Pronounced “la YU-vi-a”, it is Spanish for the rain. Frequent readers will notice that I have tried to wax rhapsodic about the coming of the rainy season. I don’t think people who live with intermittent rains all year long can really understand what it’s like to go without rain for six months. There is a dryness in the air that, like the polvo (dust) from the road, gets into the very soul. The omnipresent sun, such a blessing, becomes a curse only shade can aleve. There is a reason, I believe, the word arid in English has negative connotations in climate and relationships. The old joke “yeah, but it’s a dry heat” is only a joke told in temperate climates.
Here in the waning days of June, any precipitation is a cause for expectation. Is this it: the end of the dry season, the beginning of the rain? Even the year after a year of record rainfall (when some locals were worried about the potential for flooding because the lake had not receded much and the rainy season was about to begin): yes, even then we welcomed the advent of the rains.
In the temperate world, rain requires context. A drenching rain in summer cools off the land, while the cold rains of Spring are a plague (ask me about my Camino!). Rain in the winter yields the careful calculation of the freezing point. In the workaday world, rain meant accidents and delays on crowded highways. Rain on a long run might be acceptable, but rain on a picnic: no.
Here it is different. Rain changes everything, and heralds the best time of the year. During the dry season, water your plants everyday or they die, unless you choose (like me) to plant succulents native to this high desert plateau. During the rainy season, water the garden mañana. The extra fine coating of dust which nightly overlays your terracotta tile floor, suggesting an ice rink, magically disappears. The strategic positioning of curtains–to block the relentless sun–and fans–to promote circulation–are suddenly unnecessary. Each evening, clouds do the blocking and winds whip up (whence tonight?) to clear the air.
Then the rain: cooling, thunderous, at times horizontal and changing cardinal directions at a moment’s notice. And of course the freshness that is everywhere after a good hard rain. When we first moved here, I would scurry to close the windows from the capricious rain. Then I realized that the water just collects on the tile, and you brush it out the door or let it dry and so what?
Reign on me!
It is saddening that the snowbirds who overwinter here in Mexico mostly miss the rainy season. The transition period, when our flora move from Phoenix to Honolulu, when the temperature briefly flirts with too hot before settling into wonderful, and the sun passes from scorching to friendly: that is what makes some call it paradise.
The Ides of June are well past, so we’ll have no early start to the rainy season. But start it will. It rained once last week, and then again two nights back. And now again last night. There is something different in the air, and it is as welcome as an old friend.
As expats, we’re all strangers in a strange land, but never more so than now. Today all expats live in the same place: pandemia. Expats always face the fundamental challenge of how and where to access healthcare, and that challenge stares one in the face when sick or injured abroad. I’ve written before that–especially for older retiree expats–healthcare is the number one reason expats return to their homeland.
Any Coronavirus? Why are you so close to me? Where’s your mask? Did I hear a hawk?
A pandemic places those challenges in a particularly harsh light. You may have health insurance, but how does it consider an outlier event like a pandemic? Many folks with travel insurance learned that their insurers treated a pandemic as a force majeure, an act of God, outside coverage: surprise! Going to the doctor or hospital and dealing with medical terminology is difficult enough, but how about translating all that through a foreign language? Now add in crowded conditions and overwhelmed staffs. How does your host country view palliative care, determine treatment priorities (e.g., limiting ventilators to younger patients), or distribute new medicines? When the local government suggests you stay home via a police helicopter loudspeaker overhead, does that mean “please” or “or else!”?
I get a weekly reminder from the US Embassy in Mexico City that some flights are still available, as well as a note saying that if I wait too long I may not be able to return when I want. The Canadian government went a step further, I am told, and basically directed Canadian expats to return or face the loss of their health coverage, which instigated a mass take-off of Canadian snowbirds northward.
The Mexican government has taken a low-key approach to the pandemic. The state-run health system is chronically underfunded and understaffed, so the biggest problem has been lack of capacity. The federal government has not emphasized testing, as testing is mainly useful as a guide to treatment, and their logic is since no treatment is available, why test? Instead they have emphasized social distancing, masks, and closures/lockdowns, while tracking hospital admissions and trying to create additional capacity when and where it is needed. Of course transparency is also not a big thing in government here, so it is unclear how well the approach is working.
