Category: Culture

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Passing the 18 month anniversary of our move to Mexico, and fresh off the Camino which dominated the first 12 months of our time here, we are starting to branch out with other new activities. We were very careful that first year, based on the advice of local friends with great experience, to not over-commit our time, as some expats find themselves so over-scheduled their retirement lives are busier than their work ones were!

I applied for and was accepted into (shocking, I know) a local chapter of the Rotary. Chapala Sunrise Rotary is only a few years old, but is already the 3rd largest in its district. Our members are a mix of Rotary veterans and newcomers like me. This week we visited the small pueblo of Ojo de Agua, a 250 person Mexican community along Lake Chapala. Actually, the community is indigenous, comprising the Coca peoples who long predate the formation of the Mexican nation and have a storied, independent past.

Chapala Sunrise Rotary has built some water storage tanks, and is working with the people, local authorities, an NGO, and Mexican governments at various levels to improve the health of this community. I look forward to being a part of these efforts.

 

 

On a lighter side, Judy and I are considering how to take up tennis. We start with zero knowledge and experience, but we have two beautiful clay courts in our development at our disposal, and we want to try another sport where we can practice and play together. So once we figure out just how we are going to start this endeavor, you’ll hear more about our progress.

Finally, we’re going to take (dramatic pause)… dancing lessons. Judy actually knows how to dance, because she has some sense of rhythm. As for me, not so much. Actually, not at all. In fact, I may be the living definition of the phrase “absence of rhythm.” So progress here may be even slower, and I guarantee there will be no videos until I can handle the level of embarrassment!

That’s what we have new in store as we conclude year number two of expat life. That, and some travels around Mexico I will detail in future posts!

The past twenty days or so, I have been a geographic bachelor as my wife went to the States to attend to my daughter. I stayed home to take care of the dog, who like me, is getting a little older and crazier, and needs to be watched. Now back in the day, the Army or my other work sent me places where I was away from home for extended periods of time, but that was business travel, which is an entirely different ballgame. You go somewhere exotic for some specific reason, you have some specific mission, you complete it and you go home. All your away time is spent doing what they sent you for so you can go home.

This was something entirely different. I was home, in familiar settings, but by myself. Except for my dog, who is not much of a conversationalist. He basically asks “can we go out now?” or “is any of that food for me?” or yells “OMG, there is a truck outside stealing our trash DO SOMETHING!” Other than that, he just lays there and asks “where’s Mom?” Over and over and over again.

After graduating from West Point, I got married five days later, so I had very limited bachelor time. This was a learning experience for me. Here is what I learned:

• Cooking for one is a PITA. Contrary to popular opinion, I can cook, but I don’t like to cook. I so don’t like to cook that I don’t even like to grill, which I know is a big man-card issue. To me, its just cooking outdoors, so WTH? My lovely wife likes to cook, and likes to eat healthy, so my normal routine consists of (a) becoming hungry, (b) asking when breakfast/lunch/dinner is, (c) eating, and (d) cleaning up. When you are alone, by the time I get hungry, I think, “I need to defrost something” which leads nowhere fast or somewhere quick and not very good. I prepare double portions with the hope I’ll be willing to reheat/eat left-overs, which I then fail to do. Oh, and there’s still that clean up thing, too.
• Do not get sick, under any circumstances! If you get sick, make sure your friends rescue you, or you will die. This may sound drastic, but bear with me. I got stomach flu. You get so weak you can’t go out to the doctor. Also, I didn’t want to go to the doctor and get sent to the hospital, because what do I do with the dog? Luckily I have friends who brought food, drinks, and would have done more if I asked. But the bottom line is, when you are alone, the margin of error gets pretty close to zero.
• Have a fire-proof house.  This requires some explanation. I have told my wife on more than one occasion that we don’t need to worry about fire, because our casa is brick and mortar and there is nothing to burn. I went one step further this past week by testing that hypothesis. As I was recovering from the flu, I decided to make a pot of tea (lapsong souchong, in case you were wondering) to ease my symptoms. At around 8:00 pm I put some water in a pot on our gas stove to boil, and went back to my computer screen. Around 10:00 pm I took the dog out for a final walk, then went back and went to bed. After a fitful night, I awoke at 7:00 am and went to take the dog out again. When I came back to the kitchen, I hit a wave of hot air: what the? There was the pot, still on the flame eleven hours later! The water was (of course) all gone, the pot was oh-so-hot, but otherwise, nothing was wrong. I did use about 10% of the gas in my propane tank, but given the possibilities, that was a loss I was happy to accept. The real lesson is not fire-proofing as much as it is when you’re alone, there is no one to double check you for stupidity. In this case my guardian angel was working overtime.
• I have a wonderful wife; this I already knew. There is nothing like an enforced absence to crystallize the concept. I know I am spoiled, that I made one really good decision in life and have been benefiting from it ever since. I did not suspect that she was also my muse, as I have found it hard to think of things to write about while she was absent. I think this verse says it all:

