Travel – Page 6 – Pat the Expat

Bring on the Vaccine Passports

Disclaimer: as an expat and a frequent world traveler, I have a lot to gain by the institution of a globally-accepted vaccine passport system. That said, please allow me to explain why even a someone who has never left their hometown would also benefit from such a regimen.

We’re entering the Coronavirus Endgame, where we reverse-the-snap and bring life back to where it was in early 2019. Things will of course be different–they should be–but the weirdness, isolation, and fear will be gone. To extend the Marvel Avengers metaphor, the vaccines are like the first 45 minutes of Endgame, where our heroes find Thanos and kill him, only to realize nothing changes. The vaccine is not the snap; we have to figure out how to get back to normal.

Why is that? The virus isn’t going away; the current betting in the medical community is it will become endemic, like the cold and flu, always there waiting to make someone sick. Vaccines provide protection, but not perfect protection. Some people with weaker immune response will still get sick and be contagious. And we don’t know how long our immunity is good for: the clock is running, and people immunized in the early trials are still not getting sick, so we’re (just a swag here) probably good for a year, and counting. But it’s unlikely this immunity is forever, so we’ll need to keep practicing things we hated from 2020: masks and social distancing and fever checks and hand sanitizing and elbow-shakes and so forth.

So what good did vaccination do? Well, it greatly reduced the risk of getting sick/hospitalized/dying. And since there is less risk, governments may be willing to allow more mobility and fewer restrictions. The obvious implication is for international travel; right now, US citizens can travel to most of the Western Hemisphere and Africa, along with a few other locations. Likewise, few foreigners can come to the US. A viable vaccine passport could loosen those restrictions.

What about the complaint that a vaccine passport is another government restriction on our freedom? Well, it’s true, it is. In fact, it already is, and has been for almost ninety years. All governments reserve the right to refuse entry to sick people; the only difference is whether the governments are screening for illness (now they are). Many of us already have a vaccine passport: the World Health Organization (WHO) “yellow card” which was a necessary part of foreign travel for decades. If you traveled internationally back in the last millennium, or were in the US Armed Forces or Peace Corps, you have this form. So the concept is not new and not another restriction; it’s the same restriction that always was, you just either didn’t know about it, or forgot about it.

NaTHNaC - Polio vaccination certificate — The International Certificate of Vaccination or Prophylaxis ICVP): pretty old school!

Why not just use the WHO certificate? It is a yellow piece of paper with scribbling on it, from the quaint old days when faking it was considered unlikely (“You want to go to the Amazon without a Yellow Fever inoculation? Go right ahead, and who’s your next of kin?”). Using it today would invalidate the entire concept, since any damn fool with a color printer and Photoshop could make one up.

So we need something digital and secure and updatable and widely-accepted across the globe. This is why the US federal government should be leading the charge. I would like to know what President Biden is doing about this, as it falls squarely in an area where he should be leading, but I have heard nothing about it. Why should the airlines or the EU or Israel be the places to develop this concept?

What if you don’t travel, never had the WHO card, and really don’t care if I can traipse around the globe? Fair point! You too have much to gain. As medicine continues to learn what the risks are with respect to immunity, mutation, side-effects, boosters, and transmission rates, governments will become more comfortable in relaxing some rules based on vaccination. And this will require some readily acceptable, common way to prove it: a vaccine passport. Just like the immigration officer at the airport in London, your dentist, the checkout clerk, your waiter and the baby-sitter will want to know what risk they are entailing in being near you. Will this be forever? No, because eventually people won’t care. How do we know that? Because that’s what happened to the WHO yellow cards; they have never been rescinded, most people just forgot about them, although in a few cases they are still necessary for travel (Yellow Fever being a great example).

For all those folks who are sick-and-tired of masks, your vaccine passport will become a path out of that particular hell. Now, there is no reason the passports have to be mandatory. You can refuse to get the vaccine, and just wait for herd immunity and the end of restrictions. Or, you can get the vaccine and skip getting the passport: you’ll still face restrictions, but you’ll know you are relatively safe. Or you can get the shot and the passport and breathe easy. Choice is a good thing.

Vaccine passports can be an important tool in the transition back to normalcy, both for travel and day-to-day life. And the passport won’t be forever, as I already demonstrated. Sometime in the not too distant future, your passport app will just be a memento of how things were, just like an old face-mask you’ll find crumpled up in a coat pocket. Won’t that be a great day?

