Adventures in Mexico

Oilcloth and Rice Krispie Treats

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 02:00:00 +0000

Last weekend I had four things on my to-do list.

1. Buy groceries.
2. Buy oilcloth.
3. Get my cell phone fixed.
4. Pick up some friends at the airport.

On Saturday I accomplished the first two items. AND I had a nice surprise. It was one of those surprises that give me much pleasure and can make me smile all day.

I found Rice Krispie Treats at Commercial Mexicana, the local supermarket. Rice Krispie Treats always remind me of Acapulco, because that's the only place in Mexico I've ever been able to buy them. And now they're available in my home town of Zihuatanejo. Life doesn't get much better than this....

Oh, and I found some really cool oilcloth. I plan to use it to line Terry's pantry and cupboards while he's out of town. Not everyone shares my passion for Mexican oilcloth, so I feel compelled to sneak into kitchens and redecorate while people are out of town. Hey, they'll learn to love it...

Treeless Zihuatanejo

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 22:30:00 +0000

I've been driving my boyfriend Terry's truck while he's in the U.S.

Several months ago, when he was still in Zihuatanejo, I almost backed his truck into a palm tree. So I was surprised when he told me where to find the keys.

The tree I almost hit was located in our parking lot. Unfortunately, we had to have the tree cut down this summer, as it had become a hazard -- because it was dead and might fall down any day, NOT because it was in my way...

I contend that the tree was dead BEFORE it had its scare with Terry's truck. Terry claims that it died of fear.

So Terry and I were discussing my driving the other day, and Terry asked about the state of health of the other palm trees in Zihuatanejo.

VERY funny....

There are plenty of palm trees left in Zihuatanejo. One of my favorites is this traveler's palm, located up the hill from where I live. I used to live at the top of that hill, and I drove a truck then, and hey, three years later that tree is still alive and well.

A Favorite Story

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 11:59:00 +0000

The other day, on one of our morning walks, I told my friend Nancy (hi Nancy!) about the time I spent in Tibet in 2005.

I've never been able to adequately express in words the emotions I experienced on that three week trek (by jeep) in the Himalayas. It was everything I expected it to be and at the same time nothing like I thought it would be.

There were so many experiences -- mountains and prayer flags, monasteries and prayer wheels, pilgrims walking to Lhasa ( and taking years to get there), trucks going over the side of the mountain and people dying, sky burial platforms attracting huge vultures at the side of the road.

The adventure was physically demanding and at the same time incredibly satisfying. It came at a time in my life when I was rethinking many things -- my job, where I wanted to live, HOW I wanted to live. I was unhappy and I wanted to make some changes in my life.

One of my favorite stories about Tibet concerns an Indian who worked as a surveyor for the British Raj. He was sent into the Himalayas to verify the maps of the origin of the Ganges river. At the time there was some confusion about which river in the Himalayas fed into the holy river of India.

He was told to cut down trees and throw them into the river that he was mapping. His counterparts in India would watch for the logs. If they saw huge trees floating down the river then they would know that their maps were correct.

10 years later, having endured the hardships of an inhospitable terrain, and the work of cutting down trees and throwing them into the river, he arrived back in India to report to his superiors.

Unfortunately there had been a change of management during his 10 year absence, and the survey office had totally forgotten about him and his mission. No one had bothered to watch for the logs. No one knew if they had arrived or not.

I like to think the Indian surveyor didn't spend the rest of his life angry and frustrated. I hope he lived for many years, happy and healthy, realizing that the way the universe responded to his actions was totally irrelevant.

And, if nothing else, he had a great story to tell...

Monkeys, Flip Flops, and Pura Vida

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 00:10:00 +0000

I was sitting by the pool the other day with some of my neighbors. We were talking about the warm water, the blue sky, the vibrant flower colors. We all agreed that we are lucky to live in such a beautiful place.

During the course of the conversation I mentioned that the only thing we were missing was monkeys. Not every one agreed, but hey, it's a free country.

In 2003 I went to Costa Rica with my daughter (hi Anna!). One of the things I loved about the rain forest/beach/volcanoes/easy lifestyle (otherwise known as Costa Rica) was the howler monkeys.

Not everyone in CR loves the monkeys. When I was there I met a man from Nicaragua who lived in Playa Portrero. He complained that since moving to Costa Rica he never got enough sleep.

His problem: he lived on the beach, and his house had a tin roof and a mango tree in the back yard. Every morning the monkeys would come to eat the mangoes, and they would drop or throw mangoes on his roof.

