in high demand for expats.

There’s the culprit, hiding in plain sight. Are all the wires supposed to be hanging like that?

All this happened amidst a power outage in our neighborhood. Seems Monday night, something went “BOOM” and we lost power around 1:00 am. By the time we woke up the next morning, defrosting was already happening. But such outages are not uncommon here, usually lasting a few hours, so we ate a larger than normal breakfast of things not likely to last and tried to resume normalcy, awaiting the return of la luz (literally light, more generally electricity). Except our community has a well, and a pump, and that requires luz, so we had no water in addition to no power. As I said, we’ve been through this before: we have a garrofón, a giant plastic jug full of 20+ liters of fresh water lying in wait, just in case. We have smaller reusable water jugs in every bathroom, for extra water to flush in the same circumstances. We have a gas stove top, so when the power is gone, we can take out the matches and still cook, old-school. We have fancy French presses, a high-tech/lithium-ion/one-shot espresso maker, and a small mocha pot from Italy, so coffee is always available, as long as mankind doesn’t forget how to make fire (or push the button on the portable espresso device).

So the first morning wasn’t so bad. Except it was only the first morning. Seems the power company, a federal utility that goes by the initials CFE (and no, there is no truth to the rumor it stands for Can’t Find Electricity) saw a blown transformer and repaired it, but they never checked to see if that fixed all the homes that had lost power. It didn’t, and our community were the lucky hold-outs. When recontacted the second morning, they snapped to, and we had power restored (with water) in just thirty-six hours. If you’re counting, that’s well past the “throw-everything in your fridge out” limit, but just inside the “throw everything in your freezer out as well” limit. Phew.

Why am I regaling you with this? Mexicans adjust to the frequent absence of water and power. They primarily rely on garrofónes, since they don’t have wells and municipal water systems are not always potable, which means not at all. The basic level of electrical use, meaning a small refrigerator, a small television, some lights, is practically free. And if it goes out, you can always call up a relative and go visit to recharge. Or do without (gasp!). That fridge usually contains only a few items, as mamá goes out to the local tienda or mercado a few times a week to get fresh foods or perishables, and liter bottles of Coke never go bad (or is that never get worse?). And there’s no giant (capable-of-hiding-a-corpse size) freezer full of things Costco convinced you to buy, either. Storms come (in the rainy season), the power goes, life goes on.

But for expats, power and water loss are a bigger deal. Luz is what brings in North of the Border (NOB) television and the internet via Starlink and TelMex connections. Expats have things like Alexa devices, air purifiers, air conditioning, music systems, treadmills, power garage doors, a host of kitchen gadgets, and an untold number of personal apparatus from cell phones to computers to tablets to ear buds to hearing aids to CPAP machines. No power is no bueno. As much as we try to adapt to local culture, most expats are NOT trying to become Mexicans, nor do they seek to mirror how the locals live. If we did, we’d be immigrants, not expats.

In the thirty years we lived in and around Washington DC, we only had two major power outages. One was Hurricane Isabel (2003), which felled so many trees we in suburbia were without power for three days. The other was two days without power when the transformer for our apartment building in Shirlington blew up. A minor outage of more than a few hours meant untold pain for the local power company, and they fixed things up quickly. In our eight-plus years lakeside, we’ve had three or four major outages, and many, many minor ones. Enough to convince me that reliable power back-up is a necessity here for expats, not a convenience. We’re scoping out some home power stations, in effect large rechargeable batteries which can pull us through the outages we have experienced with a full fridge/freezer, internet, and maybe even TV. They are not cheap, but they are dependable, and that’s the cost of peace of mind. At the rate I am replacing fridge food, it’s a bargain.

If you’re especially observant (and my friends are), you’ll note the common theme in this post: relying on big, government-run utilities or services generally doesn’t work well. If Dante were alive today, the Mexican recaudadora would certainly merit its own ring in the Purgatorio, if not the Inferno. And CFE doesn’t respond to customers because, well, it doesn’t have to. Somewhere in the United States today, there is some slick, young huckster telling people that what we need is government-run grocery stores and child care centers.

Yup, it’s going to work this time. What could go wrong? And that still isn’t the correct receipt!

Book Report: Mexico, Biography of Power

When we bought out current house lakeside, it came fully furnished, complete with a few books on the mantelpiece. One of these was a ponderous tome of 871 small-print pages, in English, with the title “Mexico, Biography of Power.” The work of Enrique Krauze, a famous Mexican historian and social commentator, it promised “a history of Mexico from 1810 to 1996.” As someone who loves history and wanted to learn more about my expat home, it beckoned. As a “busy” expat retiree with nothing to do but travel, visit family and friends, it daunted (me). This wasn’t casual summer reading. I like to take books along when we go on cruises, but this one would take up more than half of my carry-on! So I delayed diving in for a year or two, the work gathering dust in the space on my bookcase for things-not-yet-read.

Facing a two-week transatlantic cruise this year, I knew the time was ripe, so I dug into the first few chapters, then purchased an Ebook version for my Kindle, allowing me to continue reading without giving up essential cruise swimwear. As it was, I was able to read all through our travels in Europe and still have the last few chapters to finish with the hardback when we returned.

Krauze once opined that “all history is not biography, but without biography there is no history.” Mexico is a point in this thesis, in that its history is one of a series of strong men (until oh-so-recently, no woman had come near wearing the Presidential sash) personally imposing their views on the nation and its story, for good or ill. His work progresses from the War of Independence through the very end of the single-party state under the PRI, Partido Revolucionario Institucional, although when the book was completed the author was unaware that outcome was pending.

One of the themes of the book is the inescapable rise of a singular leader throughout Mexican history, which Krauze suggests is a legacy of both the tlatoani history of the Mexica (Aztecs) and the caciques of the Spanish crown. Eventually there arises a strong man to provide leadership and perhaps authoritarianism. While this parade of “great” men may seem quite common as a parallel to American readers and history, in Mexico there were significant differences. Without the famous “check & balances” of the American Republic, Mexico veers ever more so towards an all-powerful Presidente. And while violence is a common theme in both country’s stories, in Mexico the violence is consuming. So many of the contestants for leadership are assassinated, exiled, betrayed by friends, or killed while under arrest that the few who survive to a natural death are indeed exceptions to the rule.

After the multi-decade span of the Porfiriata (a dictatorship under Porfiro Diaz), these “great” men eventually settle on only one limit to their power: a single, six-year term of office called the sexenio. Their recompense is “el dedazo” (the big finger), whereby they “point” or select their successor, who is then (of course) elected. While this process developed under the PRI, it seems to be reviving under the current leadership.

