Culture – Page 19 – Pat the Expat

Win. Win. Win.

I saw an article in the New York Times yesterday that was interesting for several reasons. You can read it here. For those unwilling to click through, or who have used up their “five free articles” for the month, here’s the gist of the story. An American woman needing a knee replacement went to Cancun for the procedure, and the entire trip and all medical costs were less expensive than just the procedure stateside.

As far as that goes, it’s just another medical tourism story. But there are a few twists. First, the surgeon was a US doctor who was also flown down to Cancun just for this surgery. He was accompanied by a Mexican doctor and staff, including a bilingual nurse who helped translate the doctor’s instructions. Why did the doctor do it, on his day off? He was paid triple the US Medicare rate for his work, including expenses.

Second, the woman and her husband are middle class folks from Mississippi, and her care came under her husband’s coverage through his employer, Ashley Furniture of Wisconsin. So this isn’t some ridiculously rich patient, nor a gold-plated health plan. Yet the health insurance provider paid all the expenses for the patient and her husband to stay at a resort attached to the hospital for the day before the surgery and ten days after. Oh, and she got a $5,000 bonus for agreeing to participate in the program. How? The total cost for everything was less than 40% that of doing the same procedure in the States. So Ashley furniture has saved millions in the last three years by offering this option to its employees.

Third, the care team consciously exceeded the health and care standards of US hospitals, using extra sterilization equipment and accelerating the physical therapy regimen. Why? the entire program is managed by a US firm called North American Specialty Hospital or NASH, who makes all the arrangements for the travel (even passports), connects the doctors and patients, and even provides malpractice insurance for the American doctor in case of complications. NASH insists on exceeding US standards to mitigate patient concerns; it’s the same reason they arrange for a US doctor. NASH is a for-profit business that gets a flat rate from the insurers for its work.

Last, why a private, upscale Mexican hospital? The cost per night is only $300 USD, and the care staff was excellent. As the patient related in closing, she would gladly come back and pay, as she was treated “like family.”

What we have here is a wining situation. Average couple gets high quality medical care: win. Company saves millions of dollars on said care: win. Upstart firm makes money ingeniously by putting consumers and providers together in an innovative way: win. Mexico gets credit for the quality of its care: win. Even the American doctor made out well.

Granted, this is not the solution to America’s health care challenges, if only because some people won’t accept it just because it is different. But it does show how there are ways out of the health care mess which don’t destroy the system as it exists. We need more innovative thought–and less sloganeering–on health care.

Dogz in the Dellz

We’re attending my annual college reunion (the BrewDogs), hosted this year in the Wisconsin Dells. Our trip got off to a sputtering start courtesy of AeroMexico airlines and an unannounced, last minute flight change.

We had reserved a non-stop flight from Guadalajara to Chicago O’ Hare, a four hour trip arriving just after midnight. We were going to clear customs & immigration and stay at the airport Hilton, which is adjacent to the terminal. Three days before the flight, I checked our seat assignments and noticed most of the plane was empty. Judy asked me “they wouldn’t cancel the flight, would they?” “No,” I opined, “they probably have connections to make, and this flight does not show a history of being cancelled.” Just by chance (or the intervention of the Holy Spirit), Judy checked the next day, and informed me we now had a morning flight, twelve hours earlier!

No e-mail, no notice of change on the Delta App (their partner). A Delta rep on the phone tried to tell me they sent both of us e-mails on June 30th (neither of us received such an e-mail), and oh-by-the-way, why did the App still show the original flight on July 29th? What can you do?

We were able to make the necessary changes to take the earlier flight, and make lemonade out of the lemons by staying the day at the airport Hilton, enjoying the gym and the pool and turning a hectic travel day into something more pacific.

Panoramic view of ORD from the top floor of the Hilton

While we enjoyed ourselves, the costs were shocking. Now I know we’re talking airport prices, but $77 USD for a shrimp Caesar salad, a bolognese pasta bowl, and two glasses of house wine? Not to mention service with an attitude. The waiter approached, stood facing away from our table, and asked “what can I get you?” We weren’t sure he was even talking to us!