After listening to him I realized I wanted to retire to Costa Rica. I wanted to live in a place where the only alarm clock is monkeys throwing mangoes on the roof. A place where I could spend the rest of my life in shorts, t-shirts and flip flops.

Life intervened, I was offered a job in Zihuatanejo, and I fell in love with it. We have mangoes here, but I still miss the monkeys...

Almohadas, huachinangas, and Los Estados Unidos

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 10:54:00 +0000

I was walking to Commercial Mexicana the other day when I was passed by a young man with a cart full of pillows. Actually he was pulling a cart full of blankets (who buys those blankets, anyway? I've never needed more than a sheet on top of me since I moved here). Tied to the back of the cart was a mass of bed pillows.

I can believe that this guy might sell a few pillows on a Sunday afternoon, but blankets? When it's 90 degrees fahrenheit and 90% humidity? No way.

The pillows caught my attention because one of the first itinerant peddlers I ever saw in my neighborhood was a pillow (almohada) seller.

At the time I was just learning Spanish, and the word almohada seemed treacherously long and hard to remember. I worked hard to memorize it.

The same with huachinango (red snapper) and Los Estados Unidos. I had to practice and practice before those words tumbled out automatically...

There are still words that I stumble over. I'm a lazy student. I study Spanish in fits and starts (mostly fits), then I get interested in something else -- sewing (making almohadas!)..., writing...

...Enough with the excuses. Bring on the almohadas. Bring on the words that sound the same to me -- parejas (couples) and pájaros (birds). Bring on the synonyms and the false cognates -- paradas and desfiles.

... I've been here almost four years now and I'm ready for anything. Well, I don't think I'll ever be ready for subjunctive verbs... but I'm ready for all that other stuff!

Summertime

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 23:45:00 +0000

The heat and humidity in September in Zihuatanejo reminds me of the first summer I lived here, in 2006. That was the summer I decided I wanted to live here permanently. The summer I fell in love with the heat, the beach, the people, the language, the food, and the music.

Some of the magic of that first summer in Mexico may have been a reflection of a summer I spent in St. Louis in 1971. Yeah, yeah, ... I know, on the surface the only similarities between St. Louis and Zihuatanejo are heat and humidity, and beer-drinking.

In St. Louis I lived in a dormitory on the Washington University campus with students from all over the U.S. We were enrolled in a 10 week intensive Chinese/Japanese language institute. We spent 6 to 8 hours a day in class. We had to speak our chosen language during lunch. When not in class we memorized vocabulary and bitched about the instructors.

It was one of the happiest summers of my life.

On weekends we went to outdoor rock concerts. We partied. We drank a lot of beer.

Funny how 35 years later my life came full circle and I found myself recreating that 1971 lifestyle. I like to think I've learned a few things in the intervening years, about how to manage relationships (I changed boyfriends that summer, and I wasn't very kind), how to stand up for myself, and, perhaps, how to practice a bit of moderation. I've also discovered that life is full of surprises... But hey, as long as there's cold beer and music and friends, with any luck, most of the surprises will be good ones...

Buttercup

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 17:56:00 +0000

Speaking of small towns...

I was in Walla Walla this summer, staying with my friend Shelia. One night she and I went to the Walla Walla Summer Musical with her daughter and her daughter's 3-year-old son.

The play was ok, and as usual the location was perfect -- an outdoor amphitheater on the grounds of Fort Walla Walla. Logan (the three year old) loved the music. Shelia and Paige and I recognized some of the cast members.

The play started with the arrival onstage of a car from the fifties -- a yellow and white 1957 Nash Metropolitan. As the car came onto the stage Shelia said "There's Buttercup."

I'm thinking, this is such a small town, that not only do we recognize the cast members, we recognizes the props!

Shelia was one of Buttercup's previous owners.

The other memorable event of the evening was also related to cars. As we walked into the amphitheater Logan pointed at a little red Miata -- "Ann, someone stole your car!" I tried to explain that there are several red Miatas in Walla Walla, but he wasn't having it. Fortunately whoever was driving my little red car that night returned it before we got home, keeping the world a safe and happy place for three year olds.

Back Home

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 02:10:00 +0000

I'm home at last, where the humidity is high and the temperature is high but I don't care. Sometimes, when I'm in the US, I forget how incredibly "good" it feels to be here, in a very physical way that's hard to explain.

When I'm away I sometimes forget why this is the only place I can call home. There's the light (which I need to write about some day), the smells, the feel of the air on my skin... the feel of the warm water on my skin... the sunshine (yeah, I do need to write about this sometime).

