Adventures in Mexico

Feliz Navidad!

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 18:52:00 +0000

This is becoming a Christmas tradition for me. Here it is:

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the casa,
Not a creature was stirring
-- Caramba! Que pasa?

Los niños were tucked
away in their camas,
Some in long underwear,
some in pijamas,

While hanging the stockings
with mucho cuidado
In hopes that old Santa
would feel obligado

To bring all children,
both buenos and malos,
A nice batch of dulces
and other regalos.

Outside in the yard
there arose such a grito
That I jumped to my feet
like a fightened cabrito.

I ran to the window
and looked out afuera,
And who in the world
do you think that it era?

Saint Nick in a sleigh
and a big red sombrero
Came dashing along
like a crazy bombero.

And pulling his sleigh
instead of venados
Were eight little burros
approaching volados.

I watched as they came
and this quaint little hombre
Was shouting and whistling
and calling by nombre:

"Ay Pancho, ay Pepe,
ay Cuco, ay Beto,
Ay Chato, ay Chopo,
Macuco, y Nieto!"

Then standing erect
with his hands on his pecho
He flew to the top
of our very own techo.

With his round little belly
like a bowl of jalea,
He struggled to squeeze
down our old chiminea,

Then huffing and puffing
at last in our sala,
With soot smeared
all over his red suit de gala,

He filled all the stockings
with lovely regalos -
For none of the niños
had been very malos.

Then chuckling aloud,
seeming very contento,
He turned like a flash
and was gone like the viento.

And I heard him exclaim,
and this is verdad,
Merry Christmas to
all, and Feliz Navidad!

Jubilee Lake and Manialtepec Lagoon

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 19:53:00 +0000

When my kids were young we used to go camping in eastern Oregon. One of our favorite places to camp was Wallowa Lake. The lake was beautiful, there was an eagle's nest nest very near the lake, and deer would come up to the tent looking for food in the morning. But after the first few years we noticed a gradual change in our experience. It became harder to reserve a campground, the lake got noisier with motor boats and skiers. The eagles disappeared, the deer became more aggressive.

Then one day we were sitting lakeside and I realized I couldn't hear any birds, mostly what I could hear was a woman sitting near us screeching at her kids over the boombox she had turned up full volume. Maybe she was trying to drown out the noise of the motor boats.

We never went back to Wallowa. I complained to friends and co-workers, and eventually someone suggested we try Jubilee Lake.

After that we ended up camping at Jubilee Lake as often as we could. Jubilee Lake doesn't allow gas powered boats. The people who are attracted to Jubilee Lake seem to prefer to watch and listen to the birds, to fish, to canoe or swim. They don't scream at their children or play boomboxes. It was heaven.

And it hasn't changed over the years. This summer my friend Shelia and I spent one afternoon circumnavigating the lake. We surprised a fawn who wandered onto the path in front of us. We watched duck families in the water and larger birds flying overhead. We didn't hear any boomboxes or motor boats.

Manialtepec Lagoon is Puerto Escondido's equivalent of Jubilee Lake. My friend Shelia joined us earlier this year on an eco-tour of the lagoon. We saw nesting storks, we saw herons and egrets and a flock of wild parrots.

I'm worried that what happened to Wallowa Lake may eventually happen at Manialtepec. A Canadian developer is proposing a "World Class Water Ski Resort" at the lagoon and has cut down mangroves (supposedly protected by federal law) to build a road from the resort he is building to the lagoon. There is local opposition to this destruction, from both environmentalists and from people who live in the communities around the lagoon. But there are others in the community who have been enticed by the promise of jobs. There is also no guarantee that locally-elected officials and federal environmental workers will refuse the inevitable offers of money to look the other way. Unfortunately Mexico has more than its share of corruption.

One expat has suggested that one of the best things we can do to protect the lagoon is to patronize the eco-tours and the small family restaurants that are already in place. Terry and I had such a great time the last time we visited the lagoon that we don't need coaxing. Also, Oaxacans have a history of standing up to bullies, and I hope that that spirit takes over in this struggle.

Best of all, one of the best ways for Puerto residents to fight the destruction is by supporting the family businesses and ecotours at the lagoon. Fortunately, that's not only easy, but a very enjoyable way to spend the day.

Yucatan Travels

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 08:13:00 +0000

When I first moved to Mexico six years ago I was struck by what I thought of as the "two Mexicos." There was the Mexico experience of most tourists and expats -- beaches, bars, and restaurants. Then there was what I thought of as the "real" Mexico, the every day world of the Mexican nationals I worked with.