15 seconds of fame

After our recent visit to the States for early Thanksgiving, I saw an interesting e-mail in my queue. The missive claimed to be from a staffer for Peter Greenberg, the travel editor for CBS News. The staffer, Anthony, introduced himself and mentioned Peter was coming to Jalisco to film an upcoming segment. One part of the segment would cover Lake Chapala, and one part of that would be about the curious phenomenon of expats living there. Anthony had discovered my blog (Thanks, Google!) and “would I like to be part of an interview for the segment?”

Being the suspicious sort by nature and training, I googled all the names, offices and shows mentioned. They all checked out as described, so I said “yes.”

Anthony asked for suggestions for “things to do” as part of the interview. We’re a sleepy little village, so this was a challenge. I suggested meeting in the plaza for coffee, walking along the malecon, or a short hike up to the little chapel overlooking the town. All three provided some local color and good backgrounds. At first he accepted the idea of the hike, but after reviewing the route, it was too much for the camera operators, so he countered with a bike ride. I was skeptical: our streets are narrow and cobblestone: hardly conducive to a car-mounted camera or a smooth riding experience. So we agree to ride along the malecon.

As the day of the filming approached, the times and details kept changing. First it was midday, then 7:00 AM, before we finally settled on 11:00 AM. My dear wife–being even more suspicious then I am–kept suggesting this was some kind of a scam: “perhaps to get us out of the house so it could be burgled.” As I said, thirty-eight years of being exposed to my suspicion, added to her own native mistrust, is a powerful mix! “No,” I replied, “it’s just television.” I had a few dealings with televised media back in my work days, and I recalled how spur-of-the-moment it all was. “This shot doesn’t work, let’s go somewhere else” or “ohh, look at that background!” And since the schedule is so tight, the crew literally arrives, makes instant choices, films, and moves on.

For this shoot, Peter Greenberg arrived that morning, having flown red-eye from Spain via New York and Los Angeles. They came to Chapala in the early morning hours to do some bass fishing on the lake, and now we headed to the malecon for our segment. The crew amounted to about twelve people: Peter and his wife, some assistants, Gordon (the director), camera and sound operators, and some Tapatios (from Guadalajara) who were doing all the local coordination (transport, renting the bikes, meals, etc.). Gordon the director told me my part was simple: ‘what the hell are you doing here, what do you know that we don’t, and should we all be here?’

We proceeded to mic/mike up and test the equipment. People were walking around during the beautiful December day, so we did a test ride among the passers-by, then chose a leg further along (past the Ajijic sign) to start filming. We rode along–in turn–under a drone, behind a go-pro camera mounted on a bike, and past shoulder-mounted camera men. Peter and I rehashed the same story each time: how I learned about Lake Chapala, what was its draw, and why we lived here. At times, the crew just wanted the visuals, so we talked politics or travel and gestured towards nothing in particular as they filmed. By about two in the afternoon, the crew conferred and decided they had the right mix of audio and visual to do a segment. As Peter told me, “four hours of work for forty seconds of air.”

Peter and the crew were very kind and appreciative of my agreeing to the interview. For my part, I took my cues from Peter or Gordon. When speaking, I tried to be crisp, concise, and clever. Whether I succeeded or not remains to be seen. What did I say? Well, you’ll have to watch to find that out. When I have the details of the appearance (probably in January) I’ll provide an update.

They were off to Guadalajara, then Tequila, before finishing in Puerto Vallarta. Looks to me to be a Jalisco promo, which is not surprising. Many of the things Americans think of when they think “Mexico” are in fact from Jalisco: Mariachis and Tequila come to mind. Peter mentioned he and his wife were headed to Turkey next. I asked him, as a member of the US Travel Hall of Leaders, did it (travel) ever get old? He said, “no, as long as there is something new to learn, something new to experience.”

An Expat Stress Test

We recently passed the milestone of four years retired (I’ll stop counting when the number exceeds my thirty-eight work years). Around this time each year, I review our decision to retire early and choose the expat life in Mexico. Yet the coronavirus and on-and-off again quarantine has me pondering the bigger questions (“what’s it all about, Alfie?” “Is it technically a weekend if it’s not a work-week?” “just how near is a near occasion of sin?”). Oh, that and the liturgical year just ended, with daily readings about the end of all things leading to Advent, a season popularly misunderstood as a festive build-up to Christmas, but in reality a chance to take stock whether we’re prepared for the inevitable end of our existence. Phew, that’s an existential load!

Took this during our visit to Playa del Carmen. It has nothing to do with today’s post. Sometimes, a photo is just too good to ignore.

Retired life in general, and retired expat life in particular, give one the time and perspective to consider such things. But how many times can I say “we enjoy being retired” or “the weather is amazing” or “life is good” without becoming repetitive or annoying? 2020 threw us all a curve ball and — unlike Michael Jordan– I want to make contact on it.