Even though there's mostly rain and little sunshine right now, the air and the light are still better than anything up north.

I'm home. I'm not particularly happy right now -- a family member has suffered a terrible loss, my boyfriend Terry isn't here with me, I haven't had time to reconnect with good friends. I've lost my cell phone so I can't even call friends. I'm feeling pretty crappy.

On the other hand, I AM home. And after a summer of living in other people's homes (thanks Shelia! thanks Helga and Frank! thanks Kathleen!) it is good to be home again. I don't even mind the trucks full of gun-toting militia, the taxis who either honk because I look like I need a ride or try to run me over because they're in a hurry, or the parrot who lives next door...(I now HATE (sorry Terry) parrots. The neighbors' bird is so incredibly obnoxious and loud...)

But I'm home. Where the colors are bright and even when it rains all day I feel warm and even though I'm alone I feel loved. I can walk in the morning with friends (hi Nancy! hi Glenda!) and even though I have to go to work some days (Hi Lorena! Hi Ed!) I know that after work there is a pool and a drink (Hi Carol! Hi Peter!) and SKYPE (so I can talk to Terry and Anna and Michael) and life may not be perfect but for now it's pretty good....

Here's the gratuitous cat photo, Lily and Squeekers sleeping in my bed....

and here's the gratuitous grandson photo...

Beer

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 18:33:00 +0000

Terry and I were hanging out in Vancouver B.C. for awhile this summer. When we first arrived we were really hungry, so we found a little place that sold sushi. Being from Mexico we expected to drink beer with our sushi (we drink beer with almost everything). And hey, we were in Canada, so there must be a lot of beer around, eh?

We ordered our sushi and looked around to see what drinks were available. There was a glass fronted refrigerator with drinks, but it only contained soft drinks and water. No beer. Obviously we weren't in Mexico anymore, where even the Subway in Ixtapa sells cold beer.

Canada is an odd place. On the cold beer scale it's at the opposite end from Mexico. You can get cold beer almost everywhere in Mexico. If the restaurant you're eating in doesn't have the beer you want, the waiter or waitress will send someone next door to get it for you.

Canada is more specialized in the area of beer delivery. Even Liquor Stores there don't sell cold beer. Only Cold Beer and Wine Stores sell cold beer. Go figure, eh?

Grocery stores in Canada don't sell beer either. Terry and I joked about the idea of different stores for different items. We envisioned going into a Peanut Butter Store. Do you have chunky peanut butter? "Oh no, you'll have to go to the Chunky Peanut Butter Store, turn left, go two blocks, then turn right. You can't miss it, it's on the corner..."

Canadians are, despite their beer problem, very friendly and helpful. Total strangers befriended us on buses and gave us travel advice. One bus driver in Vancouver gave us a free ride, stating that our destination was "only a few blocks away."

But the weather was a bit too cold, and the cold beer was a bit too hard to find. We enjoyed the visit but we won't be moving north anytime soon....

Shoes

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 01:16:00 +0000

I was sitting in a coffee shop in the Seattle area thinking about shoes. Seattle is cold and cloudy right now (when is it not?). I've heard rumours about hot spells in Seattle, but those hot days never occur when I'm here.

I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. On my bare feet were flip flops. What was I thinking?

I was thinking of shoes. Which reminded me of Acapulco.

The last time I was in Acapulco I had an interesting conversation with the guy sitting next to me in the dentist's waiting room. This young Mexican man, to my surprise, spoke perfect English.

I was surprised by his English because of his shoes.

Stereotype alert!!!!!!!!!!!!! In my experience most Mexicans who speak perfect English have spent a few years in the U.S. They come back to Mexico to be with their families, or they come back on vacation. And they bring back more than language skills. They usually return with a different fashion sense.

This guy had forgotten his fashion sense when he packed his bags. His shoes were incredibly ugly. They were white. They were plastic. They were ugly white sandals with black stitching.

When I see something as ugly and unfashionable as those shoes, I automatically assume the wearer has just fallen off the turnip truck. My first thought is that this person has never lived in a metropolitan area in Mexico, or, more to the point, lived anywhere in the U.S.

I can only assume that this young man's arrival in the waiting room was the result of an emergency and that he had either picked up some cousin's shoes by mistake, or had had to borrow the aforementioned cousin's shoes. No way would someone who had spent enough time in the U.S. to speak English so beautifully willingly wear those shoes.