But that’s travel now, especially in overcrowded US airports. The better portion was spending time with old friends (a term I mean literally these days) in the picturesque Wisconsin Dells, catching up on life and just enjoying each other’s company. Yes, there was too much bacon and too much custard (a Wisconsin specialty), too much wine and too much beer, too much loud music and too much raucous laughter. How else would a gathering of BrewDogs be?

Catching up means hearing of bad news as well as good. There were stories of friends and family passing, illnesses discovered and jobs lost, all the things that inevitably confront us as the years and decades pile up. And the stories were related in the frank manner only possible among good friends, who have shared hardship in the past, and can quickly revert to a level of intimacy only reserved for those you trust absolutely.

As the tally of empty beer bottles mounted, conversation veered to the deep end of the pool, and more than one time we confronted the same question: “what the h#&*! is going on out there?” Liberal & conservative, politically active and un-involved, all agreed that there is something fundamentally wrong in the country. We didn’t come to any brilliant conclusions; there simply wasn’t enough to beer to reach that level of performance!

Yet we noted that while the world we grew up in was fundamentally flawed in many ways, it was collectively far superior to today’s environment. Furthermore, those past failings hadn’t been resolved or even traded for new ones: many were still in place, adding to our woes.

Was it the inevitable finale of the age of Aquarius, since doing you own thing usually ends in destructive individualism? Was it unfettered commercialism, turning citizens into consumers and changing all human relationships into a contractual zero-sum game? Did we get too tired and cynical to believe in self-sacrifice and the common good? Or were we led on by politicians, manipulated into warring camps more interested in power and might than in duty and right.

We have to face it: America has always been a violent, individualistic place. But once upon a time, other peoples looked on that as something a touch quaint, a little odd, perhaps even useful. We seem to have passed from character to caricature. Maybe I’m just ruminating in a virtually empty O’Hare airport at midnight, waiting for a flight home. But my college friends come from all over the country, from backgrounds as different as can be. We all seem to be ruminating alone at midnight.

American Travel Advisory

***SATIRE. This post is intended as SATIRE. If you don’t understand SATIRE, look it up in the urban dictionary (more SATIRE).***

I wanted to report back to all my amigos on my recent visit to El Norte (NOB, chant with me, “U-S-A, YEW-ESS-AY, YEEWWW-ESSSS-AAAAY…”). Putting the bottom line up front, it’s not safe up there, and I do recommend you postpone any travel there until it calms down, which could be several decades.

First off, while we were in Cincinnati, there were all these terrible storms that dumped rain all day, every day…what’s with that? The Ohio river started to climb its banks, but did that deter the locals from parking along the river? Not at all! And the TV weathermen kept interrupting the local broadcast to tell us it was a “Code Red” day and unsafe to breathe outdoors. Now I don’t know about you, but where I live, the air indoors comes from outdoors, so what am I supposed to do?

We survived that leg of the trip, but then we went to … South Bend, Indiana. Apparently the mayor of South Bend is running for Presidente de los Estados Unidos (does the Presidente of Chapala ever run for Presidente de los Estados Unidos Méxicanos?). Anyway, the Mayor is not at home, and the policía shot down an African American man (this happens a lot, apparently) and there were protests and shouting and generally bad behavior (not like a Chivas-Atlas match, but pretty close).

The night before we left South Bend, I was sitting in my hotel room, when my phone started buzzing, then my computer started alerting, then the TV weathermen interrupted the game, then the hotel management called my room to tell me to take shelter in the hallway because there was a tornado warning! Now I am a South Bend homeboy, so I know that you don’t hide in a bathtub/basement/crawlspace until you hear the train (el tornado) coming. So I was like “Guey, que pedo?” and waited for the weathermen to give up and get back to the game. Back in the day, we found out about the tornadoes when we read about them the next morning in the newspaper… “Cool, we didn’t die!”

So we decided to head to Baltimore to visit our nietos, and we had to drive a bunch of cuotas. They were really expensive, but we had this thing called EZPass (translates as easy-pass, but inglés, what the heck!) and so we should have been able to drive through the casetas without even slowing down. Except the Man was watching, and he didn’ want no permanentes driving through, so we had to stop at each toll-booth and hand our “EZPass” to the attendant, who ‘read’ it an handed it back and sent us on our way. What is “E-Z” about that?