Another theme is the gradual emergence of the Mexican raice, or race. In Krauze’s telling, the War of Independence is a revolt of the Criollos (Spaniards born in New Spain) against the Peninsulares (Spaniards born in Spain, living in New Spain). The nineteenth century invasions by the United States and France cement the rise of the mestizo (mixed race) segment of the population under the leadership of Benito Juarez, the first Presidente of indigenous origin. The Mexican Revolution was a final, full extension of recognition of all people, including the still extant indigenous tribes, as Mexican. This notion of a developing racial consciousness, albeit not based on skin color but ancestry, is only possible because while the Spanish conquest abused the indigenous peoples and discriminated against the mixed races, they eventually integrated all, unlike the North American model, which marginalized and virtually eliminated Native Americans.

This book also explained a historical dichotomy that had long troubled me: how was the Mexican revolution, which happened coincident with Russia’s and featured so many “socialist” ideas, not considered “Communist?” Mexico’s unique brand of institutional revolution does indeed parallel Moscow’s: single powerful leaders, a single-party state, expropriation of private property, open suppression of the Church, the creation of mega (and mega-corrupt) public utilities and sweeping public entitlements. But each of these grew out of home-grown concepts of the Mexican experience, neither Marx nor Lenin. There were Communist movements in Mexico, but they were as suppressed as any other party or foreign entity. Mexico developed its singular notion of non-intervention, which left it on the sidelines of the Cold War (and almost World War II), and while there developed a strange affection between Cuba and Mexico, much of it was based on the (misguided) hope Castro would turn out to be more nationalist than Communist.

One final very interesting point is the fact Krauze’s book was published just before Mexico developed into a true, multi-party democracy. Still, the tumultuous period of the early twentieth century eventually leads to Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador, (AMLO), the most recent “great” man who was first denied by the powers that be, then rose to destroy the PRI, only to replace it with his Morena party, which now controls the Congress, the Presidency, and the courts. Enrique Krauze, who is still alive and commenting on Mexico, has noted the consistency of recent history with his original thesis.

While this work is hardly a casual read, it rewards those with patience to persevere. Krauze brings coherence to the many revolts, wars, and violence that permeate Mexican history, and his careful attention to each succeeding leader makes the parade of unfamiliar (to me) names intelligible. His is a sympathetic take on Mexico, stressing the importance of “the revolution” as a living concept that guides leaders even today.

Thoughts on travel (2025)

Musings, observations, and other half-completed thoughts that occurred to me as we took a transatlantic cruise (Miami-Barcelona), stayed in Andalusia and Alicante (Spain), then briefly toured Rome on the way home (via London and Los Angeles).

I have no idea what this warrior is supposed to be doing; Spear-throwing?

The “tourists go home” movement is mostly theater. We visited the Canary Islands, Barcelona, and Sevilla, three hotbeds of protest against foreign tourists in general and apartment-buying foreigners specifically (we are both). We saw none of it. There are occasional protest events, but they’re scheduled and conducted for the cameras and local politics (this Sunday’s protests are an example). It’s not that there isn’t a real issue: lack of affordable housing is very real, as is over-tourism. The first is primarily a problem because Spain’s socialist government hasn’t tried very hard to increase home/apartment construction since their economy imploded back in 2008. Now they have a huge backlog, and too much demand, not enough supply. And the other part is Spanish property owners changing their rental units to tourist rentals. Who wants to rent to your fellow Spaniards when they can invoke unwise renter protections and live rent-free for years while you try to evict them? Whose problem is that? The tourists? Foreign owners represent a single-digit percentage of Spanish properties. And everybody knows that Spain is riding an economic wave right now at least partly fueled by tourism. So expect a lot of press noise and political posturing, but just love from those you meet on the street.
I’ve complained every year in these posts about the growing slovenliness of travelers in general, i.e, adopting American-casual as appropriate attire. It’s official. In the Year of Our Lord 2025, you can no longer spot an American using the usual dead-giveaways (until one opens his mouth). Baseball caps are ubiquitous on men of all ages. Shorts, too. Women in workout leotards. Both sexes with oddly-named collegiate attire (“Carolina U.” in purple?) or English slang prints (sometimes quite offensive, but I guess not if you’re not primarily an English-speaker). Europeans still get dressed up for things, but if they’re just walking down for a cappuccino and a croissant, they’ll look like they might be headed to Mickey D’s!
Modern technology has pretty much ended one’s ability to get really lost. GPS is always “watching you, watching you” as Hall & Oates sang. Google has mapped the entire planet, then photographed its streets, too. I’ve come to rely on Google for locations and times of operations for local businesses, especially bars, cafes, and restaurants. And it’s been pretty accurate in major cities. But we like to get out and about, to small cities, towns, and even villages. And there, the days and hours of operation, even whether the business is still in business, are all quite lacking. The businesses themselves don’t keep the data updated, and the locals who frequent them already know. So remember, Google may get you to that little bit of heaven cafe you seek, but whether it’s open or not? Only heaven knows!

Always the Commander; he needed guidance!