Because I've run out of stereotypes, and to change the subject to something less controversial, I'm adding a gratuitous cat photo. As I write this I'm sitting in a hotel room in Seattle and it's cold and cloudy outside and Terry and I are trying to decide where to go for lunch and I have no photos available of ugly shoes. So another look at Squeakers will have to do. Oh, and maybe I'll add one of me and Terry at the Tap House Grill in Bellevue, avoiding the weather and enjoying the beer.

Four Adults

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 20:31:00 +0000

A few days ago I was sitting around chatting with my son Michael, my friend Shelia, and Shelia's son Frazier. We were trying to decipher a certified letter notice that had arrived in Shelia's mailbox. The writing was difficult to read. The instructions were inscrutible. We couldn't decide who it was for or what we should do with it.

Michael rolled his eyes and said "I like how it's taking four adults to figure this out."

So here I sit, comparing my life in Walla Walla with life in Zihuatanejo. They're not all that different, these small towns. And bureaucracy is bureaucracy.

My friend Nancy tells hilarious stories of bureaucratic bungling in the Zihuatanejo post office. I myself try to never visit the Zihuatanejo post office. I'm content to wander the streets looking for someone to sell me a stamp, and to look under rocks and plants and on the sidewalk for the mail that gets (sometimes) delivered.

Addendum: Nancy's story about her troubles trying to pay for her post office box in Zihuatanejo, in her own words.

"When I got to the head of the line, Homero said of course I could pay! And, of course, he had no change for a $200-peso bill. I rooted around in my purse for exact change and eventually came up with $170 pesos. Homero assured me the next time I have to mail a letter to the U.S., my stamp will be free since he owes me $11.50 pesos. I don't know how he does it, but he WILL remember; prior experience has taught me that. Unfortunately, though, there's only about a 50/50 chance ANY letter I send from Zihua to the U.S. will get there, so it's unlikely I'll take him up on his offer.

Before leaving the premises, I checked my receipt. That wretched machine was spitting out payment vouchers so faint you had to squint to read them, but when I did: OH NO! It said [I] paid $158.50 pesos to rent Box 161 for all of 2009. Having become adept at the Mexican art form of cutting in line, I butted right in and told Homero my receipt was incorrect because my box number is 363. He beatifically smiled at me and said, 'Don't worry, Srta. Nancy. No problem. The machine still makes one small error. It prints out the number of the box that was paid for just before you. But look! Over to the right are the first two digits of your own box...36. And we know you paid. Everything's fine.'"

Small Towns

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 22:45:00 +0000

I lived in a small town for many years before I moved to Zihuatanejo. One of the reasons I moved was to get away from some of the annoyances of small town life. It seemed like everyone knew more about my life than I really cared to share. Sometimes they knew more than I did.

I wanted to live in a place where I could be ME, not someone's mom or someone's wife or boss or employee.

So what did I do? I moved to another small town. As my daughter would say...go figure.

But hey, now I'm free to be ME. Unfortunately right now ME is the person who falls out of hammocks.

It's an embarrassing thing. When people hear that you've fallen out of your hammock, they tend to think you were probably drunk. Or that you're an incredible klutz.

So last week I made the usual forays into town -- work, errands, dinner or movies with friends. And as always I ran into people I know. These people invariably greeted me with the news that they had heard that I had fallen out of my hammock.

I spent several days explaining that it WASN'T MY FAULT (translation -- I wasn't drunk). The knot in the rope came untied. Really.

Only in Mexico could a blog that started out about living in small towns turn into a blog about falling out of hammocks. Go figure. (Hi Anna!)

Timer and Reloj

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 19:47:00 +0000

I was setting the clock (reloj) on my microwave the other day -- a futile activity, given the flakiness of the electrical supply here -- when I realized that the two top buttons on the "control panel" are labeled TIMER and RELOJ.

I know what a timer is and I know what a reloj is. But the thing that struck me as odd (yes, I know, I'm easily amused) is that Timer is, the last time I looked, an English word. And Reloj is, of course, a Spanish word.

Que confusing.

I looked up the word "timer" in my electronic dictionary and found two Spanish words: Temporizador and Cronómetro. Maybe these words were too long to fit on the front of the microwave.

Determined to solve this mystery, I looked closer at the control panel, oops, I mean the "Control de un toque" (see how easy Spanish is?). This closer inspection revealed something else I had never seen before:
Ez On

I don't even know what that means. Well, I know what it means. But I don't know what process the button performs. Why is "Ez On" easier than Inicio, which means Start?