If there ever was a time or condition which would cause one to reconsider choosing to live the retired expat life, the 2020 Covid experience was it. One reason for being expats in Mexico was to enable us to travel the world. Not so much now. Few countries would welcome us, and few things are open to see or do if they did. Another reason to be here in Mexico specifically was for the climate: perfect weather enabling daily outdoor activity, including alfresco dining year-round. Ehhh, sometimes. Restaurants have been hard hit, some closed and others forced into carry-out only. And wearing a mask even to exercise outdoors is a drag.

On top of all that, one of the biggest challenges to expat life is ensuring quality medical care. We have that, but no medical system in the world has done well during the pandemic: they have all flailed and failed in one way or another. That is not a criticism: this is simply what happens when a novel, contagious, and sometimes deadly disease appears. It just so happens this was the first really contagious one in a century, and many people had started to “believe in science” (what an oxymoron!) to the point they were surprised by the inevitable.

Mexico doesn’t engage in widespread Covid testing, so no one knows how bad it is here. Mexico’s health minister mused out loud ‘why test if you have no treatment?’ which was medically accurate if terribly tone-deaf. The hospital admissions here mirror the rates in the States, so the incidence and case load are likely about the same.

So here we are, quarantined in a developing country during a pandemic. And loving it nonetheless. Why?

Let’s start with the medical situation. Mexico has a higher death rate then the States, but that is mostly due to the high incidence of co-morbidities and poor public healthcare services. There is no magic treatment in either place, and the best outcome is prevention in all cases. The prevention outlook is the same: state-by-state, with some closures and restrictions on movement, mask-wearing requirements, sanitizing at the entrance of public facilities (restaurants, bars, shopping centers). In the end, it’s a wash for us as to where to get sick, and our best protection is our own ability to abide by the necessary health policies.

One major difference is the attitude: nobody seems particularly upset or angry about all this here in Mexico. Nobody expects the government to get it all right, and most understand that some things–like novel pandemics–are beyond the current understanding of even modern medicine, so we learn by experiencing. People die. But to Mexicans, death is a tragic reality of daily life, and coronavirus only provides the how and when, but does not change the if. Every person’s death is mourned, but there is a realism (not fatalism) here that affects how Mexicans deal with a pandemic. And that’s a very positive thing, in my opinion.

Travel? Why yes, please. Small secret #1:despite all the headlines, at no time during this pandemic did the United States prevent American citizens from returning home. All the announced restrictions were only for foreign nationals. We’ve traveled back to the States twice during the restrictions without trouble or even questioning. The US Department of Homeland Security did recently announce that ‘US persons returning to the States could be denied entry if they were sick.’ Small secret #2: That has always been the case. ANY airline, and ANY country, can and will deny you boarding/entry if you show symptoms of illness. You can be (and some returnees have been) put into quarantine. Thus it has always been.

One overlooked aspect of travel is that while the cruise industry is stuck in port and the land border open only to “essential business” (a term with significant discretion: Canadians have learned it may not allow them to drive from Mexico to Canada), Mexico and the USA have kept their airline connections open. While individual states may have stringent provisions once landed, there have been few restrictions on flying back-and-forth across the border, a fact unique to the Mexican-American relationship. Importantly for us, it has permitted two trips back to visit family, all with limits and distancing, of course.

As time goes by and we learn more about Covid, things change. We’re not wiping down every product which enters our casa. Most restaurants have adapted to socially-distanced dining, and since the weather is great, that option remains. Places like our Church have reopened for regular Mass with distancing rules. Even when the case rates rose, the government didn’t overreact and re-enact the original restrictions, but changed them to fit what we’ve learned.

We’ve noticed many of our Canadian snowbird friends returning to Mexico of late. Whether they would, given their health insurance and government warnings, was an open question among us year-round expats. Mostly they have, sensing that enduring the pandemic in sun and warm weather is the better option. That and the less tangible sense that the pandemic is something which demands serious–but not overwrought–attention, which is more the case here than elsewhere.

All things considered, Mexico in general, and lakeside in particular, remains the place for us to be in this Annus Horribilis of 2020.

My Corona(virus)

BLUF (Bottom Line Up Front, lest I be accused of sensationalism): I’m negative for CoVid19. But I am traveling again during the pandemic, and didn’t feel well, and here’s the rest of the story.