There is no need to pretend you’re a Canadian, eh! Europeans don’t generally bring up politics with strangers. We met many locals, in taxis, on tours, in cafes, and we were never shy about being Americans. Of course we had two advantages: speaking Spanish and being able to say we live in Mexico, which everybody finds endlessly fascinating, so there’s no need to talk about US politics. While Americans seem to enjoy immediately picking red and blue sides, other countries don’t. So if you don’t shove it (your MAGA-hate or -hat) in a local’s face, nobody else will care, either.
Transatlantic cruises are a real alternative to red-eye flights to Europe. You can scale your costs to your budget (inside cabin/no frills, balcony with drinks package, sweet suite) compared to economy/premium economy/first class airfare. Yes, you need to get back, eventually. But you do buy 10-14 days of leisure, a few ports-of-call, and minimized jet lag. For those with the luxury of time, it is a very attractive alternative. Caveats: don’t try to discover whether you like ocean cruises on a transatlantic one. The Sargasso Sea is no place to learn you have a landlubbers stomach (although they’ll have plenty of meds on board if you do). Do research the various lines, as their offerings are very different and aimed at different crowds. Transatlantic cruises will generally feature an older, more well-off clientele, that is, people who have the time (most importantly) to spend. But in general transatlantic cruises are less pricey (per day) than other cruises, because they are one-offs (the ship needs to get from here-to-there for the upcoming season).
The EU and UK have added new travel authorizations. These are not visas, which are legal permissions to visit. Long ago, western nations agreed to visa-free travel between certain countries to facilitate business and tourism. After 9/11, the problems with this approach were apparent. The US was first off the mark with ESTA, the Electronic System for Travel Authorization. The EU has been trying to initiate a similar system called ETIAS (European Travel Information and Authorization System) for a decade, and it’s still not in effect! The UK has rolled out its Electronic Travel Authorization or ETA. All of these are administrative reviews done online. You pay some money, submit personal/travel data, and get a response which verifies your data is tied to your passport and good for travel over a specified period (usually 2+ years). The processes are simple and should be quick, as long as you haven’t been naughty, traveled to odd locations, or have a name like Bill Bin Laden. Anyway, what do you need to know? You need to complete the process before you travel! And it may apply to transit at airports, too. We were returning from Rome via London/Heathrow, and neither the government, the airport, nor the airlines could assure me we would not leave the secure area of the airport to make our connections, so we could technically “enter” the UK and need ETA. We got it (instantly) as a precaution, and it’s good for two years. Better safe than sorry. When the EU’s ETIAS comes online, you’ll need to do the same for continental Europe. Be prepared! (Late update: the Heathrow Express bus ran between the terminals on the secure side, so we didn’t need our ETA at all. But if we had checked luggage, we might have needed it.)

We remain impressed with Spain’s national train system. It was one of the worst in Europe, but a few years back, the government stopped controlling the market, let in competition, and invested in infrastructure (courtesy of the EU). The results have been tremendous. You can get comfortable, high-speed train tickets for 20-40 Euros that take you quickly cross country. Most of the lines connect in Madrid, but even with the connections they are fast. We were just on a fast line from Madrid that clocked in at 299 kph (that’s 186 mph!). There are plenty of locals lines (cercanias), trams, a few subways, and of course many busses. On the high speed network, both Renfe (the Spanish national line) and Iryo (a Italian-Spanish consortium) impressed us. Comfortable cars, multiple classes, good service, even good food at the cafeteria car. We were less impressed with Ouigo (the French-owned alternative) which seems to have adopted the budget airline model of customer service. But all were quick and inexpensive. Pro-tip: if you’re visiting Spain and moving around, skip the airports and use the train. Just book your tickets early, as there are huge discounts for early booking and the trains do fill up. Second pro-tip: if you take a high-speed train, your ticket is good for local travel before/after the main ride (ie., getting to/from the train station on other trains/trams or connecting between trains).
Maybe everybody else knows this, but here goes in case someone doesn’t: we like keeping up with the news/shows we watch regularly while we travel. So we bring a long our Firestick and remote, then plug it into the smart TVs every hotel/rental has. It updates automatically to the new television, then brings up our channels, viewing apps, etc., all as we like it. Perhaps it’s just because we use YouTube TV (not YouTube, which is different) on the Firestick. But I’m betting other streaming devices and providers have similar options. It’s a nice touch of home, and takes up very little space (about the size of an electric shaver). Don’t forget an international plug adapter!

You say Seville, yo se Sevilla

Our two-week sojourn in Andalusia is coming to an end. We based ourselves in Sevilla (say-VEE-ah), better known in English as Seville. Our small (50m2) apartment was next to Santa Maria la Blanca church, at the edge of the old Jewish quarter (judería) in the old town. Literally in one of those tiny alleyways the city is famous for: the first thing our taxi-driver told us was how he couldn’t get us there (too small).

Those teeny pedestrian alleys are a feature, not a bug. Temps hit over 38° Celsius while we visited (100° F!). Out in the sun, you quickly realize the importance of . . . not being out in the sun. But hit those alleyways, and the shade includes a blast of cool air, as the winding passages not only keep the sun/heat out, they channel winds like canyons do naturally. Pro-tip: navigate the alleys during the days, even if they take longer, because they are far more confortable.

Cathedral, alcázar, horse-drawn carriages, and tourists, all-in-one

Our apartment location was perfect: fifteen minutes (or less) walk to the Cathedral, the train stations, the Setas, the Triana market, just about everything. Sevilla is an eminently walkable place,and what extra exploration we wanted to do was available by tram, a very limited subway, or an excellent train system (local and high-speed).

This trip we wanted to settle in and enjoy the local rhythms (so to speak), while checking out neighborhoods in case we want to set up a home-base here. So we had no tight sight-seeing schedule, but rather tried to simulate living (vice visiting) here. We did decide not to try cooking too much; while the apartment had a basic set of kitchenware, cooking anything beyond the most simple dishes would have been too inconvenient (for the chef and the dish-washer). That and Sevilla is famous for its tapas bars, so why not?

Casa Morales, a tapas bar favored by locals (but known to tourists, too)

I’ve seen estimates there are more than 3,000 tapas bars in Sevilla. Having walked the town for two weeks, I think it’s an undercount. As you may know, tapas probably originated in Andalusia, most likely as free snacks placed on small plates atop drinks (to keep the flies away). In many places in Spain, tapas remain this way. But tapas in Sevilla evolved: they have become a cultural tradition. They are not free. They come in different sizes (tapas for one, raciones to share, plato for a meal). They highlight local delicacies and fusion of different cuisines.

And they are delicious! Carrillada (beef or pork cheeks) and rabo del toro (Bull’s tale) are slow-cooked, savory, and fork-tender. Every kind of fried fish, including things like cod, squid, octopus, cuttlefish, anchovies and dogfish. Pringa (pork stew) on a sandwich! Spinach and garbanzos, a warm, flavorful side dish, and of course, jamón iberico. These thin slices of the most succulent pork one can imagine, salty and sweet (some are only fed acorns), and accompanied by a surfeit of local cheeses. The servings sizes may be small, but the flavors are immense and quite filling. We regularly planned more tapas than we would order, and sometimes even more than we could eat.

Tried to take a long-resolution photo, but we ate too fast. Had tuna tartar, patatas bravas, and tuna brioche

We tried to meld our normal daily schedule with Spanish approaches. Breakfast (desayuno, literally “de” as in ending and sayunar as in fasting) is small here, usually a coffee and perhaps a small, sweet pastry. Late morning, Spaniards will have a snack (almuerzo), often some toast with olive oil and/or tomato rubbed on it (very good). Lunch is a big meal, often eaten in groups, where plates of tapas, etc., are shared. There can be another round of snacking (merienda) in the later afternoon, with dinner (not usually a big meal as in the West) not before 8:00 or even 10:00 pm! We had a single, big breakfast of coffee, fresh bakery items and pan con tomate, did some sight-seeing or neighborhood recon, then hit a tapas bar for one-of-everything, por favor. That was it for our eating day (we gave up eating dinner a few years back, which neither of us miss), although I usually had a little merienda in the afternoon.