All of this reminds me of the time the entire condo complex lost its electrical supply one evening, and someone who lives here happened to have a dinner guest who was an electrician. And this electrician guy (or maybe he was an engineer, I forget) borrowed my friend Gene's jumper cables and reconnected the electrical supply. So for the rest of the evening we were running the entire complex's electrical appliances over jumper cables.

I like living in a place where ingenuity is called for. How boring it would be to live in a perfect world, where everything always worked as specified. And where everyone understood what Ez On means.

The Essentials

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 22:46:00 +0000

I was filling ice cube trays today. YIKES! FILLING ICE CUBE TRAYS. How primitive is that? And the crazy thing is, I didn't mind. Really.

When I lived in the states I thought one of life's necessities was a refrigerator with an icemaker. An icemaker on the blink was a disaster (hi Bob! hi Iris!)

I also thought it was absolutely necessary to own a dishwasher. The mechanical kind, with soap dispensers and racks and all that. Not the nice boyfriend kind. Well...now that I think about it the nice boyfriend kind definitely has advantages...

...Where was I? Oh, things I couldn't live without back in the states. A clothes washer and dryer. A landline phone AND a cell phone. More than one TV.

What I now consider essentials are slightly different.

I have a very simple but quite adequate refrigerator. I have a microwave, a computer, wireless internet, a cell phone. Wow, that's a lot now that I think about it. More than most of the world has.

I occasionally use my gas stove and my one TV, but mostly that's to boil water (the stove) and watch DVDs (the TV).

So, back to the essentials. The real essential during these hot humid days is the swimming pool. Really, I can't imagine life here without it. I would give up the appliances to keep the pool.

There are a few other things it would be hard to give up: internet and computer -- pretty much necessary for work and play. Oh, and boyfriend (hi Terry!).

Body Parts

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 15:24:00 +0000

No, I haven't seen any bodies in the canal...

My place is littered with body parts -- lizard tails and lizard bodies to be more precise. My cat Squeekers and her partner-in-crime Lily are the perpetrators. They deposit dead bodies in the kitchen, in the bedroom, under the coffee table. They're very proud of their hunting skills.

They're showing off, asking for praise.

It's not working.

When I see one of these cats with a lizard in her mouth I screech and tell her to drop it. I lecture, I nag. These tactics never worked with anyone else I've ever lived with, so I don't know why I bother. Habit, I guess.

My neighbors and I often comment on how lucky our cats are. They are extremely well fed. They get vaccinations and medical treatment. They spend their days lazing by the pool or sleeping on terraces. Their nights are spent in their owners' beds, protected from the wild cats and possums that take over the condo complex at night.

Apparently all this coddling and cosseting (now there's a word I don't use often) is not enough. No, these luckiest-cats-in-all-of-Mexico want it all, they want dead lizards.

They also want Whiskas Salmon Paté. They want naps by the pool.

I would be jealous if I weren't already living in paradise. Besides, I don't like lizards or salmon paté. And, like the cats, I can nap by the pool whenever I want.

(Note to self -- when you've run out of things to write about, just post a few cat photos. Who can resist?)

Assisted Living

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 21:47:00 +0000

Several years ago, my brothers and sister and I were helping my mom look for a new place to live. My niece found a really nice assisted living facility. We toured it as a family. Mom didn’t like it. The rest of the family was pretty much noncommittal. This was an uncomfortable time for all of us. We wanted mom to like her new digs. She liked living alone but we worried about her. Emotions were conflicted and conflicting.

I come from a family of conflict-avoiders and non-communication specialists. It was obvious that no one wanted to go out on a limb and say much of anything. I was the most vocal, in my usual self-absorbed way. I fell in love with the concept of assisted living.

It seemed like heaven to me. No need to cook if you don’t feel like it. Weekly laundry and maid service. A pool, a library, a garden and atrium.

All of these amenities maintained by someone else.

A few years later I moved to Mexico. I came here for the adventure of living in a different culture. I wanted to learn Spanish. I was offered a job here. My kids were old enough to take care of themselves (sort of).

What I found in Mexico exceeded my expectations. I found new friends and interesting co-workers. I found beautiful weather and lovely beaches. I found tropical flowers, iguanas, and the occasional scorpion. I found cockroaches.

And, hey!, I admit it, I found assisted living with a Mexican flavor -- it doesn't get much better than that.

Chiles Rellenos Calling

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 14:12:00 +0000

I think I've mentioned before that I have a favorite lunch place, which serves one of my favorite meals -- chiles rellenos. Unfortunately, the restaurant often runs out of chiles rellenos at lunch time.