Back Saturday November 7th, I woke up with a nagging headache. Nothing serious, no other symptoms than some post-nasal drip, an on-and-off again allergy symptom. The night before, Judy & I hosted our monthly dinner club, which meant I drank more wine and less water than usual. I chalked it all up to tannins and dehydration, drank more water, watched football, ate pizza.

The headache continued and worsened a little, but it was intermittent: I seemed sensitive to light and noise, or sudden movement of my head. but I also went long stretches with no pain at all. By the time for our Tuesday night red-eye flight to O’Hare airport in Chicago, I was steadily taking aspirin powders. No fever, no cough, no other symptoms less the drip.

For my expat amigos, here’s the link for the health screening site you mst complete for any flight in, into, or out of Mexico:

https://afac.hostingerapp.com/?cf_chl_jschl_tk=882858768fd9cbea75413335123ba478ce6c9703-1605540696-0-AbCU3T7aLTDWdn4C_v71-Bm7uKmp7ep77DjEtX7S6JanMxDDapLGJBaVqtCAZKpeGNNTfvyLtHM6dHUNU3QqOFdy0oO0n3OlXD2jee8v8aIhNbKKWgRjrKf04nUZXzNwQoZ1wPoEmQMR3wjdG7h314I-PgvNHAqvbqYUghI7R8zIXOBSx3A9FpFiwIa3ejidCUhf93Z_qE5zeVfQR5-IAykyF8Rg4xB25TVvuwHyd55WGE1UySjzvhy2PUsnVq1mHuQ9HoBkt5nfxy-voIgDD6bEfBr3rgB5EBRwaaUjDgZ5cKNtWIrvoGu9NrXKtaxE3mGdBWYVe0Npfco01U9uYSc3tpOlqhowLmIaEKxkCiBjiJpT8m23Ht3Pnh349dBy4A

Sorry about the length! AeroMexico did a great job segregating passengers to maintain social distance. Then they had us board a bus crammed together for a ride on the tarmac and mosh-pit boarding. *sigh*

Gathering the family clan on Wednesday for early Thanksgiving proceeded apace, but so did my headaches and gradually soring throat. ((Unpaid commercial announcement: early Thanksgiving remains the best new idea since sliced bread! That is all)). Judy convinced me to go to the Walgreen’s minute clinic to see if I could get any relief: in the back of all our minds was coronavirus. Nobody thought I had it, but the potential consequences were severe. We were all together in a home, seeing each other for the first time in months, and about to have a family dinner and get together.

I went to the clinic on Thursday morning. Judy and I talked, and we decided I would not mention my recent travel: the word “Mexico” would lead to an instant suspicion, even though the pandemic is no worse there than in the States. I wanted to avoid even a Covid test, as that introduced the pre-result need to quarantine and the possibility of a false positive.

The Nurse Practitioner got about fifteen seconds into my symptoms and said, “I want to do a Covid test.”

“Is that really necessary” I weakly defended. “No fever, no chest congestion, I feel fine except for the weird headache.”

She interrupted “Do you know what they tell us is the clinical clue to coronavirus? It’s WEIRD. This virus acts weird. It is individual. There is a long list of symptoms, and many people have none, many have one or two, and a few get really sick. And the list of symptoms is the same for colds, flus, sinus infections, you name it. WEIRD!”

Out came the test kit and in went the swab. Lucky for me, they now have a short swab so it doesn’t have to feel like they’re poking it through your brain. However, they do do a roto-rooter motion once up each nostril, so it is still unpleasant and leaves you sore.

And the waiting began: three-to-five days for results. The Nurse Practitioner told me to wear a mask at home and to stay away from my family. That way, if I was positive, their quarantine period would start the day I tested. When we arrived back home, the adults gathered for a family meeting: what to do? I stayed quiet (no really) and let our adult children make the call. They agreed that starting quarantine early was no big advantage, and since I had symptoms for several days, I was probably past peak viral lode, meaning they were already infected or weren’t going to be. They decided I should skip the mask at home and just go about our family reunion/early Thanksgiving as planned. I have to admit I was impressed by their level-headed, common-sense discussion.

My headaches continued and the irritated throat waxed and waned over the weekend. Any sniffle from any family member gave me pause: was that just Fall, or something more?

Fall is beautiful, especially in the morn!

On Sunday our younger daughter and her brood departed for home, not knowing whether she was headed back to work or quarantine. Finally on Monday morning the results came back negative for coronavirus. Today the headache is fading and the throat seems better. All systems go for launch!

Lessons learned?