We have a daily press briefing with Presidente AMLO, and color-coded charts of cases, and phases of closure/reopening. The state of Jalisco has somewhat gone its own way, while not violating the federal government’s guidelines. We are currently in something called “fase cero” (phase zero) which is a preparatory phase for businesses to get certified to reopen starting June 1st. Except now we’re not.
Ealier map
As of 29 May
Overnight, the federal government changed the criteria and reporting grades on the country, moving every state (save Zacatecas) to “maximum risk” without further explanation. While the government’s own data has shown the number of cases rising, there was no sudden spike in deaths/hospitalizations. According to the federal government, this new status freezes reopening for the foreseeable future. Some critics say the move appears to be an attempt to deflect blame if things get worse.
However, Governor Alfaro of Jalisco has other ideas. He has decided not to accept the federal description of our state’s data, and instead continue with Phase Zero activities for two more weeks. For locals, that’s great news! Here is the Governor’s address (all fifteen minutes of it) with subtitles:
This announcement is full of entreaties to the citizens of Jalisco to keep doing the right thing (social distancing, mask wearing, etc.) so we can continue to advance out of the lockdown. It reminds me of the old maxim “if you want to be treated as responsible adults, act like responsible adults.”
For our part, we’re (cautiously) enjoying the extra freedom.
Lunch @ Gosha’s? 300 pesos Four glasses of wine? 200 more pesos Out with the most wonderful woman in the world? priceless!
Mexico is under a federal state of emergency, while the state of Jalisco has even more specific guidance on social distancing, essential services, public gatherings, and masks. Stores are closed, with the exception of abarrotes and supermercados. The tianguis has reopened with only food stalls. Most government offices are closed. Semana Santa festivities (normally extensive) and the travel/vacation week which follows are cancelled. Here is what our day looks like:
6:30 am: Tucker, the mostly grayed Vizsla who sleeps along my side of the bed, awakes, stretches with a muffled groan (he’s such an old man), shakes his head vigorously to clear the cobwebs (and wake me with the jingle of his dog collar), then walks out to the front door. I can go back to sleep, but he’ll come rest his head on the bed, inches from my face, and make lip-smacking noises (do dogs have lips?), so further sleep is minimal. I walk him to the corner.
6:30-7:30 am: I feed Tucker, and he relishes his everyday breakfast of dog food with chicharrónes like he’s never had it before. I start the coffee, say morning prayers as the dawn breaks, then have a first cup (coffee, not dog food) myself.
7:30 am: Deliver a fresh cup of joe–with a morning song– to my lovely bride. According to her, this routine protects the entire planet. Y’all are welcome.
7:30-9:00 am: Read the Washington Post & New York Times, clear through my news and overnight feeds from select reporters. Spend the last few minutes on Facebook. Take Tucker for his morning constitutional. As Calvin Coolidge might have said, “the business of the dog is dog business.”
~9:00am: Eat a delicious breakfast of bacon & eggs (con tabasco), cherry tomatoes, and a fresh half avocado, lovingly prepared by my dear wife. Clean up the dishes afterwards.
9:00-9:30: clean up for the day, listening to WTOP out of DC for current news (useful), weather (mild humor at times), and traffic (hilarity all the time).
9:30-11:00: Today we go to the small, private gym in our club: thirty minutes (each) stretching, weights, cardio, and yes, we know how lucky we are to have access to this! The gym is small, about the size of a hotel gym, and only permits two people inside at a time. We rarely encounter anyone there, as the hotel rooms are empty. We employ a ritual of cleaning the equipment with a disinfectant wipe before using, then repeating the process again after using. We wash everything upon arriving home. On other days, we hold our Spanish class online using Zoom. Class is much more basic due to the technology, but it suffices to keep our learning fresh. The exercise does the same for our muscles and spirits!
11:00 am – 1:00 pm: Somewhere in here is lunch, if we are not eating dinner. We eat only twice a day, lest we become twice the size. Judy will whip up a royal grilled cheese, with sauteed onions and jalapenos, or a tuna melt (with onions) on a bagel. Always a large serving of chips; Nacho Doritos are my current favorite. Time to read some of the online version of The Economist (I indulged in a subscription back when working, then became addicted to their witty prose and insight), research and write this blog, or catch up on private reading. Today it’s the latter. I have seen many references to the 1940 book by Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory, and it’s available for free download, so I dive in. The intriguing fictional story of a self-proclaimed whisky priest in Mexico during the Cristiada.