The Lord God said “It is not good for the man to be alone.”

The man said, “at last, this one is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh.”

That is why a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife…

— Genesis 2:18, 23-24.

Visitors are always welcome down here in Mexico. Well, almost always. I’ve had two unwelcome visitors this past week. They are not pretty stories, but they are part of expat life, so here goes.

The first visitor was–apparently–la gripe (“gree-pay”), or as you know it NOB, the stomach flu. Last Friday afternoon I went to my club for a nice tuna filet with a sashimi appetizer, as my wife and I have done for almost eighteen months now. It was delicious, but later in the afternoon my stomach started making “possession” noises. Oh, bad sushi, I thought, and prepared for the worst just before it hit. Then when I stumbled back to bed, I noticed I was shivering! Sure enough, I also had a low grade fever and chills. So probably not food poisoning, but rather something viral: la gripe.

The next two days were solid misery, as I only left the horizontal position to go to the bathroom, or take the dog out. My dog was as useless as you might think; he just stared at me and said things like “you’re not going to lay on the couch all day again, are you?” Maybe I imagined that. But I bet that was what he was thinking. Anyway, the fevers (and hallucinations?) broke Sunday morning, and I got the other symptoms under control by Sunday night. Monday I felt very weak, but not sick. By Tuesday I felt well enough to go to Spanish class.

Yes, of course, I rushed my recovery and now am slowing down again to let nature take its course. How I got sick remains a mystery, and I have not been to the doctor, so other possibilities (mosquito-borne illnesses) are in play. What this has to do with being an expat are all the offers of assistance I received from friends. I did finally accept Basil & Ernie’s offer to pick up meds and electrolytes, which saved me a trip out I really could not have accomplished. But I had offers of food and help from Lorraine and Barbara and John & Catherine and many more. Once again, that sense of community comes to the fore when you need it most. Gracias, mis amigos!

The second visitor was brief but equally annoying. After Spanish class on Tuesday, I stopped by Lorraine’s casa (she of the great Italian cooking) to pick up some prepared meals I had previously ordered. I pulled my car over directly in front of her front gate, got out, opened the door and walked no more than ten feet in…I could still see the back end of my car through the gate. Lorraine and I caught up for about five minutes, then I departed, put the food in the cooler in the back, and started driving home. I noticed I could hear road sounds, like the window was open, but it wasn’t. I looked at the dash instrument, and it indicated the passenger door was ajar.

Since I was at a stop light, I leaned over and pushed it as if to open it, and it barely budged: it was partially, not fully closed. So I tugged on it, the door engaged, and the instrument light went off. The light turned green, and I started to drive. Then it hit me: I am home alone, and no one has used my passenger door since my wife left for a stateside visit last week. ¡AY!

I glanced at the passenger seat where my smartphone used to be. Nope, not there. I pulled over and searched the car. Nothing. I drove back to the Spanish school, where I know I had it out on the desk and put in in silent mode: not there. I returned to Lorraine’s and it wasn’t lying in the street. She even asked the neighbors if they saw anything, since she lives in a close-knit community and they were as upset as I was that someone had probably stolen it: nada. Someone may have  followed me, waiting to see where I stopped and if I locked the car. Someone may have just walked by and seen the phone sitting there, heard our voices and could tell we could not see them. Either way, someone gently opened the door, took the phone then pushed it (quietly) closed, though not all the way. Either way, it’s all on me for not locking the car!