The implication for even a sniffle during a pandemic. I felt pretty confident I was not positive, but I also understood the medical professional’s position: during a pandemic, treat everything as coronavirus until you can prove it’s not. We’re into fall, and cold/flu season. People will contact those conditions and the default medical response is going to be coronavirus test first, with all the implications.
Knowledge is power. Our kids and their spouses are “up” on the situation, and had a panic-free, rational discussion. If anybody had bought into the hysteria, we would have had to overreact. That is not to conclude Covid isn’t serious business: it is. But adults face serious decisions with concern and care and facts, not emotions.
There’s a song tie in for anything. You knew this one was coming:

This one’s for W

Barrancas del Cobre

So named because the flora in the canyon gives it a copper (oxidized) green hue.

They made the letters in copper color . . . get it?

We stayed at the Hotel Mirador, aptly named as all the rooms lie along the canyon top with balconies overlooking the canyon. Here’s a map to orient you on where we were:

Ahhhh, Chihuahua!

During this trip, we started off off-map in El Fuerte and traveled up the red line (ChePe train) to Bahuichivo. We took a van to Cerocahui, then on to the Gallego overlook of Urique. Next we traveled by van to Posada Barranacas, where we stayed four nights overlooking the canyon. We also took day trips to Creel and to the other named “valleys.” Let me shut up for a moment and let the pictures do the talking:

Our hotel in Posada Barranancas, from the bottom of the canyon

There seems to be a very human need to anthropomorphize physical structures, thus:

Little known fact: Yogi bear retired to Mexico, too!

The Spaniards called it Valley of the Monks. The Raramuri called it Valley of the Phalluses: You decide!

Rorshach test: whole lotta’ monks or phalluses here!

The start of the world’s second longest zip line. Note that there is also a tram line.

I encouraged my fellow travelers who had not done so to take the zip line. It’s safe, and everyone should do something like that sometime in your life. Previously, I jumped out of planes and rappelled down cliffs, among other things. I took the tram. Mis amigos were not amused. 😎

All in all, an amazing eight-day trip. As I told my Spanish teacher, “Cada nueva vista es mas espectacular que la ultima.“(“Each new view is more spectacular than the last.”) A big thanks to our friends who formed our travel pod; a trip is always better when shared with great company! And special thanks to Rosie at Charter Club Tours for arranging, chaperoning, and leading the trip.

Tarahumara or Raramuri?

You say “to-may-to”, I say “to-mah-to.” The Raramuri are an indigenous tribe living–mostly as they always have–in the Sierra Madre range in the Mexican state of Chihuahua. When the Spanish arrived, they dubbed the peoples as Tarahumara. Much like the Mexica people eventually accepted being called Aztecs, the Raramuri (who speak Raramuri and call themselves Raramuri), accepted others calling them Tarahumara. I’ll go with what they call themselves.

The Raramuri peoples were closely associated with the Apache tribe, so much so they consider themselves to be from the same lineage. The Raramuri say that the Apaches were very bellicose, always looking for a fight, while the Raramuri were more peaceful, so the tribes split up. Eventually the Spanish came a knocking and even the Raramuri put up a fight. Spain tried three times without success to “pacify” the Raramuri. Finally, some Raramuri took up the Spanish language and the cross, while the rest retreated into the canyons to continue life as they liked. Over the years, Spanish influence and Catholicism spread, but with a distinct Raramuri flavor.

The Raramuri live a spartan existence with individual homes, often built upon existing caves in the canyon walls. Even those who live in the valleys still insist on subsistence farming and hunting for themselves, gathering together mostly for fiestas and seasonal events. Oh, and running.

I don’t mean “let’s go out and get some exercise” running. Not even marathon running–that’s too short in their opinion. No, I’m talking about the kind of extreme long distance running that makes Forrest Gump look like a weekend jogger. It seems that one of the Raramuri beliefs that survived to the present day is that running helps keep the Earth spinning on its axis (in a spiritual, not physical, sense). So they run. and run. and run. Men, and women, and children, even the elderly (to some extent). Barefoot, or in huarache sandals made with twine and the tread of old car tires. How far do they run? While we were there, Raramuri runners competed in a virtual international race where their top runner ran 429 kilometers, or 268 miles. He only averaged a 15 minute mile . . . for sixty-four straight hours (he didn’t win)!

Three years back, a Raramuri woman entered and won her first race, an ultramarathon of thirty-one miles, wearing a skirt and sandals.

“One of these things, is not like the others”

Running is also the Raramuri way to settle disputes. Have an argument over some land, or a cow? Think someone dissed you, but they don’t think so? Really like that shirt the other guy is wearing? The Raramuri challenge each other in a race which can last more than a day. The two contestants push a wooden ball along with a stick, over mountain and canyon trails, and to the winner belongs the spoils!