At some point, I feel the tropical sun as I pass by an open window, and I remember to go out and water the garden. Our gardener still visits every two weeks, to trim and repair and replace things. We can converse through the mosquito screen on our terraza, and I leave him his pay and receipt book on the table. It’s terribly impersonal, but it keeps him employed and my plumbagos in check. Anyway, I water the plants under the close supervision of Tucker.
Still life of dog with plumbago
The dog will come pester me several times in the afternoon: to go out to the corner and check the day’s new smells, to lay under the sun in the garden, to come back in and get a drink because the sun is soooo hot, to bark at the trash truck. There is wisdom in the fact it doesn’t take much to make him happy.
Somewhere between 1:00 and 3:00, ennui sets in. I’ll play a video game to pass the time. Currently, Medieval France is vanquishing all of Europe, Africa, and the Holy Land, with some help de moi. I notice the dust has coagulated on the table top, making a nice outline of my Chromebook. We’ve paid our housekeeper in advance for the month, but told her to skip her weekly visits for her own good as well as ours. So I clean it off myself. Tomorrow it my be the dust build up on the ceiling fans, or the drip under the disposal, or whatever.
At times, I’ll start a real project, or–worse yet–try to pass one off to Judy. I already sorted the mass of family photos: gone are the many views of my thumbs, pictures of people or places we no longer recognize, and oh-so-many duplicates. The remainder are neatly placed in useful categories for another project: organizing a display, mañana. Judy finished sorting a stack of papers that had grown too large for the cabinet: paid bills, restaurant delivery menus, forms never filled out.
Most days I’ll siesta for about forty-five minutes in the afternoon. Judy claims this is entirely insufficient as a nap, but if I doze more than that, it will throw off my nightly rest. Luckily, I retain the ability to think of a wake up time, fall asleep, then wake up at that time. It’s a habit I perfected back in the Army, and one that I relish still having (unlike my hearing loss, another reminder of Army service).
It’s 4:00 pm, time for television. Now I grew up in the era when television was life’s background soundtrack, so ours may be on at any time, but most of the time I couldn’t tell you what was on. The Five (a guilty pleasure on Fox News, as I enjoy the back-n-forth between the regulars who always disagree but genuinely enjoy arguing with each other. Wait, how many guilty pleasures is that?) leads to the BBC World News America to ABC World News to the PBS Newshour, and suddenly it’s 7:00 pm. Yes, the news addiction I discovered as a young man continues unabated. Between talking back to the TV, I’ll review my email and news feeds and allow myself another thirty minutes of FaceBook.
There’s another, longer walk for the dog in there, whenever I sense the news getting repetitive, which is guaranteed. Another bowl of dog food and chicharrónes met with unbridled enthusiasm.
If we skipped lunch, Judy will perform a miracle combining fresh chicken, spinach, bacon, cream cheese and cheddar cheese with rice for dinner. Or Salmon and Mushrooms & Onions. Or any of the bowl meals we’ve grown accustomed to: egg roll in a bowl, spaghetti in vodka sauce, burrito bowl. I’ll resume cleaning the dishes and taking out the trash, as the sun finally relents in its assault on our westward facing windows.
7:00 to 10:00pm: Decisions, decisions! Its Holy Week, so we watch The Passion of the Christ on DVD. But sometimes I search the Dish satellite service (out of Cincinnati) for anything to watch while Judy enjoys her subscription to Acorn TV by bingeing on Brit dramas. Or we’ll start a new series on Amazon Prime video (e.g., The Expanse, Hunters, Bosch, Picard) and watch it together.
10:00pm: lights out, so to speak. It’s already heating up to the nineties hereabouts, so we turn on the mini-split air conditioner in the bedroom for thirty minutes to cool off the room, as we do our nightly prep for bed. Evening prayers, one last check to make sure I’ve not missed a call or email or something important. Then a drowsy game of solitaire on the tablet. This odd habit was a suggestion from a camino friend, who said to come up with a trick–something to do than was simple and repetitive–to help you fall asleep in a room full of people talking and snoring. Judy and I both took up solitaire apps, and I know it’s time to sleep when the tablet falls from my hand.