We thought we would be safe near the ‘nation’s capital’ but there were four homicides and many more shootings in the DC-Baltimore area while we visited. I think the gringos need to practice more, because there seem to be many more wounded than killed. Back in Mexico, we get reports of someone killed with thirty-seven bullet wounds; in the States, there is “one person killed and thirty-six wounded.” Very poor gun control, indeed.

We were driving around, doing the American thing (driving around) in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, and there was all this traffic! And people were hurryin’ … we know, because they were beeping at my driving, because I was only going fifteen miles OVER the speed limit pulling into the shopping center at 2:00 pm on a Thursday, and what the f*$^&* was I thinking, goin’ so slow? Am I right?

One day, we went for a hike in a Maryland state park, and when we came back to our rental car, the back window was shot out with a BB-gun. We had “Massachusetts” plates, so maybe someone mistook us for a rival cartel. But who sells drugs in a state park? Eh, no problema, the rental car company gave us a Jaguar SUV to drive around in … but we were too scared to take it anywhere, ‘cuz we would get car-jacked.

See that little hole to the left?
This is what the rest of the window looked like

Everything goes so fast in El Norte! People move fast, talk fast, and no one better stand in their way. When we went hiking, we greeted people on the trail with “Good Morning!” and they looked at us like we were shouting “ehhhhhhh, puto!” Eventually they smiled, responded, and walked on, but they kept looking back at us as we walked away! Maybe it’s our accents?

We’ve been layin’ low, watching for la migra and the policía en general. I don’t know why we are watching for them, as we are legal visitors, but the news is full of stories about them, violent crime, random attacks, and general lawlessness. El Presidente Trump keeps talking about keeping out all the rapists and murderers, and it seems like they got plenty already, so maybe he’s right.

Here is my official travel warning: wait until the 2020 election to visit NOB. The people who aren’t high on oxycontin are wavin’ guns all around, and both groups seem to drive while drinkin’. Politics is an excuse for the very worst behavior…Americans haven’t learned to distrust all politicians like Mexicans do, so they start believing them, and then no end of trouble ensues. If you HAVE to travel, learn some basic phrases in English like “please don’t shoot me” “U-S-A, U-S-A” and “F$^*@ Trump” or”Make America Great Again” (be sure NOT to use the latter two unless you know which political cartel’s territory you are in!).

Above all, try to fit in: Drive very fast, talk very fast, only use plastic money, don’t greet strangers or make eye-contact. Americans are actually very friendly. When in doubt, compliment Americans on the size and cleanliness of their handguns; it never fails to break the ice.

Did I mention this is SATIRE?

That’s not funny . . . is it?

Anyone who has traveled and spent more than a few days in a foreign culture can confirm that one of the things that does not translate easily is humor. Our experiences as expats in Mexico only confirm this suspicion, although I think there are positive lessons to be learned from other cultures when it comes to humor.

Comedy NOB has become–as so much else–heavily politicized. You can laugh at the outrageous behavior on one side, but there are *crickets* on the other side. Meanwhile, a growing list of things once considered humorous are now off-limits: officially (and sometimes criminally) liable, offensive, and unforgivable.

Not so much in Mexico. Mexican humor is generally much sharper, politically incorrect, and fatalistic. There are a few topics which are off-limits to Mexican humor: national symbols (the flag, the anthem), some historical figures (La Guadalupana, Los Niños Heroes), and always, always, ¡SIEMPRE! anybody’s mother. There us nothing in Mexico equivalent to “the dozens” up north. Most everything else is available for ridicule.

Start with nickknames, or apodos. I am not talking about those which come with your given name, like men named Jesús being called Chuy, but rather the ones given you by your friends or family, and often due to a physical characteristic. So you might call your friend gordo because he is/was fat (or maybe very thin), chapo (shorty), tartajas (stutterer). Yes, the characteristics can be somewhat crude by NOB standards, but are not meant or taken that way in Mexico. Knowing someone’s nickname and using it is a sign of inclusion and affection, even though the names might not always sound that nice.

Joking about sex is becoming more common, if only among the younger and less cultured. However many Mexicans enjoy the double-entendre, or albures. These word-plays can be subtle or blatant, and may involve food. Be careful if you are ever asked how you like your eggs (huevos) or chiles. If your answer elicits smiles, you might be the accidental victim of an albur.

