Category: Culture

So we’re safely back lakeside after our six week adventure NOB. In relaying to our many friends and family how we are doing down here, I often referred to how many Gringos there are lakeside, compared to the Mexican population. I noticed that several people winced when I used that word, as they perhaps had been led to believe it is a slur.

Then I noticed a Facebook discussion about the term Gringo, which repeated the contention it is a slur for Americans, and also dredged up several stories about how the term came to be.

Well, you know me and words, and if you don’t, just drop a “fulsome” or “impact” in conversation the next time you see me, then stand back when I go off. So let’s do some etymological research, shall we?

The common story about the term Gringo tells you it is a specific slur against Americans, evidenced by the signage “Gringo go home” which popped up in several Latin Americans countries in the 20th century, as the US intervened in them. This derivation ties the term to the US invasion of Mexico during the war of 1846-48. One version cites that the US troops wore green, and Mexicans yelled after them “Green go home” which became Gringo. This version fails for the simple reason the US Army wore blue, not green. A second explanation cites that US troops sang a popular song entitled “Green grow the lilacs” (note: there are several other such songs which make the same claim) as they marched through Mexico. Mexicans heard this and started referring to the invading troops as Grin-gros, but could not pronounce the second “r” so it became gringo. While Americans have trouble rolling an “r” as sometimes required in Spanish, Mexicans do not. Furthermore, there is no evidence the US Army used that song as a marching tune at the time. It was popular during the US civil war a few years later, but not during the war with Mexico. Both of these versions share the basis of the term with animosity toward the United States as an invading power, which aligns neatly with those 1950/60/70/80s signs I mentioned.

If these popular stories don’t stand up to scrutiny, what is the origin of the term? Most likely, you already know the answer, you just don’t realize that you know the answer. There is a phrase common to almost all western languages (English, French, Spanish, German, Italian, etc.), a phrase we all use when we hear or see something we simply can not understand. Guessed it yet? How about “It’s all greek to me!”

A variation of this phrase exists in all those languages, and it is meant to convey incomprehensibility. Why? We have the Romans to thank for it. The common language of Rome was Latin, but educated Romans learned Greek and used it to signal their status. Greek is a fairly simple language, but it uses a different alphabet, which renders it especially challenging to the non-speaker. Many Romans who spoke only Latin could still run into Greek texts or speech, and be flummoxed by it, leading to the phrase “it’s all Greek to me.”

But wait, what does this have to do with Gringo, and where’s the proof? In etymology, hard proof is difficult to come by. But the corresponding phrase in Spanish is “hablar en greigo” which is literally “to speak in Greek” and means to be incomprehensible. And there is a Spanish Dictionary published in 1786 which cites the term “gringo” as used for foreigners who have difficulty speaking or understanding Spanish. There are several other citations for the same meaning of the term from the mid 19th century, none of which deal directly with Americans. While Americans started noticing be called Gringos after the war with Mexico, that was probably because they were encountering an existing term, not something created especially for them.

So the obvious and more recent usage of Gringo as an anti-American slur is not the full story.  Sure, someone could use it that way. My Spanish teacher here at lakeside put it this way: “in Mexico, its not the words you say, its how you say them.” She went on to add that Mexicans aren’t as hung up on formal Spanish, they like to use nicknames and diminutives (like the suffix -ita/ito), and they frequently say “please” (por favor). So if you want to call someone a Gringo, just make sure you’re smiling when you say it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

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

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

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

 

 

 

 

 

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

 

 

Here in the mile-high-desert-plain-beside-the-lake, we have a dry season (November-May) and a rainy season (June-October). While we are in the tropics, we don’t have a proper monsoon, just regular weather patterns with fronts that bring consistent rains.  Many rain storms happen in the early evening, as the storms blow north across the lake and attempt to scale the mountains which hug the north shore communities. For you weather geeks, it is called orographic precipitation, and it happens often enough here to be local legend.

So for expats around Lake Chapala, May and the dry weeks in June are the most uncomfortable.  It is desert-dry, and the sun can easily cook up 90 degrees. Many year-round expats plan their “vacations” or visits back NOB during this time. We had visited lakeside during this period, but coming from DC and only being here for a week or two, the dry heat seemed a relief in comparison. This time, we were here for the whole hot, dry mess. As Don Henley put it, “stuck here in limbo, tryin’ to say sane, ‘tween the end of the summer, and the coming of the blessed rain.”

 

 

 

 

 

We have neither air conditioning nor heating; they just don’t build many houses here with either. We arrived in February and brought along a bed-size heating pad, but we never used it: not cold enough. The hot/dry time got to us, mainly because it was so relentless. You could not escape the sun/heat during the day, although it did cool down at night. We eventually succumbed and bought a swamp cooler, a fascinating device which looks like a portable air conditioner but is just a water tank, a pump, and a fan.  The pump pushes the water from the tank in front of the fan, where it evaporates, cooling the air which blows out of the unit.  The air is not cold, just cooler. The unit is effectively a “humidifier” since it works exactly opposite those de-humidifiers some of you may have NOB. Swamp coolers have long been used in very dry areas; where the humidity is already high, they do not work.

Over the course of the dry season, the mountains get progressively browner, dust builds up, and it gets hotter… “yeah, but it’s a dry heat.” The lake level begins to fall as more of it evaporates in the very dry conditions. Sometime in May, you start to hear the shrill cry of the rainbirds, which are not birds, and have nothing to do with the rain. Rainbirds are incredibly loud insects (cicadas, I believe) which emerge at the end of the dry season and set out making a racket.  They are loudest initially up on the mountains, but by the beginning of June you can hear them singing nearly everywhere during the day.

Adding to the sun, arid heat, ebbing shoreline, and the rainbirds, May is when local farmers start burning their fields to prepare the soil before planting once the rains hit. I use the terms “farmers” and “fields” advisedly, because they cover a gamut of situations from large, industrial berry fruit operations to locals planting in their backyards to ejidos planting corn and pasturing cattle on the mountainsides.You can smell a faint hint of smoke anywhere, and sometimes see the fires burning in the mountains at night.  Lucky us, this year was also a record-setter for fires in the nearby Jalisco forests.

Just about the time you start to think that 10 and 1/2 months of perfect weather are not good enough to make up for all this, one afternoon you spy thick, ominous clouds coming over the far side of the lake. They seem to rush across in the afternoon, and then stall at the foot of the near-side mountains, like tired runners with a final hill to climb before the finish line. As they slowly climb they get darker, and begin to rumble and crackle. The deluge begins, all is forgiven. Happy Rainy Season!