There are exceptions to this routine: Video chats with family and friends; the biweekly run to La Huerta, the local mercado, for fresh vegetables and whatever novelty the owner has procured (last week it was canned Italian tomatoes for thirty-eight pesos); longer walks along the nearly-deserted carretera on Sunday night with the dog. Nothing too exciting, but little treats to break the monotony. For a couple of los introvertidos, this stay-at-home thing is barely a challenge. But it’s what we’re supposed to do. What was the quote from Milton?
“When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?” I fondly ask. But Patience to prevent That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o’er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.“
Sea Glass with a darker green accent for the fireplace. You can make out the yellow of the courtyard, too.
Judy and I just spent the last three weeks hosting a group of between six and eight Mexican workers who completed several projects, most notably, painting our entire house, inside and out. They were with us from 8:30 in the morning until 5:30-6:00 in the evening, Monday through Friday, with a half day on Saturday. They did great work, including painting behind several climbing plants, even two rose bushes. Every night, they cleaned up and moved things so we could resume using rooms as they finished.
Reverse angle, into the kitchen.
With all the strangers coming and going, our dog thought we had lost our collective minds, although after all this time, he has decided está bien. The workers really were quite considerate, but I have to say that three weeks of people wandering around our house was enough. Not to mention we’re out of Coca Cola. And Mexico is just starting to enforce social distancing and closures and the like, so the timing actually worked well.
Another accent wall down the hallway. The sunlight makes the walls seem mottled with yellow, but they are sea glass.
Our house was still the original beige we chose eight years ago, so it was time for some accent painting and a little color. And we had some salitre to fix. For those unfamiliar, salitre (literally saltpeter) is a peculiar problem here in Mexico. It’s a condition where moisture works its way up from the soil through the foundation and into the concrete and brick walls, leading to paint peeling and cracking. I’ve heard several unconvincing explanations for why it happens, and even more unconventional–if not nonsensical–treatments. In the end, you scrape, treat, seal and repaint when it bothers you enough.
Here the yellow really comes through!
Our pallete is a combination of sea glass with a darker green for accents. We added a red accent wall in one bathroom. The bedrooms are from the same general pallete, but are deep blue, purple and gray. For the outside we kept the same bright yellow (it also shows up inside on our terraza and the atrium), except we used a better quality of paint with a full primer base that should last longer. The tropical sun is murder on your exteriors here; we just repainted after only three years!
Purple
Blue
Gray
and the accent wall in the bathroom.
So we’ll begin social distancing in our freshly re-painted house. At least the colors are soothing!
Back in the day, when I worked for the US federal government, I considered myself pretty well-read on matters of politics and history. Yet I had a glaring gap in knowledge when it came to Mexico: it was the forgotten next-door neighbor, a bit player that popped up once in the middle of the nineteenth century, again at the beginning of the twentieth, but mostly resided in the background. This was how Mexico was portrayed in my childhood education, and still was the way it played out during the Cold War histories north of the border (NOB).
In case my gringo friends suffer from a similar lack, here’s a short recapitulation of Mexican history.
Most everyone knows the region called Mexico today was once the land of several ancient Mesoamerican civilizations: Olmecs and Toltecs, Mayans and Mexica (or Aztecs). All were large, well-organized, purpose-driven (and bloody) societies: Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City) was the largest city in the world in the 14th century. By the time Cortés and his men arrived two hundred years later, they were awed by the huge city constructed on man-made islands!
Everyone knows the Conquistadores arrived, the locals died, and the colony of Nueva España resulted. The ensuing colonial system enriched a ruling class of Peninsulares (Spaniards born in Spain)) and Criollos (Spaniards born in Mexico) and exploited the indigenous peoples and the Mestizos, people of mixed ancestry. All this leads up to the Mexican War of Independence in 1810.