Funny thing about tapas bars: we made a point of getting to some of the more famous ones, but every one we went to was between good and great. Businesses, especially food businesses, take great pride in their offerings here. Heck, the snack bars at the train station had better-than-average food. So you don’t really need to squeeze into a reservation slot at La Bartola, just walk around and follow these rules:

Start at any major tourist sites and walk away from it, using the smallest street you can find.
Look for places with no English-language menu offered.
Look for places which do advertise their seasonal tapas or a “menú del día.”
Select the place with the most locals eating there.
Ask the waiter “que me recomienda” (Kay may reck-oh-mee-END-ah”) to get their advice.

Never fails. And don’t be too strict in applying these rules. In a very touristy town like Sevilla, many local places have started putting English-language signs up (as they work for nearly ALL tourists). And maybe there aren’t any locals in the bar because it’s not local eating time. Be flexible! We did eat at places like La Bartola (we even walked in without reservations and only a short wait), and it was also very good. Sadly, such places have become “Insta-fodder,” overrun by younger tourists trying to be totally themselves by doing what everybody else is doing on social media. #signofthetimes.

I tried my wine experiments yet again, with great results. One is to just ask for the vino de casa (house wine) which is usually very nice. The other is to walk into any supermarket, go to the local wine section, and pick the first bottle I see. This trip it was a local red blend called Mucho Más and it was . . . excellent. For E3.50 (about $4.00 USD). Priceless.

We took a food tour, which by luck turned into a private tour with just us on it. Since we had already visited once, and already knew much about Andalusian cuisine, we spent more time talking about living in Seville and other cultural points. Our guide pointed out that while most people know to try pan con tomate for breakfast, the locals go one step further. Take your toast and give it a solid dose of extra-virgin olive oil. Let it set for a minute. Then, instead of simply rubbing on tomato puree, pour on Salmorejo, a cold, tomato-based, rich soup full of garlic. This local delicacy (Salmorejo) is beloved as a refreshing break from the meat-heavy tapas menus, but I never would have thought of it for a breakfast topping!

As for touristy things, we did visit las setas, a very recent (2011) all-wood art monument resembling giant mushrooms. The lower level has a small museum with some ancient artifacts uncovered during the construction, the ground level with shops and cafes, then a top level with a very good observation point over the city, albeit a trifle pricey (E16@). Some say the view is especially fantastic at sunset, and there is a light show on the Setas once dark sets in. Pro-tip: it doesn’t get dark before 10:30 pm in tourist season, so plan accordingly!

The people give a “little” perspective on the immensity of the structure

We also attended laudes and mass in the altar mayor (main altar) in the cathedral. It’s free for those wishing to worship, but worth the ticket (and audio guide) just to take in the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. The security folks gave us the side-eye when we said we wanted to attend services, and they did hover nearby throughout, making sure no one tried to otherwise enjoy the setting in a touristy way. Necessary if not welcoming, but understandable nonetheless. I did sneak a photo of Christopher Columbus’ tomb, camouflaging it as a photo of one of the priests at our mass (mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!)

Critóbal Colón, held aloft by four kings of España!

Other sites worth visiting are the Archivo de Indias, which contains all the Spanish correspondence about the New World during the age of exploration. Ever wonder why Brazil speaks Portuguese and mostly the rest of South America Spanish? Blame the Pope and the treaty of Tordesillas, which divided the entire world between Spain and Portugal. The records of the Conquistadores? All here. Free to visit, too! Nearby is the Torre de Oro, a small former watchtower which contains a very nice Spanish naval museum (they did win at Lepanto, after all, if not with the Armada) and views of the city for a small donation.

Our verdict on Sevilla? Very friendly, very easy to get around, very delicious. Oh, and very hot, even in mid- to late-May. Excellent hub as a home base, but still a little pricey for apartments. We liked the suburbs of Dos Hermanas, close enough for a ten-minute local train service. Jerez de la Frontera (whence the fortified wine sherry gets its name) is much closer to Cádiz, and also very enticing, but seems a little far afield. Our biggest concern is the heat. No one wants to be trapped in an air conditioned apartment from 1000-1800, or longer. The heat is so oppressive it reminded us of a winter visit to Quebec City where we simply walked from café to café downing chocolat chaud. Here the opposite extreme: I started drinking the local lager, Cruzcampo, just because it was cold! This was an extreme heat event, and it made the local news. But as we all have experienced, such “rare” events are becoming more common.

We’re headed east to the coast to try that out next!

A Very Concrete Metaphor

We’re on a European trip and we had the great pleasure to spend a day and night in Barcelona. We chose a hotel just a block from the Sagrada Familia Basílica, and a room with a view thereof. Spectacular. I’m sure most of my friends are generally familiar with the story of Atoni Gaudí (1852-1926) and his plans to build Sagrada Familia. He started in 1882, and it’s nearing completion today. Some of his ideas for construction had to await new technologies to be realized. The Basilica itself somehow escaped destruction during the Spanish Civil War (1936-39), when most churches in Catalonia were ransacked and destroyed, and even Gaudí’s original plans were burned. As I watched the daylight settle on the almost finished structure, the view itself changed before my eyes. Gaudí designed it to highlight different parts depending on the time of day!

And then it struck me that I was witnessing a very concrete metaphor for the Catholic Church itself. The more I probed, the deeper the connection presented itself.

It is the work of millennia, not yet finished and perhaps never will it be. Begun before electricity became commonplace, sons have become grandfathers working to finish Sagrada Familia. And yet it still needs more work to realize its master’s vision. Asked how faithful Catholics can remain so when confronted with whatever outrage presents itself, we respond, “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen!” We are not promised perfection (or completion) in our lifetime, only in eternity. If you do demand it, you expect too much.

It is beautiful, for its own sake. How many times have you heard someone say, “wouldn’t it have been better to spend all that money on the poor?” Folks who mouth those words may not know they are quoting scripture, as Judas (who wants to play that part?) scolded Mary (of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus fame) for “wasting” a year’s wages on perfume for Jesus’ feet, and Jesus replied: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (John 12:8). Yes, we could melt down the Statue of Liberty for scrap, or sell off all the works in the Met and feed the hungry. But for all those hungry for food, there are even more hungry for beauty. Everyone needs beauty in life, and all should have their fill (not just those who can afford to visit the Metropolitan Museum!).