Death or tragedy is definitely on-sides for humor. Our Spanish teacher told us about a young Mexican entrepreneur who launched a video game about saving those trapped Chilean miners…while they were still trapped! As he explained, it wasn’t because they were Chilean…he would have done the same if they were Mexican! If you follow this reddit link, you’ll see a video of a float in a Mexican parade. The float is for the local search and rescue team, who stand (on the float) in a simulated demolished building. Watch closely, and you’ll see a bloody arm waving from under the rubble! This is, after all, the culture that brought the world calaveras, (literally skulls), short poems predicting the amusing, ironic, or poetically just way someone (at times rich or famous) will die.

Calaverita about a suegra (mother-in-law); do you really need it translated?

And of course, there is the famous story of the Mexican fans chanting “ehhhh, puto” at the World Cup. This vulgar chant (I wont give you a translation, just take my word for it) is very common in the Liga México, but FIFA threatened and then fined Mexico because its fans would not stop chanting it during every goal-kick. Despite pleas from the team and the government, the chant only grew louder, and continued. Eventually, FIFA gave up.

Clearly the whole crowd…

and the Mexican commercial which followed, when FIFA gave up trying!

Most Mexicans insist that while the word has several–all vulgar–meanings, the chant is in jest, and therefore permitted. Look at any YouTube video, and you’ll see this in play, which illustrates the Mexican view: it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. Said with a smile, even a slur becomes nothing more than joke between friends.

This is a universal principle. Even in English, we understand the difference tone, non-verbal cues, and context make. If a man greets a woman-friend with a simple “That’s a nice dress!” it would probably be taken as just a compliment. Change the response to “That’s a NICE dress!” with an eye-roll on NICE and you have a coded insult. Change it to “That’s a nice dreeeeeesssss!” with a leer on the last word and you have a harassment case. “That’s a nice dress?” with a verbal uptick on the end and you have an implied difference of opinion on the very concept. The words remain the same, the message varies greatly.

Mexico applies this same concept to humor. NOB, certain terms have become so politically incorrect that they are forever banned. Perhaps this reduces the frequency and hurt of offensive statements, perhaps not. It certainly makes people more wary. I will bet somebody reading the last paragraph thought “why should a man even be commenting on a woman’s dress?” Point made!

The need for humor to grease human interactions is eternal; words come and go. “Gay” was a slur before it became the title of Pride Marches. Irishmen calling each other “shanty” or “lace-curtain” was the beginning of many a fatal brawl, once upon a time. And don’t even begin to delve into the never-ending debate on the rules concerning use of the “N-word” within, and outside, the African-American community. Even the word “gringo” which simply derives from the concept of someone you can’t understand, falls into this category.

Words can hurt, no doubt. Yet they have only as much power as we give them. And no one wants to live in a humorless world. Just remember, “smile when you say that!”

The border gate swings both ways

I saw an article in the WaPo (“The little-noticed surge across the U.S.-Mexico border: It’s Americans heading south“) last weekend which provided some detail on the growing trend of Americans moving to Mexico.

Of course, the WaPo writer couldn’t help put a political comment in the article, quoting the mayor (that would be Presidente) of San Miguel de Allende saying, “Despite the fact that Donald Trump insults my country every day, here we receive the entire international community, beginning with Americans, with open arms and hearts.” Looks like no topic can be discussed without covering the Trump angle. And just as inevitably, the comments section (I know, I know, NEVER read the comments section!) was full of MAGA fanatics with useful comments like “if Mexico is so great, why are 100 million Mexicans trying to come here?” Sigh.

The bulk of the article had useful data on the trend. It seems to be driven by three sources. First, there are those 10,000 baby boomers retiring every day, and they have to go somewhere, and they don’t have much in retirement savings, and Mexico is cheap. Next are the numerous (600,000+) children of Mexican immigrants who were born in the States and have dual citizenship; some are returning to Mexico. Last, there are younger people who have internet-enabled work, and they (sometimes with family in tow) can live anywhere, and they choose Mexico.