The woman who runs the place (and does all the cooking) took pity on me the last time I showed up. She was serving pollo estufado, and it was good, but it wasn't chiles rellenos. She asked me for my cell phone number. Now she calls me when chiles rellenos are on the menu.

"On the menu" is a figure of speech in this particular case. There is no menu, not even one of the whiteboard-on-the wall menus. She just tells you what she has when you show up. Or, in my case, she calls you and tells you what she has.

My friend Terry introduced me to this restaurant, and he's afraid if I tell my friends about it the restaurant will fill up with gabachos. It will become upscale and trendy and drive away the working class Mexicans who currently eat there.

The Virgin and Baby calendar and the Last Supper painting would be replaced with hanging ceramic chile peppers, ferns and works by local artists.

So I hesitate to write about Rosa and her chiles rellenos. I just want to say that I never again want to hear anyone complain about service in Mexican restaurants. In all the years I lived in the U.S. never once did a restaurant call to tell me my favorite dish was on the menu.

Bugs and Flowers

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 12:28:00 +0000

I recently added FOUR entries to my bug log. That's a lot of entries in just 3 days. And I was just counting the really scary bugs. I didn't add the spider I saw in the shower. Or the crabs in the pool (not bugs, I know, but they LOOK like bugs).

Not coincidentally, this increase in bug activity follows the first real rain we've received since October. I'm happy about the rain. It makes things grow. Flowers bloom, colors are brighter, everything is greener.

Other creatures are making an appearance now too -- frogs and gekkos and lizards. I like them. (They eat insects.) Reptiles have never bugged (!) me like insects do. I'd much rather see a snake on the front steps (and I have) than a large bug.

So basically I'm happy to see the rain. Bring on the greenery and the flowers and the sweet smelling air. Bring on the lizards and gekkos and frogs. Just keep the bugs to a minimum, please, and let the few that do show up be on their backs, waving their scary antennas in the air, taking their last breath...

Poor Mexico, So far from God...

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 04:05:00 +0000

Poor Mexico, so far from God, so close to the United States.

This remark from Porofino Diaz came to mind as we were driving home from Acapulco a few weeks ago.

We had several interesting, and very Mexican, experiences in Acapulco.

First, so that my friends don't think that my life is all about having fun,I need to say that I didn't go to Acapulco to lay in the sand on the beach, lounge around the pool drinking piña coladas, or eat Thai-Mexican food at fancy restaurants.

I went to Acapulco to see a dentist. Or, to be more exact, to see an oral surgeon. Sigh.

I did manage to do a few other things while I was there. Shopping at Costco and Home Depot are always high on my Acapulco to-do list. We filled Terry's truck with things that are unavailable or outrageously expensive here in Zihuatanejo: a table and two chairs, large plastic storage boxes, large bags of cat food, toilet paper, paper towels, plastic bags... the usual.

While we were in Acapulco the first news of the dreaded swine flu hit the international news. We started seeing people wearing masks -- even the statues were scared! Restaurants were empty, and we saw very few tourists, especially foreign tourists.

As we were leaving Acapulco we were pulled over by a traffic cop, who wanted to collect a "cargo tax" for the stuff we had packed into the back of the truck. A perfectly bogus and nonexistent tax, which we pointed out (politely of course). He wouldn't back down.

The officer insisted that we owed 5,000 pesos (yes, almost 500 dollars). We said we had no money, and once again we politely pointed out that there is no such thing as a cargo tax. He suggested that we could pay "half" the amount if we didn't want to go to the police station.

Eventually Terry offered him 200 pesos, he accepted it, and we were allowed to leave Acapulco.

Acapulco has a reputation for this sort of thing, and this was my first personal experience of "mordida" (bribery). If nothing else this trip to Acapulco (did I mention the ORAL SURGEON?) was a chance for me to experience another aspect of Mexican life.

The other thing Acapulco has a reputation for is headless bodies (usually the bodies of police officers). Something to do with battles between opposing drug cartels and between the drug cartels and the police. It's definitely not good for tourism or business.

Those headless bodies on the beach are SO unappetizing...

So as we were driving home and I was thinking about the effects of swine flu on the economy, and the effects of so many other " Mexican" problems, and how unfair it was that this flu was being blamed on Mexico when it probably just happened to be first discovered here, and how unfair the drug wars are for every day normal people, and how unfair the political corruption is... well, Diaz's quote jumped into my mind and here it is.