It is always in danger of becoming that which it is not. The Basilica is a House of God. But you can’t really visit it to pray. There are certain “free” masses, but the tourist groups fill them before the lines can even form. Sometimes you can wrangle some time in the crypt church, but otherwise you buy a ticket. This is understandable as the structure is a quite spectacular tourist attraction. But Saint Peter’s is more so, and free. The Duomo in Milan is similar in stature, and you can still enter to pray or attend exposition, gratis. Much like in the days of Martin Luther, the Church must constantly be on guard lest it become too this-worldly, and not enough other-worldly.

It is permanent, yet constantly changing. The Catholic Church has been in a battle with modernity since around the beginning of the twentieth century. After the famous Vatican II ecumenical council (1962-65), many outsiders (and some Catholics) expected the Church to “get with the times,” as in change fundamental doctrines. That it didn’t happen has been a sore point ever since for those who expected it to. But the Catholic Church has something called the Deposit of the Faith, and the Pope and his fellow Bishops are responsible for safe-guarding it, not changing it. Doctrine can “develop,” but the authenticity of any developments is demonstrated by how the fundamentals remain the same after the “change.” Gaudí’s towers and spires look amazingly different in the morning and evening light, yet remain fixed physical structures; thus it is for the Church, too. There are other places which welcome a more flexible, with-it vibe. Peace be with them.

It is a compromise between an eternal vision and an earthly reality. The immensely high towers could not be constructed from the materials available when Gaudí envisioned them. Money ran short, time and again. Adjacent structures had to be razed, dispossessing their owners. Progress was retarded by both the Spanish Flu (1918) and the Covid pandemic (2019). Construction exhausted a stone quarry in Montserrat, and England came to the rescue. The Church proceeds, always two steps forward and one step back, always trying to reconcile human frailty with Divine mercy and Divine justice.

It can be used and abused, for good or for ill. Millions are moved simply by the sight of it. Thousands swarm its perimeter, hawking everything from bird-calls to kitschy, plastic Jesus souvenirs. It inspires spontaneous prayers and premeditated pick-pockets. Just so the Church has been a refuge for sinners and swindlers, a hospital for the sick and haven for scoundrels.

It is a temple “not made by human hands” yet of this earthly domain. Gaudí’s design is organic. Its spires and columns resemble trees stretching up from the earth, ending in branches and grape clusters and sheaves (you know, “bringin’ in the sheaves”). It somehow appears to have grown there, rather than placed there as so many other edifices do. Yet its complicated history suggests it was placed there, just not by Gaudí, nor any of the builders. So, too, the Church which endured Roman persecution, barbarian invasion, schism and Reformation, crusade and jihad, Nazism and Communism, state capture and modern indifference. There it stands, demanding your notice.

Thus shall it ever be.

Pope-the-Expat!

The announcement from the Vatican of “habemus papam!” was a moment of mixed emotions for me. On one hand, we were on our way to Europe and would be in Rome soon enough. Sadly, the Conclave of Cardinals couldn’t wait. The Gospel (good news, after all) is they found a most excellent alternative, and the world was spared from Pope Gonzo I.

We were on a transatlantic cruise, watching a live satellite feed as the white smoke billowed from the temporary chimney atop the Sistine Chapel. Listening to the breathless coverage of talking heads filling time, waiting for the Papal doors to open, I heard one commentator read the lines the protodeacon would say to announce the new Pope. First, the famous “habemus papam,” Latin for “We have a Pope!” Then the statement of the full baptismal name, preceded by the word for Lord, “Dominum.” I listened intently for that keyword, as the protodeacon continued ” . . . Dominum Robertum Franciscum Sanctae Romane Ecclesiae Cardinalem Prevost.” Recognizing the latinization of the American name, I turned to Judy and said, “it’s the American, Prevost!”

Like most of the world, we were shocked. Catholics had generally believed American Cardinals were not “papabile ” (Italian literally for “Pope-able” or more correctly “Pope material”) because it was thought to be unwise to pair American political power with Vatican moral suasion. The Holy Spirit, apparently, thought otherwise.

Frank: “do you get the feeling everybody is looking at us?” Earnest: “Yeah, and it’s creeping me out!”

There will be a rush to assess and even claim Pope Leo XIV; it’s already on. I think we can safely say two things. First, Chicago-style pizza is clearly better than New York-style (at least according to the Holy Spirit. Sorry, Cardinal Dolan). Second, no one knows anything about who Pope Leo XIV is.

Time changes all men. None of us are the same as we were as teenagers, or even as young adults. Careers change people, getting married really changes people, as does having children. But none of these fundamentally changes a man like being elected to the position of “the Servant of the Servants of God,” one of the nine official titles of the Pope. Think about it. You only need to be (1) a man and (2) a Catholic to be Pope (yes, even I am technically qualified). I thought you had to be celibate (i.e., unmarried in Church terminology), but that is only a discipline, meaning it is currently a rule (Bishops cannot be married, and the Pope is Bishop of Rome) but can be changed. Peter himself was married. Yet to accept the blessing/cross and step into the shoes of the fisherman (an unofficial title of the Pope), one must accept that you alone are God’s agent in shepherding his most Holy Church and all its people–in fact all people everywhere, Christian or otherwise–to Heaven. That changes everything.

In the coming days we’ll hear from his brothers (‘we wanted to play hide-n-seek, he wanted to play “priest.”‘), his former parochial school teacher (‘he was a quiet, “A” student’), probably even his first girlfriend (he went into seminary instead of high school, so that’s a long-shot prediction). The priests and faithful from his diocese in Peru will weigh in, as will his fellow Augustinians. Some bishops, too, will recall recent dealings with him. It’s all very interesting, especially for me: we share a faith, a region (Chicagoland), a time (1960s-70s), and a persuasion (expatriates). I haven’t discovered whether he’s a fan of the Fighting Irish, yet, but I remain prayerful it is so.

And it’s all irrelevant, because it’s all about Richard Francis Prevost, and he’s Leo XIV now. He’s not managing the appointment of Bishops anymore, or supervising a diocese or an order. He’s the Vicar of Christ. His say is final on all things of faith and morals, at least for Catholics. And his views on any other subjects require the due respect of all Catholics, and demand consideration around the rest of the world. It may be odd for those who don’t believe in such things, but rest assured, Leo XIV does so believe!