If the Raramuri/Tarahumara start to sound familiar to you–and if you ever were a runner, they do–you might have read Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run, which highlighted the “light-footed” (Raramuri means “light-footed”) people who run on their toes in sandals, which in turn helped spark the barefoot/Vibram running craze.

We didn’t see a lot of running, as the Raramuri aren’t there to perform for you. We did have the opportunity to visit two cave-homes. The first was along a road and supported an extended family of about fifteen people, including giving them the chance to market various goods and natural medicines.

The second was on the top of a cliff, and was owned by an older couple who are so wealthy (!?!?), they have a second cave house down in the valley, where the climate is tropical. So they move back and forth, depending on the season. Cliff side snowbirds, so to speak.

Judy snaps a photo of the canyon while the man of the house arrives

Catalina tidies up since she had visitors, and

she seemed so fond of me Judy had to reclaim me!

Almost all the Raramuri we saw had adopted or adapted to aspects of modern lives. The small farms had satellite dishes, the men wore pants in place of the traditional diaper-like shorts, they hunt with rifles and catch the train to move between towns. But the women still weave pine needles into baskets and wear multiple layers of skirts. And they all still gather to run, just to keep the Earth spinning. So when the Sun comes up tomorrow, think of the Raramuri who ran last night to make it so!

ChePe and Cerocahui

From El Fuerte and the nineteenth century we traveled a short distance to a godforsaken little train station to ride the last passenger train in Mexico: the Chihuahua al Pacifico, or “Che-Pe.” Passenger trains were once legion in Mexico, but they gradually gave way (as in the States) to freight carriers. AMLO, Mexico’s Presidente, has inaugurated the construction of a controversial tourist train in the Yucatan, but who knows if that will ever come to fruition. In the meantime, ChePe is the only game in town. This particular train still moves a few passengers from the coast to the mountains, and locals joke that Che-Pe stands for “always late.” Mostly, this train takes tourists up into the towns of the Sierra Madre, where they can view the Barrancas del Cobre or Copper Canyon.

The train tracks run across some scrub and high sierra desert landscapes before entering into a series of climbs along canyons cut into the mountains by the various tributaries of the Rio Fuerte. Each landscape, tunnel, trestle, and cut is more spectacular than the last. Makes one glad we no longer worry about film but simply shoot the pixels and worry about the good ones later!

On the way up; at the top left, you can see where we later entered a long tunnel after a massive switchback

This being a Mexican train, you can open the windows and hang out. Of course, if you do, you’ll see the various mudslides, overnight arroyos, track and railroad ties lying beside the railway, and of course tunnel walls which whizz by about a meter from your window. Throughout the day, we rose from sea level to eight thousand feet, crossing forty bridges and passing through over eighty tunnels, before arriving in the eighteenth century, more specifically the mission town of Cerocahui.

Cerocahui is even smaller and more rustic than El Fuerte. This town was originally just the site of a cemetery for the Raramuri peoples, when the Jesuits came around and built a mission to evangelize them in the seventeenth century. When Spain expelled the Jesuits in 1767, and the town had to wait on a Franciscan priest to arrive in the 1940s! We’ll revisit the Raramuri in another post.

Cerocahui from a mountain overlook; notice the clouds in the valley in the background to the left

This day we traveled up a scary mining road to a scenic outlook over the Urique valley, one of the canyons forming the Copper Canyon.

Our group & van on the mining road, visiting a Rarumari cave turned into a small store

El Fuerte

The traveling life is back on, masks and all! We’re on a group tour to the Sierra Madre Occidental, specifically to the Mexican states of Sinaloa and Chihuahua. Our first stop is the tiny pueblo called El Fuerte, so called because the Spanish build a fort here in 1610.

El Fuerte is a pueblo magico, a special designation for towns of historic consequence or natural beauty. It certainly has both, as these pictures attest. The historic side is one familiar to those who watched American TV in the 60’s: El Fuerte is the home of the real life El Zorro. Out hotel claims to be the house of the original el Zorro, complete with statue and a tributary room. El Fuerte–built alongside the eponymous river which will feature more in this trip–is a picturesque step back in time to early nineteenth century Mexico. We got a chance to taste one of the two local specialties: black sea bass; unfortunately, the local langostinos are off limits for mating season, so we had to fall back upon regular shrimp. Enjoy the pics!

This mural in the government building gives a short history of the region. Reader’s Digest version: Spanish arrive, everything changes, nobody “wins.”

We’re using El Fuerte to stage higher into the Sierra Madre, before plunging (so to speak) into the Barrancas del Cobre.