Those two worlds are very different, but also the separation is not as black and white as I once thought. And, like all of reality, there are plenty of grey spaces in between (although in Mexico even the grey spaces always seem to be full of color and light).

In most Mexican tourist areas the people on the beaches and in the bars are as likely to be Mexican nationals as they are to be Americans, Canadians, or Europeans.
And many people who live every day lives in Mexico, in small apartments, large houses, and everything in between, came here from other countries for the weather or the lifestyle or because they simply fell in love.

Terry and I just got back from a trip to the Yucatan peninsula. For three weeks we were tourists in the country that we consider our permanent home. We did seek out carnitas and al pastor and small restaurants in the untouristy parts of the places we stayed in, but for the most part we ate in the tourist restaurants and stayed in the big hotels. The resort areas were full of international visitors, but there were also many Mexican families and couples on vacation.

We didn't really plan it this way, but as it turned out our trip seemed to revolve around beaches and Mayan ruins, two things the Yucatan peninsula is famous for. My favorite parts of the trip included several days sightseeing in Mexico City, a day on the beach on Isla Mujeres, and visits to Mayan ruins at Tulum and Chichen Itza.

The only negative on the entire trip was the anxiety I had when our plane from Cancun was delayed and we almost missed our flight back to Puerto. Even though our bag went to Huatulco instead of coming home with us, we returned with many new memories of happy times in Mexico, a country which never fails to surprise and delight.

Inconvenience and Inconsistency

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 18:23:00 +0000

I was talking to the Bank of America fraud division the other day. How sad is this: the BOA fraud division's 800 number is saved to my Skype list and is one of my most used contacts. I have other friends, really I do...

I was talking to the fraud division because even though I've told them many times that I live in Mexico, I still occasionally have a purchase declined because I am using my card in Mexico. Apparently the advisory that they put on your credit card account, the one that says you are "traveling" in Mexico, only lasts 90 days. I've told them I live here, but 90 days is the best they can do.

After the 90 days you either have to remember to call the fraud division again, or you have to suffer the phone calls from BOA telling you that your credit card is being used in Mexico.

Actually I don't use my credit card that much here. I like the fact that Mexico is still, for the most part, a cash economy. Cash economies seem more authentic, less "plastic-y" to me. Even when I travel I tend to gravitate toward the "primitive" rather than the deluxe. Except for toilets...I draw the line at primitive toilets.

So the other day I had to talk to the Bank of America fraud people twice in the same day, and the second time the woman on the other end of the line apologized for the "inconvenience." I told her not to apologize, that I understood, and then I found myself saying "I live in Mexico, which is the land of inconvenience."

I don't know why I said that. Sometimes it's true, like when you're trying to work out some silly problem with a bank, or the electric company. On the other hand, what's inconvenient about living a block from the beach? or falling asleep at night to the sound of the surf? or wearing tank tops and shorts and flip flops all year long?

That phone call reminded me of another complaint I often hear about Mexico. And that is the problem of "inconsistency."

There was a discussion recently on a forum frequented by expats about whether or not pets are allowed on long distance premier class buses in Mexico. I've seen chickens and other animals on the economico buses, so I guess I assumed pets would be allowed. But when I thought about it I realized I hadn't seen any pets on the first class buses. Someone on the forum said that the rules are that dogs and cats have to be in carriers and that the carriers will be placed in the baggage area under the bus.

This sounds horrible and I wouldn't do it to our pets. (See gratuitous cat photos).

Someone else on the forum said that he had been on a first class bus and the person sitting next to him had a small dog on her lap, so obviously the application of the no-pet rule was inconsistent. That could be the motto of the Mexican government and Mexican businesses in general: "The application of the rules will be inconsistent."

My favorite story about dogs and buses came from a woman who swore that she had once been on an economico bus that stopped at a deserted bus stop in the middle of nowhere, the driver opened the door, a dog jumped on, the driver drove to the next bus stop and opened the door to let the dog off.

Other forum members asked if the dog had to pay the regular fare. It was generally agreed that since the dog had no pockets or handbag, he/she really couldn't be expected to pay.

It was also widely accepted that we all love living in a country where someone could tell this story and everyone reading it would be 100% in agreement that she was telling the truth.