Padre Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla issued his famous call (el grito de dolores) for independence. Even many Mexicans today don’t realize that this call was not against the Spanish crown; Hidalgo defended King Carlos IV, who had recently been deposed by Napoleon (yes, that Napoleon). Hidalgo launched his revolution against the colonial system, believing that if the Spanish king only knew how bad things were in Nueva España, he would fix it. Mexican Independence Day, September 16th, is a huge fiesta when leaders in every town perform a variation on el grito.
While no one knows exactly what “¡Vivas!” Hidalgo called, it worked, and Mexico gained its independence. But only after a bloody war where several armies fought against each other, changed sides, and most of the leaders were captured, tortured, and killed. Peace only came when all sides were exhausted, and the outside power (Spain) became a Republic and lost interest. All-against-all violence to exhaustion becomes one recurring theme of Mexican history.
The general who led the final battle to control Mexico City, Augustín de Iturbide, became Mexico’s first Presidente, although within a year he was emperor! The wartime divisions between Republicans who wanted to liberalize or overthrow the system and Traditionalists who wanted a benign but powerful leader continued unabated, and became the second theme of Mexican history. Within a year, Antonio López de Santa Anna (yes, that Santa Anna) led a Republican force that deposed Iturbide, who fled abroad. Upon returning to Mexico, he was betrayed and executed. Death upon defeat is a third Mexican history theme.
A series of Presidentes followed, while General Santa Anna became famous for defeating a Spanish attempt to regain Mexico. Santa Anna, calling himself “the Napoleon of the West,” served as Presidente twelve times over twenty-two years. Among his misadventures were political moves which instigated the Texas uprising, and the atrocities that forces under his command committed in San Antonio and Goliad, resulting in the permanent loss of Texas. Later he was exiled, only to be welcomed back when the government needed his military skills (a French invasion in 1838) or when he schemed with the US government to sell some Mexican territory (in 1846). The latter became a pretext for the US invasion of Mexico, wherein he unsuccessfully defended Mexico City, lost all of Mexico’s northern lands, and was again exiled. He would survive to return to be Presidentebefore being exiled yet again. Santa Anna was the first of Mexico’s caudillos, military strongmen who became de facto rulers, and another recurring meme of Mexican history.
After a desultory series of battles between Republicans and Traditionalists, Benito Juárez assumed the Presidency in 1858. Juarez was an accomplished lawyer who came from humble indigenous beginnings, mirroring the story of his contemporary Abraham Lincoln up north. He instituted a series of Republican reforms, survived an insurrection against the same (The War of Reform), and resumed his Presidency after a 5 year interlude when France invaded, established a Latin Empire under Maximilian, then was forced to withdraw (you guessed it: Maximilian was executed). Americans already know the most famous battle of that war: an early Mexican army victory over the invading French at Puebla on May 5th, 1862 (hence Cinqo de Mayo).
Benito Juárez
Juárez’s success in establishing central government authority, separating church and state, and expelling a foreign invader make him a unique hero in Mexican history, and the only individual honored with a national holiday in Mexico (March 21st, his birthday).
In 1876, Porfirio Díaz, a successful general during the War of Reform and the French intervention, overthrew the Presidency upon the principle of no re-election. Ironically, Díaz did step aside after a term, but then returned to rule Mexico for thirty-five years, an era known as the Porfiriato. This period featured autocratic rule by a group of technocrats (called los científicos, or the men of science) who emphasized stability and progress, while doing little to improve the lot of the majority of the people living in poverty.
Such neglect led to the Mexican revolution in 1910, initiated by Francisco Madero and other liberals. The revolution devolved into a bloody civil war, with constitutional armies under Pancho Villa (yes, that Pancho Villa), Álvaro Obregón and Venustiano Carranza, traditionalist forces under General Victoriano Huerta, a peasant army under Emiliano Zapata, and various guerilla groups all fighting one another. After seven bloody years and the death of ten percent of the population, Carranza came out on top and promulgated a new constitution in 1917.
Carranza was succeeded by a series of fellow generals (Obregón and Plutarco Calles), but intrigue, revolt and assassination remained a serious challenge to stability. The new liberal ascendancy continued the tradition of central government control, but in the name of socialist principles on behalf of the people. Strict anti-clerical provisions stripped the Catholic Church of all property and prohibited any religious influences in politics. This led to the brief (1926-29) but violent Cristero rebellion, which left anti-clerical laws on the books but relaxed any enforcement.