How many total, and of each group? Nobody knows. Mexico has only a rudimentary capability to track arrivals and departures. Like the US, they do a good job at airports, not so much anywhere else. Mexico is implementing a more thorough system which would also work at the land/sea borders, but perhaps mañana. Mexico estimates 800,00; the US embassy in Mexico City says 1.5 million. The embassy estimate is probably based on STEP enrollments (NOTE: if you are an American expat living in Mexico, go online at the link and enroll in STEP; it helps the State Department keep track of you in case of emergency/natural disaster), so even that figure is probably an undercount.

Where are they? They are all over, but the largest concentrations are in Puerto Vallarta (35,000) Lake Chapala (20,000) and San Miguel (10,000). These totals are primarily the retirees and young internet workers; the dual national are spread all over, often based on from where in Mexico their families originally came. PV is a beach city of almost 400,000, and San Miguel has 100,000, so the expat totals there are noticeable but not dramatic. The 20,000 expats around Lake Chapala, a number which swells due to snowbirds, represent almost a third of the Mexican population in the municipality.

The WaPo article focuses on San Miguel de Allende, which has been the “hot” expat destination recently. The article does a good–if brief–job of describing expat activities and challenges. It also points out that the Mexican federal government is starting to take note of the advantages, and implications, of the growing American presence south of the border.

Despite all the negative press and unfortunate political commentary in Washington, Mexico remains both the top tourist destination for Americans (almost 37 million in 2018, and increasing) and the top expat destination. Just think what the numbers would be if the American media didn’t give non-stop coverage to violence and corruption!

Vampiritos!

Little vampires, but not to worry, they are the delicious kind, one might even say…succulent. Sorry, couldn’t resist.

We ended our series of local day trips by driving home along Lake Chapala’s south shore, through the village of San Luis Soyatlán. It is a tiny strip along the main highway with a few parallel streets both lakeside and mountainside, not unlike Ajijic. However, it is a pueblo real, not a mestizo gringo comunidad like Ajijic. In my experience, San Luis Soyatlán is mostly known for being a place with a carretera that is barely two cars wide, so when trucks navigate it, or when anybody stops to shop on the main street, a “one-way-at-a-time” backup ensues.

But why would anybody stop on the narrow main street, knowing what happens? And what are they stopping for, anyway? Well we found out.

Vampiritos. Little vampires, as it were. It seems San Luis Soyatlán is the birthplace of a refreshing Mexican cocktail that is now famous across the country: the Vampirito. The Vampirito begins with sangrita (itself a mix of OJ, tomato juice, chile, salt, and lime) poured on ice. Then they add a custom mix of grapefruit soda (called Squirt), more fresh-squeezed OJ, and of course, your personal selection of tequila. The result is a fruity, slightly sweet, slightly salty, carbonated drink with a little zing (remember the chile?) and a little (or a lot of) kick. The special signature of this drink is that it is often served in a large plastic bag with a straw, because regular customers complained that plastic cups spilled in their cars when driving over Mexico’s many topes!

So you see people walking around with gold-fish bags filled with blood red fluid and a straw, happily sipping away; no one would ever think of driving while drinking one, apparently.

You can get an 80 or 100 peso bag…more if you choose a better tequila.

Since it was 12:01, we caused the required traffic back up and pulled over on the wrong side of the street in front of one of the many stands which sell Vampiritos in San Luis Soyatlán.

Judy caused the line to back up because this was our first vampirito…
But she returned with two-fisted success!

Judy opted for cups, because the bags seemed too precarious while driving (for her, not me…no vampirito until I got home). The drinks are as advertised: refreshing and delicious, but dangerous, as there is no tequila taste despite watching the shots poured into the drink. One of the more enjoyable aspects of being an expat is trying flavor combinations that would have made me retch back home, only to learn those people aren’t crazy, this really does taste good!

San Joselito

José Sánchez del Río was a young boy growing up in the small town of Sahuayo, Michoacán, during the early 20th century. This made him an unremarkable character, but for the Cristero rebellion which broke out in 1926, and that’s where his story gets interesting.