What can we say about the man, Richard Francis Prevost? He is of the Augustinian order, named for those religious who follow a set of rules formulated by the great Catholic theologian Saint Augustine of Hippo. I have to laugh when skeptical, non-believing friends deride theologians as “people who argue about how many angels can dance in the head of a pin.” Perhaps they have never read Saint Augustine, who could have (in fact did) dismiss the arguments of people like Dawkins, Atkins, or Hitchens before lunch without breaking a sweat. The Augustinians are known primarily for their teaching and missionary work. So we should expect a man well-read, well-informed, and down-to-earth.

As an expatriate, then Father/Bishop Prevost spent decades outside the United States, primarily in Peru, where he eventually became an Archbishop. He is fluent in at least Spanish and Italian (probably others), in addition to his native Chicagoan (listen for the “flat a” sound). He is very familiar with the developing world and the different set of challenges therein. No one forgets the world in which they grew up, but some experience other worlds, too. As an expat, he is one of those, and he will have a broader perspective as a result.

Others describe him as an excellent manager. Pope Francis chose him, first to head his order, which is spread around the world, then to head a diocese (in Peru), and finally to head the Dicastery (office) of Bishops in Rome. That’s a lot of trust in his management skills, and must have resulted in success, because that trust kept growing. In the last of those jobs, he was one of three individuals (the others being the Pope and the Vatican Secretary of State) who routinely met with all the Catholic Bishops. Not only was that incredibly important in a Conclave where eighty of the voters were there for the first time and needed name-tags to know who was whom, it tell us something more important. Those voting Cardinals knew him, not just as a name, but as someone with whom they had dealt. I guarantee you if his hallway file (rumor mill) was that he was ambitious, or proud, or hard with which to work, they would not have quickly settled on him. Likewise, the Curia (the permanent bureaucracy in the Vatican) knows him and apparently respects him.

Among Catholic pundits, he had a reputation as doctrinally sound, cautious, yet open to the Spirit. He shared Pope Francis’ love for the poor and marginalized, but none of his predecessor’s impromptu manner. That was good enough to place him squarely in the pro-Francis camp, while not antagonizing those who were more theologically conservative. He staked out very stable, very traditional positions on gay marriage, homosexuality in general, gender issues, and the impossibility of woman deacons or priests. That is his record as Bishop, but remember, as Pope Leo XIV he may change, either way. For all the progressive (political) bluster about Pope Francis, he never varied far from traditional Church teaching. Nor can any Pope, really. Media types and opportunistic activists always overstated the significance of things like Pope Francis’ “who am I to judge” comment.

In case I haven’t written that full story before, here it is:

Quoting Pope Francis for “who am I to judge?’ is like quoting FDR as saying “we have to fear fear, itself.” Why? The quote is truncated in a way that is directly opposite of what was said. The original quote came in relation to a question about a then-serving Vatican priest, who had been accused of being involved in a homosexual relationship many years before. Pope Francis said “If a person is gay and seeks God and has good will, who am I to judge?” The phrase “seeks God and has good will” is left out, but it is not a throw-away line. In Catholic teaching, it means aligning oneself with the teaching of the Church fully and completely. In this case, the priest in question was living a celibate life, rejecting a homosexual “lifestyle.” He demonstrated “good will,” and thus the Pope was very doctrinally sound in saying “who am I to judge?” But of course this was very consistent with Catholic teaching (‘hate the sin, not the sinner’) and did not represent any change at all in Catholic doctrine.

How is this for a job description? “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock, I shall build my Church. And the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys to the kingdom of heaven. Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

People will pore over Pope Leo XIV’s opening words and actions for clues as to where he intends to lead the Church. He wore traditional Papal garments, not Francis’ humble ones. He first mentioned Christ, always a preferred reference point for Holy Fathers. He repeatedly mentioned pacem (peace), so there’s one theme. He specifically praised Pope Francis and Synodality, the openness of the Church to new forms of governance, so that will continue, albeit possibly with some changes. He mentioned bridge-building, which is de rigeur for a man with the title Pontifex Maximus (Supreme Builder of Bridges). He finished off asking for grace from the Blessed Virgin Mary, completing a full tour of Catholic doctrinal touch points. Omitting any of these things would have been noticeable; including them less so.

Some will also ponder the meaning of the Papal name: Leo XIV. What does that mean? Like so many things, it is best to wait, as he will probably explain why he chose that name. Pope Leo XIII (Pope 1878-1803) was famous for following a divisive Pope Pius IX, and he brought normality and peace to the Church and world. He issued a very foundational encyclical called Rerum Novarum that established Catholic doctrinal support for workers, unions, fair wages, and decent working conditions, yet also established the equally important principal of subsidiarity, the notion that solutions must be enacted by the lowest possible decision-level (one often overlooked by Catholics supporting large government programs). The new “American” Pope chose the same name as a namesake who coined a unique heresy called “Americanism,” which we know today as “cafeteria Catholics” (i.e., choosing which sets of doctrinal rules to obey, or “being a Pope of one’s self”). Who are we to judge? 🙂

Before the “extra omnes” (Latin for “Everybody out” as the Conclave began, and I want to open a new email account with that address), informed observers noted the Church was riven between those who wish to push forward with even more changes “in the spirit of Vatican II” and those who wish to reconsider the ecumenical council against a “hermeneutic of continuity.” If those terms sound confusing, don’t worry, they are Church terms meaning, roughly, theological progressives and conservatives (not to be confused with political ones). But that divide had many cross currents.

Everybody loved Pope Francis’ way of reaching out to the poor, his humanity. His brusque demeanor with priests or Bishops with whom he disagreed? Not so much. Most agreed with opening up the Church to new insights and perspectives, but not those which directly question core (i.e., non-negotiable) tenets of the faith. And no one benefited from doctrine tossed out like quips on airplane flights. For the past twelve years, some who study the Church have sought to discover “a Francis effect,” meaning tangible evidence the Pope’s message was resonating in a way which fostered more, deeper, Catholic faith. It was never found. The Church grew rapidly in the parts of the world with the most conservative/orthodox leaders, even in portions of the United States. While the Pope received plaudits from former Catholics and legacy media (e.g., the New York Times), it never translated to butts-in-the-pews. A recent (anonymous) survey of new Catholic priests in America couldn’t find a single new priest who cited Pope Francis for fostering his vocation, while many still cited former Pope Benedict and Saint Pope John Paul II.