Living with Ambiguity (in a very nice house)

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 12 Oct 2011 18:55:00 +0000

I've always thought that one sign of maturity is the ability to accept ambiguity as a natural part of life. Unfortunately I have to say that I'm not very mature, despite my 63 years. I have always had trouble dealing with things that don't make sense. The problem is that the longer I live the more I realize that things often don't make sense. Especially in Mexico.

I was thinking about this the other day as we drove down a "new" stretch of highway 200, the coastal highway. We were staying in a beach house about 30 minutes outside of Puerto, house sitting for a friend who lives in a beautiful Luis Barragan house. The house is modern and fun and I got to fall asleep to the sound of the surf every night (at our own house the sound of the surf is hit or miss, as dependent on what the neighbors are up to as it is on the condition of the ocean).

The highway to the beach is under construction. The old highway is apparently being widened into a 4 lane highway. I say apparently, because I haven't heard any official explanation of what's being done. Some days I think that everything in my life these days should be qualified with the term "apparently."

The weird thing is that this highway actually seems to be finished, and has been finished for several months. But there is a big concrete ditch dividing the old part from the new part, and the new part is just a wide stretch of asphalt with nothing to let people know that it is finished, other than its very smooth and pothole-free surface.

So, this being a country full of people who are comfortable with ambiguity and who also are not stupid, most highway drivers are taking the new road rather than wreck their suspension on the old full-of-potholes road. We followed their example.

But my anxiety over lack of consistency makes me nervous every time we drive on this road. I wonder, sometimes to myself, sometimes aloud, what are the rules here? (Yes, I have lived here almost 6 years, but old habits die hard). Is the new road, which is inland from the old road, meant to be the westbound lane? That would make sense. Then the old road would be the eastbound lane. See how confusing this is?

In the absence of any signs or painted lines, the people who use the road have created small dirt filled areas where cars can cross from one highway to the other. And, even more alarming (for me), drivers go both east and west on both roads, making the old road a sort of access road and the new road a high speed (relatively) highway.

We are now old hands on this highway. But I worry that drivers who do not travel this highway often will not know the "rules", and will assume that the road is designed for two westbound lanes on one side and two eastbound lanes on the other.

Other than going out and painting lines or installing signs on my own, there is nothing I can do about this situation. I will have to live with it. Living in Mexico is teaching me patience, and good manners, and, I'm beginning to realize, I'm finally becoming mature enough to not expect things to be the way I think they should be. Things are what they are, and I'm the one who needs to learn to deal.

Mexico, For Better or Worse

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 16:00:00 +0000

I received an email from my friend Shelia when I returned to Mexico from
Walla Walla, asking if I had made it home safely. A few days later she emailed that she was surprised that I hadn't started packing immediately on my return to Mexico. She was sure that as soon as I returned I would be doing my best to convince Terry to move to Costa Rica or Belize or even back to the U.S.

When I left the U.S. in early September I was feeling very disheartened about the future of Mexico and about my comfort level with staying and traveling here. I was sad that I wouldn't be spending time in one of my favorite cities, Acapulco.

We had planned to stay in Acapulco on our way back to Puerto Escondido, but then Mexican friends advised us to stay away. Some of these friends live in Acapulco. Others are Zihuatanejo residents, people who have in the past traveled to Acapulco often but who are now afraid to go there.

Friends in both Acapulco and Zihuatanejo have told us that things are much worse than what is being reported in the papers, and what we read in the papers is pretty serious. The number of kidnappings and car jackings in both cities is rising. The lack of reportage in the local press, along with the lack of response from local police forces (who may or may not be involved in most of the criminal behavior), is disturbing.

So why am I still in Mexico after all the scary stories coming out of Zihuatanejo and Acapulco? What changed between September 1, the day I left Walla Walla, and September 6, the day I stepped off the bus in Puerto?

What happened is that Mexico worked its magic, once again, just as it has from the day I first moved here in early 2006.

The fact is that once I'm back home, I fall in love all over again. It's easy to talk about moving somewhere else when I'm somewhere else. But when I'm in Mexico I can't imagine not living in Mexico. It's not one thing that ties me here. It's a combination of things, the quality of the light, the heaviness of the air, the smell of the ocean. It's emotional but also physical -- I love the sights and sounds and tastes of everyday life here.

And then there's the people. I've never lived or visited anywhere that has so many people, young and old, who greet strangers automatically, who wish everyone in a restaurant "buen provecho," who listen patiently with a smile as I garble their language. I'm sure I could find equally nice beaches and weather and restaurants elsewhere, but I'm not sure I could find warmer and kinder people anywhere else in the world.

Beach? Laundry?