To avoid the succession crises which had bedeviled past Mexican administrations, Presidentes were limited to a single term, and the Partido Revolucionario Institucional or PRI became the de facto ruling body of Mexico. The PRI hand-selected leaders for seventy-five years, during a period that included such important events as nationalization of the oil industry and creation of enormous government entities such as CeMex and PeMex, rapid industrialization and population growth, emigration to the United States, and the economic integration brought on by NAFTA.
Starting in 2000, Mexico entered into a true multi-party system, where first the PAN (Partido Acción Nacional) and now Morena (Movimiento Regeneración Nacional) have won elections, as well as the PRI.
In completing this post, I was struck by the parallels with American history, although in most cases the comparison is one of “roads not taken.” T.R. Fehrenbach titles his Mexican history (in inglés) Fire and Blood, for good reason. MesoAmerican prehistory was dependent upon blood-letting. The various Mexican wars of revolution, independence or invasion usually featured betrayals and treachery, leading to postwar reprisals against the losing side. There is a constant tension between a ruling elite based on ethnicity or religion or party and a larger mass of the poor just trying to make ends meet. At times a strong leader emerges who often makes dramatic changes, but sometimes overstays his welcome.
When you see all that Mexico has been through, it seems amazing they have come so far.
Friends kindly donated tickets to us for a cruise on Lake Chapala. The event was a fundraiser for a local dog ranch, but for us it was a unique opportunity to see lakeside from a different perspective.
Now with fewer words, more pictures!
The Batur, a three level floating fiestaStorm clouds threatened as we departed the dock . . . but cleared as we got further from shore. This shot looks toward the Racquet club.The mountains are very brown here in the middle of the dry season.By this point, we knew there would be no storm, but what about sunset?Right on schedule; Anther picture perfect day lakeside!
The ciclopista, with different colors, green poles, and cars parked on it in Ajijic.
Lakeside is a world unto itself: a string of small Mexican towns with an equally large expat population. The villages lie along the north shore of Lake Chapala, and they are connected by a single road: the carretera or “main street” to those from NOB. This carretera is emblematic of small town Mexico: it is only two lanes wide with some parking as it runs through the village of Ajijic. Alongside most of the carretera there is also a paved strip called the ciclopista, or bike path. Except where it isn’t there.
West of Ajijic, where the ciclopista is either just an extension of the road or divided old-school by temporary concrete barriers
Locals use the path to bike to/from work, or to walk to catch the busses which run along the carretera. Expats walk their dogs on it, jog or stroll on it, and sometimes drive golf carts down it. Motorcyclists use it to pass on the right, when they aren’t just passing on the right six inches from your car door. People park their cars on it in front of businesses in town. Where it is wider, as in the shaded area in La Floresta, people in a hurry drive down it, passing the slow crawl of cars stuck in the single (legal) driving lane.
In their defense, before it WAS a parking lane
The local government got a grant from the State to refurbish and improve the ciclopista. Previously, there was a variety of things delineating the ciclopista: concrete barriers, simple poles with reflectors, some trash cans with signs, some speed-bumps to let you know you were crossing the lane divide. Yet these were mostly permissive, in that they told you not to–but didn’t actually stop you from–driving there (as confirmed by the legendary tapatios who got tired of waiting in line and zoomed down it!).
Of course, before the work began, there was little civic engagement: suddenly, work teams started tearing up the road under banners proclaiming a State-funded refurbishment. Workers broke up asphalt, laid pipes, dug trenches and generally made a hash out of the one road which connects the communities Rumors abounded: they were laying fibre-optic cable (no) or widening the carretera to four lanes (no).
Reminds one of Omaha beach, no?
Soon the refurbishment began to take shape: the pipes were electric lines for new streetlights (a welcome addition, if true). The lights would be positioned among large concrete barriers which vaguely resemble World War II anti-tank obstacles. Oh, and amidst the concrete, small indentations for (wait for it) . . . planters!
Nice barriers! and notice the small planters in the middle!
With predictable results:
A Monster truck, which the crew was able to free!
A water delivery truck, which wasn’t as lucky!