The rebellion known in Mexico as La Christiada began when Presidente Plutarco Elías Calles sought to enforce the strong anti-religious (and specifically in 20th century Mexico, anti-Catholic Church) provisions of the 1917 constitution. The Church had been a vocal opponent of the revolution, and the victorious socialist government wrote provisions into that constitution basically separating Church and State. In 1926 however, Presidente Calles took this a step further, instituting fines for wearing a Roman collar in public, sentencing priests who criticized the government to prison for five years, seizing all Church property, closing all religious institutions, and dramatically limiting the number of priests allowed in the country in an attempt to eliminate the Church as a competing power center.

Religiously conservative states like Jalisco and Michoacán went into open revolt against the government, and a guerrilla war went on for three years. Total battle deaths topped 100,000 during the war, a proportional rate about half that of the US civil war. As is often the case in insurgencies both sides engaged in atrocities, and one of the victims was young Josélito.

He repeatedly sought to join his older brothers in the Cristero cause, but he was refused due to only being twelve years old. Eventually he was permitted to join as a flag bearer, then eventually a fighter. During a losing battle near his hometown of Sahuayo, he gave his horse to General Guizar Morfin, who escaped the battlefield while Josélito fought on and was captured.

Side chapel shrine in the Church where he was baptized and held prisoner

Josélito was held in his own village Church, which the government had turned into its military headquarters/prison. For two weeks, he was beaten, forced to watch an execution, and encouraged to renounce his faith. When this failed, his captors tortured him with a machete, then skinned the soles of his feet and forced him to walk to his own execution site, all the while encouraging his apostasy. Next to a shallow grave, he was repeatedly stabbed as he shouted “¡Viva Cristo Rey!” until he was shot in the head.

The way from the Church to where he was executed is memorialized with small silver footprints

The Cristero rebellion ended after a settlement negotiated under the auspices of the US Ambassador to Mexico, Dwight Whitney. Presidente Calles’ stringent laws remained on the books, but were largely unenforced. The Catholic Church and the Mexican federal government came to a modus vivendi which went through periods of resistance and repression that lasted all the way to 1992. In 2016, Pope Francis canonized Josélito.

The memorial where he was exeucted. The plaque has the words he told his mother why he wanted to join the Christeros: “Never before now has it been so easy to win Heaven for yourself!”

Since we were on the south side of the lake near the Jalisco-Michoacán border, it was a short drive to Sahuayo, where we were blest to see San Josélito’s Church/prison, and the site of his execution.

Speaking in Tongue

After two years of Spanish classes (average size: four students and one teacher), two times a week, two hours per class, we seem to have reached a point of intelligibility. That is, after two years of college-level credit, we are able to understand and be understood (mas o menos) when conversing with locals en español. Which is something, and proves very useful around these parts. We now feel comfortable veering off the well-beaten expat path and travelling a little around Mexico, even to those places where a gringo is an unusual thing. More importantly, we can engage in the small conversations which grease the skids of day-to-day life.

Which is not to say we don’t have those momentary freezes when, for example, our gate guard suddenly asks “¿saben la contraseña por la puerta?” which sounds like “¿sabenlacontraseñaporlapuerta?” But we pause, and digest, and then the light goes on, and we respond “¡Si, por supuesto!” Nothing like being fluent, and I would be exaggerating to call us truly conversant, but we are making discernible progress.

Idiomatic expressions just have to be memorized, as is the case with any language. In English we “take a turn,” in Spanish they “give a turn.” In Spanish it “makes hot” and in English it “is hot.” Pronunciation is easier in Spanish, as all the letters have one-and-only-one sound and there are only a few consonants with exceptions. Spanish is very verb-based: verbs in their various tenses and conjugations tell you almost everything you need to know in the sentence. In English we would say “Give it to her.” It is a simple, complete thought, with an implied subject, action verb, and predicate (direct and indirect object…don’t worry, I won’t ask you to diagram the sentence!). While a bit vague, in context it makes complete sense. In Spanish, it would just be “Dáselo.” The form of verb “Dar” tells you it is an imperative command in the present tense, and the “to whom” (se or her) and “what” (lo or it) are just suffixes to the verb. Simple, right?