The most amazing thing about all of this unfairness is how most Mexicans I know are still the happiest people I know, despite the unfairness of it all.

It could have been a dead body

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 16:01:00 +0000

I peered over the canal bridge to look for crocodile babies a few mornings ago and all I could see was ugly green scum. Probably algae. Whatever it was, it wasn't pretty.

Only a week or so ago I had seen fish and birds and baby crocs at the same spot, so the green scum was a disappointment.

I told Terry about it.

Terry often responds to my complaints with "it could be worse." Once when someone asked about violence in Zihuatanejo, Terry's response was "it's safer than Afghanistan." Terry's response to algae in the canal? -- "at least you didn't see any dead bodies."

I like the canal. It's near my home and I often walk along it when going to el centro, or to Commercial Mexicana, or on my early morning walks with Nancy.

Algae in the canal reminded me that summer is coming. The sky is often hazy, not blue. We have cloudy afternoons and it often looks and feels like it's going to rain. And it is REALLY hot, and really humid.

But hey, maybe it hasn't rained for a long time, maybe I'm hot and sweaty 24/7, but there haven't been any dead bodies in the canal for a long time either, so who am I to complain?

Bug Log

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 18:33:00 +0000

I haven't added to my bug log recently, but that isn't to say I haven't seen a few bugs. It's just that the bugs that have crossed my path lately have seemed so ordinary. There's been the occasional medium sized cockroach, a few tiny ants, a relatively small spider in the shower.

Then yesterday, just when my defenses were down and I was all unsuspecting and clueless and oblivious to danger -- out walks the most humongous ginormous cockroach on the face of the earth. ON MY BATHROOM COUNTER.

Needless to say I didn't go back into that bathroom for at least 24 hours.

Then this afternoon I realized I can't avoid the bathroom forever. I do have a second bathroom, but the bathroom WITH THE COCKROACH is the one I use all the time.

So this morning I gathered my wits (what few I have left) and marched into the bathroom. I moved everything from the counter and under the sink to the secondary bathroom, and then I asked Moises, our helpful and fearless groundskeeper, to spray insecticide around the floor and counters and under the sink.

I didn't see the cockroach this morning when I was doing all this moving -- and believe me I was looking -- so it's probably already moved into my second bathroom along with my other stuff.

In other words, poor Moises will be spraying a cockroach-free bathroom, while the cockroach, in all probability, has moved into my second bathroom. And I will be treading lightly, and turning on every available bright light, the next time I walk into ANY bathroom.

Shopping, or was that running errands? Whatever...

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 29 May 2009 21:13:00 +0000

As you may remember, I went to Patzcuaro a week or two ago. I planned to buy a large mirror with a carved wooden frame, and a bookcase. I came back with a relatively small mirror with a tin frame. And a coffee table.

I was running errands a few days ago, and not having much luck. (Someday I'll write about my friend Nancy's theory of running errands in Zihuatanejo -- it has to do with starting out with a really long list in the hopes of accomplishing at least one or two things).

My list was short. Eat lunch. Buy two Talavera soap dishes. Get a few keys made. Pick up some papers at the lawyer's office.

What did I accomplish? I ate lunch. Sadly, my favorite lunch place had run out of chiles rellenos -- no surprise there, the cook/owner only makes them on Thursday and Friday and she often runs out. Usually she tells me that I am getting THE LAST chile relleno.

I've gotten THE LAST chile relleno so often that if I were a suspicious person I would think she was doing this on purpose. Maybe subtlely telling me that I should show up earlier for lunch. But this day she didn't have even one left. I had something else to eat, so I guess I can say I accomplished the task of eating lunch. It just wasn't the lunch I was looking forward to.

Then on to the Talavera place -- closed. On to the lawyer's -- closed.

We were riding on my friend Terry's scooter, so there was no problem dealing with the blistering afternoon heat. We detoured to check out the canal -- just that morning my friend Nancy and I had seen dozens of baby crocodiles swimming there, and I wanted to show them to Terry. Alas, mama crocodile had either moved them all away (I hear she carries them in her mouth) or they had all been eaten by something bigger.

Wait,where was I? Ah, the errands...I did get some keys made.

Then Terry and I stopped by a new furniture place I had noticed.
They had a mirror similar to what I've been wanting. The furniture maker promised to make me a larger one, carved with "birds and flowers," in 15 days.

So I may not have accomplished many of the things that were on my list, but I did get something done from an earlier list! Now I just have to wait and see if my idea of "birds and flowers" is anything like the furniture maker's idea. Or vice versa.