Scenes from America

Travelling between visits to my ninety-one year old Dad, brother and sister, and daughters/sons-in-law/grandchildren. Some things I have noticed along the way, which was Chicago to South Bend to Cincinnati to Baltimore and return:

Pandemic restrictions and compliance are everywhere different and distinct. In South Bend, it seems like everyone was wearing masks, except for one family we saw in the Mall. Let’s set the stage. When you enter through the (limited) entrances, you see a sign indicating masks are mandatory, as is disinfecting your hands at a dispensary station. Signs direct you to keep six feet social distancing, and instructions on the floor tell you that foot traffic inside the mall is “walk to the right” (like driving) to avoid contact. We’re coming out of a store, and directly in front of us is a family: slightly chubby, middle-aged father and mother with likewise adolescent, all sans masks and with big grins on their faces. They are walking the “wrong way” and moving directly toward other shoppers, who are scattering away from and around them. I realize I’m making huge assumptions here, but the look on the Dad’s face was “go ahead, say something.” We walked past and ignored them. What’s the point?
At a roadside Wendy’s in southern Ohio, the travellers were all wearing masks, while the locals were all walking in without them. Everyone had to eat out in the parking lot, though.
All of this comes as a result of the combination of American individualism and federalism We all grew up in States. Taxes were different, health care was different, schooling was different, age of consent was different, age to consume alcohol was different. Granted, the federal response to Covid19 has been disjointed, but no one should be surprised about the differences between states, if they understand the term “United States of America.” Within those parameters, Americans remain contrarians, oftentimes doing the opposite of what they are asked or required by even local government. That said, we all wore masks and maintained social distance. Doing as you please is license; liberty is freely choosing to do the right thing.
Places which are under federal control, like airports, have uniform rules: everyone has masks on all the time. This tells me the non-compliance is symbolic: people flaunt their views where they can, but yield whenever or wherever they know the consequences are serious. Anybody feels tough enough to bully the WalMart greeter, but TSA, not so much.
The political environment really is as bad as I imagined. In my family, we argue (loudly and openly) about everything. I found family members quietly and delicately engaging me about issues before determining what views they could/could not express. Most had stories of friends lost, jobs endangered, or public encounters which border on discomfort. Seems like everybody is walking around on eggshells, with a vocal minority (at both ends of the spectrum) waiting to scream at any infraction. Land of the free home of the reticent.
Nothing will be normal in the States until in-person school resumes. With all the two working-parent (or single-parent) families, work can’t resume until in-person school resumes. In the jurisdictions I visited, the local teachers’ unions were vigorously and publicly lobbying against in-person school and for online curricula, which has been perfunctory at best. Parents with means are arranging private education for their children. Teachers’ unions were calling out parents (and teachers!) for making private agreements for tutoring. Many parents will be stuck “homeschooling,” an oxymoron in this case. Homeschooling is a choice which requires great preparation and sacrifice; parents are now forced to do it with neither the vocation nor the support. This, not a vaccine, may prove to be the long pole in the tent to recovery.
Touchless delivery has gone to a new level. We ordered in Chinese food one night. About forty minutes later, I asked Judy where the order was. She paused to check her smartphone and said “at the door.” Seems they dropped the order at the door (no knock, no doorbell), texted her, and left.
Speaking of ethnic food, “authentic Mexican” food in America still isn’t. This was not a surprise. Perhaps somewhere near the border, or in some ethnic enclave in a bg city, one can find authentic Mexican cuisine. Tried it twice, in different areas. The workers were Mexican, and we enjoyed practicing our Spanish, but the food was still the high carb, meat- and sauce-heavy Tex-Mex version of Mexican cuisine available anywhere in the States.
We got to attend in-person Mass twice, which was a treat. In South Bend, the pews were roped off, no singing, no sign-of-peace, masks on except for the Eucharist. Near Baltimore, Mass was in the parking lot in tailgate chairs, under a hot, humid sun. Made me grateful for whoever invented the kneeler, as warm asphalt is tough on new jeans and old knees!
I noticed non-grocery stores had stocking issues. A sporting goods chain we visited had several aisles with little or no merchandise, normally a no-no in retail. I talked to a store employee who was loading home weight sets into cars. He told me they sold all they had, including the floor models, and people keep calling for more. Remember when everyone seemed to have a weight set which never got used and went for bargain prices at a garage sale? Times have changed.
Traffic on interstate highways was down, but not gone. Somehow Washington DC still managed to have traffic jams. Perhaps they were left over from before the pandemic?
On the way back to Mexico, we had to traverse BWI Marshall and Chicago O’Hare airports. Neither was impressive. At BWI, they had no TSA pre-Check lines open during the morning flight rush. But, we were in luck, as the long lines prompted TSA to open new lanes for the security search. But, the scanner announced that each and every electronic device had to be put into a separate bin. And we had eight of them, some of which were packed because we had pre-Check. Grrrrr. At O’Hare, there was also no pre-Check, but the first TSA checkpoint gave us a card which stated we were pre-Check. But we still had to go through the same security screen. But this time devices were allowed altogether. And we were approached by a homeless man begging in the security area. What? It’s no wonder why people think airport security is just theater.
Our literal last step in America was a doozy. Awaiting our AeroMexico flight to Guadalajara from Chicago, we listened to all the announcements, first in Spanish and then English. It was good to get back into practice. As we went down the jetway to board, we both said “buenas tardes” to the woman operating the console for the jetway. “I speak English.” she replied coldly. “We speak Spanish”, we responded with smiles. Guess we were guilty of microaggression. Or was it cultural appropriation? Anyway, as we stepped aboard, the flight attendant gave us a hearty “¡Bienvenidos!”