Nothing says “no right turn” as much as concrete!
Here we are, months into ciclopista reconstruction.
Maybe this will be a ramp someday. Maybe not. ¡Es México!
Traffic remains stalled, although quite manageable if considered in NOB terms. Barriers have been erected, removed, and replaced. The government decide to have a meeting with local businesses. The first session was postponed due to overly large attendance and much yelling. At the second session, the government decided to let people vent for awhile, then displayed a master plan which is still unreleased. At least there was a plan!
I have to imagine that someone is getting paid by the yard for concrete, as there is way more being poured than is needed. Sometime they pour it, set it, and tear it back out, all in the same week. In the end, we’ll have a brand-new reserved lane for bicycles, pedestrians, and the occasional gringo who will try to drive down it.
When the local government first extended the ciclopista through Ajijic by removing a parking lane, locals predicted doom and destruction. But as you see by the photos, people still parked on it, and businesses still survived. While a concrete barrier will cut down on that, there will be delivery spaces according to the government. And I have yet to see a concrete barrier at the ends of the cross streets, meaning drivers could still drive down the ciclopista and park on it, which in Mexico, means they will.
How will it all turn out? ¿Quien sabe? In Mexico, nothing seems to happen for ages, then suddenly everything changes. People adapt, normalcy returns, and the cycle resumes.
You may recall my local rotary club, Chapala Sunrise Rotary, has an ongoing relationship with the village of Ojo de Agua to address their many needs. Much has happened over the past year, and the Rotary club went back out to Ojo de Agua to meet with the local government and people and take stock.
Affirming our past work with the locals in the village plaza
Over the past year, local and visiting (from NOB) Rotarians have regularly visited Ojo de Agua: to meet with the people and assess their needs, to plant fruit trees in yards, to tour and better understand the area, and to repaint the town plaza and refinish the roof of the gazebo. We did all these things with the active participation of the 300 or so people of Ojo de Agua, as well as our partners in Aipromades, a local multi-city health and environmental group.
Yet the big enchilada here is the need to replace the town’s water supply. Ojo de Agua means “spring” in español, and the town is unique in that while it lies on the shores of Lake Chapala, it has a natural spring which provides clean fresh water for the town. Or at least it did provide. Over the past five years, the spring has been producing less water over fewer months per year, leaving the townsfolk high and dry, dependent upon water trucks from the local government, buying garrafons from visiting vendors, or drinking coca cola. Coca cola, or coca as the locals call it, is the bane of Mexico, the drink of choice and a major contributor to obesity and childhood diabetes.
First the Chapala Sunrise Rotary Club helped the locals build a retention water tank near the village, hoping that storing water could help alleviate the occasional outages. Which it did, but it was clear the situation was deteriorating. At about the same time (a little over a year ago–yesterday in Mexico), the local government changed party control, and the new presidente (mayor) offered to work with the Rotarians for a more comprehensive solution.
That solution evolved into a full partnership: the Poncitlán government would drill a new well for the town, near the spring. Rotary would fund another retention tank and replace/extend the distribution pipe system. Aipromades coordinated with the villagers and provided clean water & health training. And the people of Ojo de Agua would agree to change habits and drink water.
The children preparing to demonstrate a lesson learned about clean hands; you can see the gazebo and freshly painted buildings in the background
Like any such effort, it all takes time. Poncitlan drilled a well and hit clean water, but the well hole didn’t hold up — it collapsed. So they are digging another well, better prepared to prevent another collapse. Rotary clubs from across the United States and Canada visited and sent monetary support: but we still haven’t secured the final approval and matching funds from Rotary International. As a federal bureaucrat of almost forty years, I have to say that the US federal bureaucracy has nothing on the Rotarians! Aipromades is completing the training for the vilagers, and the villagers are being patient (God bless ’em).
The architect, town delegado, and past rotary President (standing L to R) addressing the people
The locals were enthusiastic for the support. They are a marginalized community, geographically isolated from their local government and traditionally ignored. At the meeting, they implored the architect to have the only access, a dirt road, re-graded and a playground built: no sense holding back when el Hefe sends his rep to town! He made some phone calls, and promised to have the equipment on site soon, with the new well drilling to begin mañana (or next week).