It gets complicated in the past tense. In English, we mostly use the simple past: I walked. Yes, we could use the more esoteric tenses such as “I was walking…” or “I had walked…” or even “I have been walking…” but really, how often do we use them? In Spanish they have two distinct tenses for the simple past: pasado/preterito and imperfecto. Each has its own rules for use, and different conjugations. The former is for actions already completed (among other causes), while the latter is for actions in process (again, among other things!). So in English I could say “When I walked there, I always walked slowly.” Both are simple past tenses in English and use “walked.” But en espanol, it would be “Cuando caminé allí, siempre caminaba lento. The first use of the verb “to walk” (caminar) is an action from the past already completed, so it is conjugated as preterito. The same verb is used again as a habitual action (the clue is siempre, or always) so it is conjugated as imperfecto. Got it? Yeah, me neither.

Native Spanish-speakers move flawlessly between the two tenses. If you were telling a story about things you did and how you felt at the time, the former would be preterito and latter imperfecto. It is as natural to them as the difference between right/write/rite is to an English-speaker. Depending on the context, you just know which one is…right.

One of the nice things about butchering Spanish among the Mexican people is they seem genuinely pleased you’re trying (apologies to my French friends, but this does not apply en francais!). If you use preterito when you should use imperfecto (or vice versa), they may correct you, but they will understand and nod and keep the conversation going…oftentimes with them speaking flawless English and you hacking away at español!

Climate changes

Take it easy, there, this is NOT a political post. I do smile every time I hear the phrase “climate change.” It’s such a self-evident truism: climate is a dynamic process, so it always is changing. Yet climate change as a slogan is so much better than global warming, which captured very little of what environmentalists were worried about. Anyway…

We are in the final month or so of our annual climate change. The dry season, which began around October, should end by June. The coming of the rains is attested to by the sounds of the rain-birds, which we hear clearly now throughout the day. The rain-birds are actually annual cicadas, and the buzz the males emit sounds distinctly like static on an analogue AM radio (only those of a certain age will even understand this reference). It is loudest in the early morning and early evening, or maybe that is just when other noises are absent so I notice it. Local legend is that the sound of the rain-birds indicates the rain will come in six weeks. We’ll see…probably about as accurate as forecasting winter on a rodent’s shadow.

We live in a high desert plateau, so one should not be surprised to find it dry. But because water is plentiful from the lake, we have abundant flora befitting our latitude (Hawaii) , if not our altitude (Denver). During the dry season, the mountains (which are of course not irrigated) turn brown.

It is hard to describe just how dry it gets here during the seven or eight months of the dry season. We had a few rain drops fall in December and January, probably because of El Niño (more on him later), but other than that, nada. Large dust piles build up alongside the roads, and work crews come out and shovel them up, otherwise they create mini dust storms as you drive by. Oh, and they would be a mud hazard once the rains do come.

It is so dry that the crop stubble from the last harvest does not decompose in the fields, so the farmers take to burning it. Of course, open field fires and a dry season beget uncontrolled burns in the mountains. One just crawled up the far side (nearer to Guadalajara) of the Sierra above Ajijic and is over-topping the peak as I write.

View from the Walmart parking lot shows the spread.

Not to worry, as there is a lot of terrain between the fire and most lakeside developments. Part of the tragedy of the extreme destruction during California’s wildfires is that the cost of land has pushed development ever further into the woods and canyons (also, buyers like to be among nature). Those same places used to burn with very little consequence; now they burn homes, livelihoods, lives. Something similar happens in Florida with sinkholes. The more development spreads atop a limestone peninsula, the greater likelihood a sinkhole will swallow a home. Here we have a few villas or small developments climbing the mountainside, but most development is concentrated nearer the lake, with adequate room to make fire-breaks, if necessary. Yet development continues apace, and views from up the mountainside are spectacular, so…

Meanwhile, the temperature has climbed to the low 90’s under an intense tropical sun. The snowbirds have migrated home NOB, and many full-time residents have taken trips, as this is the ideal time to avoid the “worst” weather we have. Planning a getaway so as to return for the cooler, more lush rainy season is an art form. Some don’t realize it may be even more difficult this year, because of El Niño.

This weather pattern (officially the El Niño/Southern Oscillation or ENSO) is caused by surface water temperature changes in the Pacific Ocean, and when it (or its obverse, La Niña) happens, it results in major weather pattern changes. Climatologists confirmed El Niño for 2019, which resulted in a cooler, wetter winter here: remember those odd rainy days in December, and the run on firewood in January?