So what would I predict? I think the Conclave electors sought someone who can manage the Vatican, which has serious financial and organizational challenges. That may seem small or petty, but it’s a serious issue, and no one else can do it. I think they wanted someone who could continue Pope Francis’ legacy of welcoming all, while insisting on the Truths of the Catholic Faith as handed down by the Church. It has to be both. I think they wanted a leader who was not just open to new voices, but also heard the voices of his fellow Bishops. I can’t imagine how hard it was to sit in a listening session at the recent Synod, forty years of canonical experience and deep theological reflection behind you, and get lectured by someone in jeans and a t-shirt about what Jesus really meant when he chose men to be his apostles. The Church has a long history of laypeople speaking out, even correcting Popes, but not every lay person is Saint Catherine of Siena! Finally, I think the Cardinals wanted someone who would speak the truth fearlessly, but not extemporaneously. Catholic doctrine is hard enough to teach, harder still to understand, dreadfully challenging to live by. Making it sound less certain is worse for all concerned.

What do I think? The electors got exactly what they asked for. The Holy Spirit is funny that way. We all do well to follow where it leads.

The Central Mexico Wine Region

Most people have heard of the Valle de Guadalupe, the up-and-coming Mexican region producing some excellent wines. It’s within an hour or so of San Diego, in the otherwise harsh climate of the Baja Peninsula. We visited there and wrote about it here. We just took another local tour, this time visiting the towns of Querétaro, San Miguel de Allende, and Guanajuato, located in the central Mexican Highlands. This was a trip focused on the vinícolas, or vineyards, and we had only passing walking tours of the towns themselves.

In the area around Querétaro (pronounced kay-RET-ahh-ro), we visited Viñedos Azteca and Freixenet. We were struck by how developed the wineries were with respect to tasting and tourism: each had impressive facilities with grand entrances, restaurants and tasting rooms. Clearly they were anticipating a large and growing tourism business, as otherwise the compounds seemed out of place in rural Mexico. Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc were the primary wines here, but others were also in production, as the region is still in the experimental phase. The wines themselves were a mix: some good, some less so, but the overall experience was pleasant due to the well-organized tours and tastings. We stayed at the Casa de la Marquesa, a history-filled hotel smack in the middle of the old town area. Sadly, we didn’t have much time to explore the history of the town, which was important in both the war of independence and the revolution. Clearly it merits another visit!

La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, on the plaza in San Miguel de Allende

Our second stop was in the famous San Miguel de Allende, another expat hot-spot. We certainly experienced the infamous San Miguel effect: walking uphill to arrive at a destination, than returning whence we started and (seemingly) walking uphill again! San Miguel is significantly more populated than the Chapala area where we live, and the town has more of an artsy, haute couture feel. Both Judy and I had the same reaction: the centro is Georgetown (DC types will understand)! The centro area is filled with gringo-friendly (if pricey) shops and restaurants, and is surrounded by large Mexican neighborhoods. We had a spectacular breakfast at a restaurant called Moxi, where the chef is (apparently) of Michelin-star quality. The food certainly was.

Around San Miguel we visited the Dos Buhos, Tres Raices, and San Lucas wineries, with many of the same tastings results: amazing locations, uneven (but overall acceptable) wines. The highlight here was a wine pairing dinner at Los Remedios Hacienda, located in a tiny pueblo (called San Pablo, I believe). Here we had a memorable symphony of good wines, paired with a series of delicious dishes, in an unmatched setting. The vineyard is centered upon a redeveloped 16th century hacienda, wherein some of the original buildings and walls remain. Unforgettable. As for San Miguel? We could see what attracts so many expats, even if it’s not the place for us.

Strain your eyes at the top center and you’ll make out El Pipila!

Our final brief stop was Guanajuato, a onetime silver mining town along the Camino Real (royal highway) in Mexico. Built among a series of steep ravines cut by rapid rivers through the rocky countryside, today it’s known for colorful casas, favorite son Diego Rivera (famous 20th Century Mexican muralist) and its university. The town is visually stunning: parts straddle the high ridges, other parts cling to the canyon-sides. Everywhere are well-maintained, colorful houses and buildings. The raging waters that once brought death and destruction have been literally buried, and their former courses replaced with winding roadways! Likewise, old silver mining tunnels now function as roads through the steep hills, complete with pedestrian walkways (but no lighting!). I would caution that although I am comfortable navigating most cities with Google Maps or Waze, Guanajuato was an exception. Many times my apps would tell me I was standing in the middle of a highway, when in fact I was standing 200 feet above a buried one! I would caution against driving in the town, even only to avoid severe parking shortages.

The Basilica, just one of many picturesque Spanish colonial vistas!

Guanajuato has a real college-town atmosphere, and loads of history. Most striking is the story of El Pipila. Born Juan Amaro in 1783, he had birth defects which gave him a funny stride, and a suitable nickname among his fellow silver miners: el pepila (“the turkey”). At the outbreak of the war for independence, the Spanish leadership in Guanajuato barricaded themselves and their families in the local grain storage site or alhondiga, a large, fortified building which would allow them to hold out until Spanish troops arrived to relieve them. The insurgents could not breech the walls, but El Pipila placed a slab of rock on his back and maneuvered–under fire but protected by the slab–to the main door, which he set on fire. The insurgents surged forward, and proceeded to slaughter everyone inside. When the Spanish crown authorities retook the city and initially crushed the rebellion, they decapitated the four leaders of the insurgency and placed their heads on the four corners of the building! El Pipila became the archetype for the rebellion, which despite so many setbacks, eventually prevailed. El Pipila survived the war and went back to mining silver.

Our time was so very brief here, but the town is enchanting, and well worth spending more time for the history, the culture and the annual Cervantes international celebration.

We had a great time touring the vineyards and walking the towns. The climate was pleasantly moderate, the people friendly (although ingles was only common in San Miguel!), the entire area safe. Best of all, there were many opportunities to see Real Mexico.

La Posada

Literally, it’s an inn, a place to find shelter for the weary traveler. But it’s also a tradition, brought by the Spaniards to the New World, and an adorable one at that. As the octave of Christmas begins (eight days before), neighborhoods collect themselves and plan their posadas. The point of the posada is to memorialize the visit by Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary to Nazareth, where they were turned away several times before finally finding shelter in a stable.