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 15:58:00 +0000

We were at dinner last night with a group of expats who live here full time. Conversation turned to laundry.

The day had been nearly perfect. The morning was cloudy, as usual, but the sun was out by noon and despite a few clouds lingering around the nearby mountains, it didn't look like rain.

So what did this group of intrepid retirees do on the first sunny day in weeks?

Laundry, of course.

I'm sure there were renegades in the crowd who headed to the beach. They would be those lucky few who own washers AND dryers, or who take their laundry to the laundromat. But for most of us the unexpected sunny day meant we had a chance to wash our musty-smelling sheets and towels, our sweat stained t-shirts and halter-tops and shorts. Someone at the table mentioned washing 22 pairs of underwear! I don't usually wear underwear in this climate, but if I did I would have had it all out on the line too.

Terry and I have a washer, but no dryer. Most of the year that works just fine. It's only when the rainy season is in full swing, when day after day we see storms and drizzles and every thing in between, that we have these laundry day dilemmas.

Beach or laundry? It's possible to do both, I suppose, but that would take advance planning, or something akin to advance planning. When you live in a tropical climate any kind of planning is one of those remote possibilities, those wishful-thinking propositions, that seldom happens. At least that's the way it is for us.

My favorite part of laundry day? Besides the fact that Terry does most of the work? I like the colorful addition to our already colorful living space. Having just returned from the Pacific Northwest, where people's clothes and houses are far less colorful than they are here, the colors on the line remind me that I am home again.

Visiting Teotitlán

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 15:26:00 +0000

When we were in Oaxaca in June we had enough time to visit a few places outside of the city. One place we visited was Monte Alban, site of an ancient and very advanced Zapotec civilization. The other was Mitla, once a very important, if smaller, Mixtec site. The differences in decorative architecture (is that a word?) are quite obvious, once they're pointed out to the casual observer (i.e., me).

When we went to Mitla we joined a tour that also included Teotitlán and El Tule. El Tule is the largest (in girth) tree in Latin America, maybe in the world. It's around 2,000 years old. We didn't get to see the town where the tree is located, other than a glimpse of the pretty little plaza and church. The tour guide gave us only 10 minutes to see the tree and come back to the van. He also gave us a lecture about not being late -- it's disrespectful to the rest of the group, we have a schedule to keep, etc.

So being good little well trained sheep Terry and I returned to the van in 10 minutes. Which is why I don't have anything to say about the town of Santa Maria de Tule. Almost everyone else on the tour, and there were probably 15 of us all together, returned to the van in 10 minutes. And then we waited, and waited, for the group that came to be referred to as "La Familia." La Familia consisted of two youngsters, a mom and dad, and an abuelita (grandmother). The abuelita moved very slowly. The kids were basically well behaved, so I have no complaints about them. But La Familia was used to doing things at a La Familia pace, which in this case included an abuelita pace.

As they sauntered back the tour guide reminded them of our schedule. They were hungry, they said, so instead of visiting the tree for 10 minutes they headed to the popular restaurant on the other side of the plaza.

Then we went to Teotitlán. I was looking forward to Teotitlán. It's famous for its handwoven wool rugs. According to our guide there are three places in the Americas that are famous for rugs: the southwest U.S., Teotitlan, and someplace in the Estado de Mexico that I can't remember now.

Whenever we go to Oaxaca I look at rugs from Teotitlán. I like them so much I have yet to buy one, because I can't decide which design I like the best. I lean toward the traditional designs, like the Tree of Life, but then I'll go in a shop and see a modern design based on one of the traditional designs, and I want one of those too. So I am resigned to just admiring the Teotitlán rugs for now.

The Teotitlán part of the tour was the part I was most looking forward to. The van stopped at a workshop on the outskirts of the town. A woman did a demonstration of the dyeing process and showed us how the pedal loom works and then tried to sell us rugs. According to our guide this workshop's products are on display in the Smithsonian and in textile museums in the U.S. and around the world.

They were nice rugs. But I wanted to see more artisans than just the one, and I wanted to see other workshops, especially some of the smaller family owned ones. And I wanted to see the town. Oddly enough, so did La Familia's abuelita.

On the road to Mitla, the next stop, "our" abuelita complained that she had wanted to see the town, and other workshops, and she wanted to see how the people there lived. The guide just smiled and went on talking about Mitla. So in one of those "you never know where life will take you" moments, I found myself no longer thinking that the abuelita and La Familia were an annoying hazard of signing up for a group tour. She became a comrade in the "we're not sheep" brigade. I just wish I had cozied up to her sooner.