All said, the kids had a great time demonstrating their knowledge of hand -washing and how germs spread, and the adults were satisfied our partnership continues to mature and progress. Patience is always a virtue; it’s also a necessity in Mexico and bureaucracy!
Perhaps you’re familiar with the Oscar Wilde quote that “a cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.” A witticism, yes, but prices are an important part of expat life, just as they are for any retiree or those still working. How many friends and family do you know who are furiously running on the career hamster-wheel, trying to make enough to pay-off college loans, provide quality daycare, and save for retirement, while simultaneously maintaining a standard of life driven by society’s dictates?
Those costs show up in real terms as prices. So I decided to list some of the prices we face as expats today at lakeside, using an approximation of the dollar-peso exchange rate (actually 19.4 MXP per 1 USD, but we’ll round to 20 to simplify the math). Some of these costs are a little higher, based on our personal preferences: for example, I could get a haircut at a local barber for 100 pesos ($5 USD), but I choose to go to a salon. I won’t add tips, as that is a whole ‘nother story.
Here goes:
Weekly newspaper in English: 20 MXP, 1 USD.
Haircut at a salon, with wash and scalp massage: 200 MXP, 10 USD
Basket of fresh fruit/vegetables at market: 140 MXP, 7 USD
Sorry, we ate one avocado before I could snap the pic!
We don’t really buy clothes here, only because most Mexicans are so much smaller than us (we’re tall for Americans) that nothing fits: shoes are an impossibility! That will change, as I increasingly see younger Mexicans–especially muchachos–topping six feet in height. Likewise, electronic devices in general are more expensive here, but the Mexican peso has lost so much value (it was 14 MXP-1 USD when we bought our home) that such items are now competitively priced with the US.
Not the price of everything, mind you, but a useful survey and a brief explanation of how it is possible to retire–even early–when your costs in retirement are so low. Expat friends, feel free to add items you think are relevant in the comments, and others, ask if there is something specific you would like to know the price!
I may set some kind of record for misleading blog title with this one! The only Italian restaurant you’ll find in this post is this one:
Just an excuse to link to this song.
We’re in Playa del Carmen, at our favorite resort, the Valentin Imperial Riviera Maya. We spent a long weekend over Veterans’ Day (Remembrance Day throughout the rest of the West) back in the States doing our customary early celebration of Thanksgiving. I know I have covered this before, but it bears repeating:
If you face the challenge of getting an extended family together for Thanksgiving (might work for other holidays, but it really works well for this one), consider celebrating it on another week. Really. The date is arbitrary, first selected by Abraham Lincoln in 1863.
Think about it: choose a different date, and it is suddenly easy to get time off from work, to fly without crowds or drive without congestion. If you have a blended family, you can cede the traditional date to the other side, making you a hero . . . or at least less of a villian.
The post-turkey walk requires a photo op.
There will still be football on the telly, turkey to cook, overeating to indulge, and likely the same weather. The same crowd will show up; more, in fact since there are fewer excuses or challenges in getting everyone together, and less stress in travelling. It works, I swear!
Since we saved money by creating a movable Thanksgiving feast, we opted to hit an all-inclusive resort in Quintana Roo afterward. Again, taking a non-traditional route home allows us to access low-cost (SouthWest and Volaris) airlines and get a better rate for the stay, too.
So the other night we were sitting in a French restaurant under the tropical sky (which is full of clouds and rain).
Surfs up! Note the near-total absence of Sargassum (seaweed), a problem which they have solved.
Being a mix of Celt and Saxon, I didn’t miss the hot tropical sun: my people learned to fear the great glowing orb in the sky, as it turns us a very unnatural shade of red.
Escargot, Foie gras, yadda-yaddaThe entire coastal area near Cancun was a mix of jungle and swamp before the Mexican government agreed to commercialize it. This is beside the path from the restaurant.
I always wondered how they control mosquitoes in such an environment. In more than eight visits, I have nary a bite. Yesterday in the afternoon, I saw a thick smoke wafting past my balcony. I asked one of the workers what was on fire, and he explained they were fogging the mosquitoes. Glad to be only briefly exposed!
The resort getting in the spirit of the season
We’ll rest up for another day then back to the grind of retirement as an expat!