Fear of Flying

As the coronavirus rages, we’ve been cancelling all our vacations and plans to visit family in the States. As time passed, we came to two conclusions: first, there would be no end in sight to the spread of the virus; and second, since we have status as American citizens and permanent residents of Mexico, we can still travel back and forth between the two (if nowhere else). So we’re flying back to the States for a few weeks of family visits. I’ll capture my insights on what’s different flying under the coronavirus radar.

First off, planning a trip is very different: more like flying back in the 1990s, if you can remember it. There are fewer flights, fewer destinations, and connections are more necessary but less convenient. We couldn’t go nonstop from Guadalajara to Atlanta; the closest we could get nonstop to our destination (Cincinnati) was Chicago. Connections in Houston (United) and Dallas/Ft. Worth (American) had long layovers. Delta wanted to connect us through Mexico City to Atlanta to Cincy. There was nothing as simple as the short layover, one connection flights to which we were accustomed.

Prices were all over the map. We could get super-cheap fares with a overnight layover via such locations as Salt Lake City, but many of the other fares were still comparable to pre-pandemic pricing. Business class was not that much more expensive, although there is a raging online debate about spending extra for it. The extra service associated with business class is mostly gone (no drinks, no meals) but the seats are still more comfortable and it’s easier for us to social distance in a row for two. The plane did load a row at a time from the back, which was unusual.

For holders of the Mexican Permanente, there is a new immigration form to fill out when departing (still retaining the stub for returning). It looks a lot like the old one, but the section on purpose of travel (where you once had to check “other” and ensure not to check “tourist”) has been moved to the OFFICIAL USE part of the form and is filled out by the immigration official.

One surprise: there is a health form you need to fill out before going to security. I saw one person with a paper copy, but no extras anywhere. There was an empty table near security with people standing around it, but no instructions; after getting sent back from security (no lines, by the way), we went to that table and found a small notice. Here’s what you have to do: Have your smart phone read the QR code on the notice, which will send your phone’s browser to a webpage. You fill out the questionnaire (very easy) and then go through security and show it on your phone, just like your passport or boarding pass. But we had no advance notice of this. We were asked the same questions again while awaiting boarding, along with the usual security questions.

Many of the airport services were closed, but some food/accessory stores were open, so no need to starve. But remember, onboard service is very limited, so you either need to buy something and take it aboard or bring something from home. Our flight (AeroMexico) was about 80% filled, but everybody did their “social distancing” thing, most of the time.

For the first time in my life, I saw people actually waiting for their row to be called to board. I would love that to be a change which endures from this unfortunate pandemic.

The flight was no different, with the exception of everybody wearing masks and the much more limited services. Upon landing, Global Entry was working in O’Hare, so we skipped through Customs/Immigration quickly. We were given a US health questionnaire to fill out while in flight, but no one asked us for it. So much for strict measures.

All things considered, not an unpleasant set of changes for the privilege of international air travel. You still get there, and everyone seems concerned that you do so without getting sick. Key points to remember:

Are you allowed to travel to the country you’re entering, and why?
If it is the US, are there any State rules that apply AFTER you leave the airport?
How do you address the need for food/drink given all the time in the airport/in the airplane?
Can you download/find the health form online before you fly?

And as always, during these unusual times, have patience. Everyone is trying to figure how things work now, and it’s not always obvious what works, and what doesn’t. The fact that we can still travel (even in a limited way) is amazing in itself!