It’s typically the women and children of the community who organize and run the event. They pick a starting place a few blocks away. They choose which houses to stop at, and which house to end at. They decorate the route and of course the final stop. Children are chosen to play key roles: there is a José and Maria, of course, various angels, a devil (always nearby in Spanish culture and celebrations), shepherds and a group of children with festive clothes and or staffs. If someone has a donkey, it will be pressed into service. Some of the costumes are elaborate, some rudimentary; we saw store-bought halos and staffs made from old broom handles.

The Posada begins!

Maria and José lead the procession, and the children begin singing a song about the first Christmas story. When they reach a designated house, the owners come out, and the crowd and owners engage in a singing call-n-response, the crowd asking for shelter on behalf of the Holy Family, while the owners explain “there is no room at the inn.” This continues for a few houses until they arrive at the designated inn, where the owners eventually agree to let in the group. They serve a snack (often tacos), the kids bust-up some piñatas (candy for everyone!), and a good time is had by all.

Each barrio in the village chooses a different night, and sets the routes. It’s low key, local fun. We marched along with the kids and moms for a while, two tall (six feet) gringos in a sea of locals. We were amazed at how the traffic on the carretera stopped instantly for the entire procession to cross. Even the roof dogs seemed to know barking at this throng was not required. We did have to dodge a rooster and his hens who were quite put out by the size of the group.

All in all, a fun Christmas experience void of commercialism and retaining some part of the original story. Feliz Navidad!

Drone-steria

Imagine you’re sitting on your porch one night, sipping a cold brew, and you see some lights in the distance on your street. They blink, and appear to be moving. They come closer, then the light source turns suddenly and the lights disappear from view. The lights return from another street, and then they stop, just far enough away you can’t see a car, just lights. You’d wonder, “what sort of damn fool is driving like that?” You get out your million watt, survival, combat spot/flashlight, point it toward the lights, and turn it on. The target lights go dark just as suddenly. You jump up and start walking toward where you last saw the lights, but they’re not there. You see them in the distance, speeding away. “Crazy kids,” you mutter and return to your beer.

The next night you see the lights again, only this time you’re sure it’s a car. And it certainly is acting suspicious. It drives around your neighborhood, avoiding any people out on the streets, but seems to back track and turn around randomly in people’s driveways. Lights on, then suddenly off. You call the police, and they seem dismissive. “Yes, we have other calls from your neighborhood. What exactly do you want us to do? It’s legal to drive in your neighborhood. While the car’s lights are weird, they don’t violate any laws. You can turn around in anybody’s driveway, as long as you don’t stop and stay or block it. When we patrolled, we never caught the car driving without lights, speeding, or doing anything else illegal.”

Which is what we face today in America’s drone hysteria.

There are over one million registered drones in the United States, and their distribution largely mirrors the population (more in cities and suburbs, less in rural areas). Until 2023, it was illegal to fly them at night, but now it is legal. They have altitude restrictions (400 ft.), so they don’t interfere with commercial aircraft, and restrictions over certain airspace. Two drone enthusiasts were just arrested for violating the airspace restrictions over Boston’s Logan International Airport. But it is not illegal to fly a drone near a restricted airspace. And it is easy to fly near restricted airspace: if you Google up a map of US military facilities and critical infrastructure (power plants, pipelines, bridges, etc), you’ll see most of the populated areas of the country are full of such space. Believe it or not, private homes are not restricted airspace.

So what’s been happening in New Jersey (among other places) that can’t be explained by a batch of bad THC brownies?

One theory is the always popular space alien visitors. One can never rule it out completely, but there are problems with this explanation. First off, these aliens conquered the physical challenges of light-speed travel, but once they got here, they only have big, clunky drones with flashing lights to investigate us? Maybe this is an interplanetary Amazon run, so they could buy stuff (like drones) here?

The second theory is the just-as-popular secret government agency program. See they’re testing it over New Jersey, because the American suburbs are exactly the kind of environment they expect to be operating in when fighting China. Or maybe Al Qaeda. No, definitely the Houthis. Anyway, why test your secret program with bright flashing lights announcing “hey, this isn’t a secret!”

DHS Secretary Mayorkas demonstrated his usual level of candor and sophistication when he pointed out that some of these drone sightings were in fact commercial aircraft. Which is undoubtedly true. But which begs several questions: how many were commercial aircraft, and what about the others?

“They’re shooting at us, Ethel, get my shotgun!”

Eyewitnesses swear the drones could not be aircraft, as they conducted maneuvers no aircraft is capable of. Of course, that also cuts against the special government program or alien hypotheses, since most people are aware of how sophisticated commercial drones already are today.

A third explanation is more mundane: a stupid government program. Somebody low-down in the bureaucracy got funding for some drones, started testing them without getting higher level approval, and now they don’t want to come out and admit they’ve caused a panic. Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity (Hanlon’s razor)

And the fourth theory is drone enthusiasts doing what they like and enjoying the notoriety. One cannot discount some people’s need to be noticed, and if this is the case, they are getting way more than their fifteen minutes of fame. Did it start with maybe one or two enthusiasts, then catch fire? Was it coordinated? Doesn’t really matter, as long as they don’t break the law.

I have heard more than one conservative-type talking head ask why we can’t just shoot down the drones. I will write this slowly so such opinion-ators can understand: in America, we don’t just shoot people or things because they look suspicious. Actually, we do, but we regret that greatly. Anyway, the drone-downers were the same people going absolutely bananas when the Biden administration wanted to hire armed IRS agents. What, now it’s ok that DHS is shotgunning the sky?

And best of all: it will take about three milliseconds for the airline pilots of the world to refuse to fly in the United States if we ever start shooting into the sky. When I was in the Army, we practiced air defense, and we could never understand when our Air Force pilot brethren would insist we stop shooting before they flew through the area. The Army view was “big sky, little bullet.” The pilots didn’t buy it. There’s a reason no commercial aircraft fly near war zones, and if the US ever starts shooting down drones, that’s what we would have.

You’ve read this far, so you probably would care what I think. I tend to go primarily with drone operators getting their jollies. And a lot of mis-identification. The question I keep asking is, “why do people care?” As in, what do they think is going to happen? Do they think the drones are spying on them (you’re not that interesting, trust me, and everything you do is already available on social media or your phone)? If you came from planet Remulak, would you really choose New Jersey to visit on vacation?

If the government were secretly spraying some kind of radiation or anti-radiation mist (a very specific allegation out there), would it use bright flashing lights? Or would drone enthusiasts really be so narcissistic as to cause a panic just to get some attention?

I know which one makes the most sense to me. So have a beer, enjoy the show. If you get really annoyed, get a slingshot. If you do shoot one down, that would make a great social media story.