You can see that the most severe El Niño weather changes do not affect central Mexico, but we are close to the colder/wetter conditions for winter, and warmer/drier conditions for summer. Luckily, 2019’s El Niño is a mild or “weak” one, so the effects should be lessened for all. But locally we might expect a delayed or reduced rainy season.

Why are these weather patterns named El Niño and La Niña, literally the boy and the girl in Spanish? The warmer surface water temperature in the Pacific was first noticed by South American fishermen, who also noted it always began in December. While el niño means the boy, the capitalized version refers only to one specific boy, appearing also in December: the Christ Child. La Niña became the title for the opposite condition.

More than you probably wanted to know, but if it rains on your Polynesian vacation trip this summer, remember, I warned you the climate was changing!

Trips to the vet

An entry on the continuing sage of everyday life as an expat in Mexico.

Last week, as I walked our dog Tucker around the entry to our development, he stopped, as is his custom, to smell this and that, eat some grass, and do other quintessentially dog things. And then at one point, he leaned over and snarfed something. I called him over, and whatever he had, it was firmly in his snout as he desperately tried to swallow it before I could extract it. I stuck my fingers in between his jaws and pulled them apart, but my hand slipped, he bit down on my fingers (ouch!), I let go, and he swallowed it, whatever it was.

Dog poisonings are a thing here, but I wasn’t too concerned because we were inside our development property. Still, there are all kinds of things in our tropical paradise that a dog shouldn’t eat.

A day or so later, he vomited a little. Then the next day, he did it again. He stopped drinking water. On Friday he vomited one more time, and on Saturday, he refused to eat breakfast for the first time in nine years. And we were off to the vet on Saturday. The day before Easter. The week when everything in Mexico is closed for the Semana Santa holiday.

Although the vet had been closed Thursday and Friday, we were in luck: they were open Saturday until 1:00 pm. We took him in and waited about twenty minutes. They examined Tucker and took an x-ray: I am sure I got a few roentgens myself, as I helped secure him on the table. I wasn’t even aware they had started the machine as I leaned over and pinned the dog on his side in a “stretch” position. Oh, well, just radiation, right?

Sure enough, something had severely irritated his stomach and it was swollen. He was also dehydrated. They put an intravenous port in his right front paw and gave him a bag of fluid. He also got the first of three daily shots of a combination of anti-inflammatory, antibiotic, and vitamins.

The doctor told us to come back Easter morning for the second shot. We asked “aren’t you closed?” and he said “yes, but we’ll meet you here.” We arranged to meet at 8:00 am. The nurse checked the dog and said he didn’t need another bag of fluids, so she gave him a shot and we were on our way in ten minutes.

On Monday morning we returned for the final shot. They examined Tucker again and we reported he was not vomiting, he was eating and drinking normally and had recovered his energy. They removed his IV port and told us to return on Wednesday for an ultrasound just to make sure, so we made the appointment.

After the ultrasound, the vet told us Tucker’s gallbladder was still a little inflamed, and he had aspirated some vomit into his bronchial tubes. We got some meds to address both issues and agreed to a final follow up visit in a month.

So we had four vet visits (one an emergency visit on a holiday), an x-ray, an ultrasound, three shots, one bag of IV fluid, and two prescription meds: one month-long oral fluid and one ten-day set of pills. Care to guess the total cost?

Tucker, on one of his beds, with a special blanket, objecting to someone lighting fireworks

Before I reveal the damage, I must point out that while most things are much less expensive in Mexico, there are some mitigating factors. Veterinary services are not in high demand here. Many people leave dogs exposed on roofs or behind fences (alone) all the time just as noisy guards. Dogs are mostly working animals; if they don’t work, they are abandoned. We have many vets, dog parks, and shelters lakeside due to the expats’ importation of the concept of “pets.”

So I wasn’t expecting a truly, ridiculously-low price. The total was $5,700 pesos, or about $300 US dollars. I rarely left a vet’s office in the States for one routine visit for less. So a happy ending, except I doubt Tucker learned anything from all this except he likes to go for rides in the car.