Shopping for ... Whatever

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Fri, 22 May 2009 21:08:00 +0000

I went on a shopping trip to Patzcuaro last week. I usually have good luck shopping in Patzcuaro, and this trip was no exception.

I bought a couple of really cool things in the four days I was away. They weren't the things I planned to buy, but that's the way it always seems to go on my shopping trips in Mexico.

I was shopping for a bookcase and a full length mirror.

A nice wooden, rustic bookcase would fit into my living room nicely. I have some built in shelves, but they really aren't configured well for books. So my books end up being stacked any-which-way.

For a long time I've been looking for a full length mirror with a carved wooden frame, preferably painted. I have the perfect blue bedroom wall for it.

I returned from Patzcuaro very happy with my purchases. Unfortunately I didn't return with a bookcase. Or a carved wooden mirror.

I did have a mirror though. My friend Terry told me that this mirror was ME. I'm not sure what that means. It has flowers and birds and lots of color. The color part is definitely me. And it fits perfectly on the red wall in my living room. Not so much the blue wall in the bedroom.

I also came back with a coffee table. I hadn't been looking for a coffee table, but as soon as I saw this one I knew I had to have it. I guess it was ME too.

Oh, and I found this sweet little key rack. How could I resist?

Like many things that happen to me in Mexico, the trip didn't have the results I expected. I didn't get what I set out looking for, but I had some good meals and saw some beautiful scenery, spent some time in one of my favorite areas of Mexico with one of my favorite people. And there's always next time.

See's Candies and Clown Exemptions

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 22:30:00 +0000

I was having dinner the other night (at a place called Ofo's -- bad name, good food) and the conversation turned to waitresses. My friend Terry's father and brother were there, and the three of them started reminiscing about a restaurant they liked back in California. The waitress in this restaurant had three thumbs.

Much hilarity ensued. When the joking got around to gift-giving -- along the lines of how her family couldn't give her gloves for Christmas -- Terry's dad said, "See's Candies makes a good gift."

This is so true. A box of See's Candies, or almost any chocolate for that matter, makes anything better.

The next day Terry's brother Michael and I were sitting at the pool, and he told me about this clown he once met. The clown insisted that clowns are not required to pay income tax in the U.S. Apparently some president (FDR?) had loved clowns so much that he exempted clowns from paying federal income tax.

I know that FDR was a very powerful president, but I doubt very much that even he had that kind of power.

It's a good story. Too good for me to want to mess it up with facts. Michael and I proceeded to discuss what the tax form would be like in this alternate universe... was there an occasional question along the lines of... Do you wear a red plastic nose to work? Do you buy shoes that are three times too big for your feet? Do you own more than one frizzy wig?

Sees Candies and Clown Exemptions. I've often thought that the paradise I live in couldn't be improved on, but every so often someone comes along to add just that extra touch of picante...Thanks Michael and Terry Sr. for a really interesting week!

It Took Me Three Years

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 01:00:00 +0000

It was the perfect day.

I live on a bay in a resort area, so parasailers are a common sight. I see them from my office window when I'm at work. When I lived on La Ropa beach I could see them from the front windows all day long.

Parasailing looked scary, but I always wanted to try it.

Some weird planet convergence occured this past weekend. I was at the beach with a group of people. It soon became apparent that the evening before I had promised to go parasailing with them.

My friend Terry's sister wasn't interested. Several years ago she had parasailed. She cried during the entire experience. With her eyes closed.

YIKES. It hadn't occurred to me that I would cry. Mostly I was afraid of wetting my pants. Now I had a new option...CRYING!!

Did I mention it was a perfect day? We were hanging out on La Ropa beach at Rossy's restaurant. Our loungers were in the sun, near the water. We were drinking beer. We walked up the beach for massages. We drank some more beer. We went boogie boarding. We ate tiritas and ceviche. We drank some more beer.

Then the moment of decision arrived. My friend Terry's nieces were anxious to go. The youngest one offered to take me with her -- how did she guess that there was no way was I going up there all alone?

We did it. I think I chatted nervously during the entire trip, but my memory of the experience is fuzzy. All I remember is how quiet it was, how beautiful the bay was, how free and relaxed and in-the-moment I felt.

My first thought on our return to the beach?...

When can I go again?...

It's a good thing I also love boogie boarding, massages, sleeping, and eating, or otherwise I would spend all my money and time at the beach...up in the air, quietly gliding over the bay...