Thus began my afternoon of customer service with T-Mobile. Since we have US cell plans, the process was challenging. It went well at first: I got on the T-Mobile web site and opened a chat window which promised immediate access to a service rep…which turned out to be a computer program pretending to be named Emele! You could tell by the stilted syntax and odd questions (“Anything else you would like to bring up while I am accessing your records?”). That said, the computer “agent” had pretty good artificial intelligence and was able to assure me that my line was deactivated and no other lines were affected. She could not handle my simple request for how do I go about replacing my phone, asking whether I wanted to upgrade that phone (ummm, its stolen) or do I have insurance (well you would know better than I, wouldn’t you?). Suddenly the chat window closed and I was back in the dark. Emele had had enough!

I video-chatted with Judy and asked her to handle the issue from the States, since I was going to have the new phone sent to her anyway. But apparently I am the primary account holder and never gave her more than something called “standard access” which means only I can deal with T-Mobile. Lucky me! I went on the T-Mobile website and changed her access from standard to “full” but that didn’t help. I think Emele was still angry at me. So Judy found some more customer service numbers, and after many voice prompts and shouts of “HELP” the system recognized that I needed to talk to a real person, and one arrived on the scene.

Once real humans got involved, it all went quickly and smoothly, and we even ironed out the account holder issues. It did involve a comical situation, as I talked on a Mexican landline phone to the service rep in the States, who sent texts to Judy in the States, who confirmed the texts and read back the pass codes to me and the service rep via a video chat I started with Judy on my tablet. In the end, the details all worked out and I will soon get a new phone. The Good Lord provides…even cell phones!

As to the thief, well, I hope they get some value out of the phone (even though it was pretty old), probably at the local pawn shop, as my friend John King reminded me. Petty theft is a fact of life where poverty and (relative) wealth co-exist, and the only inarguable point in all this is always, always (did I say always), ALWAYS lock your car.

A supportive community always ready to help, and someone with sticky fingers. No different than many places, but also parts of expat life in Mexico.

After having been here almost 18 months, and now returning after an extended absence, I’m taking a second look around for things I might have noticed the first time and passed off, or simply missed altogether. Today let’s talk street art.

Mexico is known for vibrant colors, so one quickly gets used to bright orange tiles or electric purple walls. In addition to that, local government and business joins in, sponsoring or advertising public art which is rather outstanding in my opinion. Let’s take a look!

This work of art is directly across from the entrance of the church and just one block off the main square. The individual skulls are decorated in honor of the names of deceased loved-ones, in accord with Mexico’s long-running Katrina fascination (more about that back here). This piece was completed by Efren Gonzales, probably our most esteemed local artist.

Trying to sell beer? Put the bottles out front on a desert scene with cactus and agave plants! The mural even has a street lamp, but notice the real street light pole on the left is also partially painted!

Here floral designs draw your attention to the windows where clothes are the main attraction. Yes, nearly every window had bars on it, but the elaborate bars can become a form of artistic expression of their own.

This is a main cross street in the village. Notice the clever use of strong color and the multiple flags and languages. Even the planter out front (to prevent parking) has developed a little painting.

We just finished an election season. Why use small yard signs when you can paint the entire side of your building to show your support? I haven’t seen any of these signs defaced, either. This particular sign was for a candidate who lost; I wonder how long it will stay up?

Even the public restrooms are a blank canvas just waiting to be discovered.

The skate park has gone “goth” in its latest painting. It gets re-done several times a year.

Here is the wall to the panteon, or cemetary, which has a katrina and a whimsical cut-away view of the inside. In a similar vein, the following painting on the exterior wall of a business uses the same “exposed brick” approach.

Even homeowners get into the act. This last painting celebrates neighborhood characters and fiestas.

I have seen such public art before NOB, but usually in larger cities. Ajijic may have more than its share as it is an artsy town, but murals and public art exist even in the smallest pueblos.