Mordida and Corruption

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 28 Aug 2011 12:19:00 +0000

Until I moved to Mexico I never thought much about the police. They were just one of those government services like fire departments and libraries, only with a little more power and more potential for doing bad things. Any organization with guns and the ability to put people in jail is going to attract a few bullies, but I do believe that with proper oversight and selection polices a police force can be a contributor to stability and harmony in any community.

In the perfect society, the local police force will come to your rescue if you are being attacked or robbed, or help you recover your belongings if your house has been broken into or your car stolen.

Unfortunately, none of these attributes of the perfect police force apply to the police organizations in my adopted country.

The police in Mexico are as much feared and despised by law-abiding citizens as they are by narco-traffickers and street thugs. In fact those narco-traffickers and street thugs might very well be police officers by day, criminals by night.

The same is true of almost all government agencies in Mexico.

When I first moved to Mexico and heard the mordida (bribery) stories I thought they were exaggerations, left-overs from the bad old days when the country was poorer and people were less educated. Surely the new Mexico, the one with good Internet access and cell phones and a growing middle class, would be different. Wide-scale corruption couldn't possibly survive the scrutiny of an educated citizenship with instant access to information.

But I'm beginning to think that was just wishful thinking. I have days when the stories of kidnappings and robberies and unabashed government corruption overwhelm me and make me wonder if the Mexico I love is just in my imagination.

In Spanish mordida means bite. In Mexico it means bribe. It's what you pay to almost every government official to get anything done. And I'm not talking about getting illegal or shady things done. I'm talking about receiving ordinary services that government officials are paid to provide.

Things like getting your employees enrolled in the government health service. Want that to happen in a timely manner? Give a few thousand pesos to the person in charge of setting it up. Want your visa renewed in a timely manner? Pay an immigration official a few more more pesos than the the official fee.

Two years ago a friend of mine applied for his government pension, the one his company had paid into for years. It took two years for the request to be processed and for him to receive his pension, which arrived in a lump sum payment. The government clerk who sent the check, the one who had taken years to process the request, now expects to be paid 10% for her "help."

There are stories of government offices that are denuded when there is a change of administration -- computers, office equipment and furniture, even cars, all paid for by the government, disappear. On an even higher level, state and federal officials leave office with millions of pesos in their pockets. If this makes the news, which it seldom does, most people shrug, because that's the way things are.

I am disappointed that the citizens of Mexico put up with this, and I'm sad that elected officials and government workers could be so cynical and care so little for their own communities. Most Mexican citizens don't trust their elected officials, don't trust their police forces, and don't expect good service from any government bureaucracy. They deserve better. They deserve protection from both their government and from the anarchy that results from the lack of good government. I wish I had an answer, because I love this country and its people, but there are days when I'm not sure I want to live here.

More Laughter Please

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 16:41:00 +0000

When I'm in Walla Walla I sometimes read the local newspaper, the Walla Walla Union-Bulletin. It's ok as small town newspapers go. I usually skim through it in a few minutes, looking for names of people I know.

A few days ago there was an article in the paper about local elections. The local elections in Walla Walla held no interest for me, the same people who always run were running again. Last year the ballot was more interesting, with people like Spaceman and Mike the Mover running in the state congressional primaries.

This year the primary results that caught my attention were for the town of Yakima. In primaries there are always what Terry calls "goofballs" on the ballot. In the Yakima primary a man who advocates executing illegal immigrants won 26% of the vote. Yes, he believes that undocumented immigrants should receive capital punishment for residing in Yakima. And he received enough votes to advance to the regular elections.

Obviously even if this man wins the local election -- I think he's running for city council -- he will not have the power to change state or federal immigration laws. But his pandering to fear and ignorance in the local community scares the hell out of me.

I almost stopped reading the local paper after I saw that article. I'm glad I didn't, since a few days later I saw an AP report on the front page that proves there are still a few sane people left in this country. The first sentence of the article gave me a little more confidence in our justice system: "Many illegal immigrants who were facing deportation despite having no criminal record will be allowed to stay in the country and apply for a work permit under new rules from the Homeland Security Department." What a relief it was to read that.

When I'm in Walla Walla I can't help but notice how many of our basic services are performed by Hispanic immigrants, how cheerfully they go about their jobs, and how polite and fun they are to talk to. I'm reminded that Walla Walla has changed a lot since I first moved here in 1977, and it has changed even more since I moved to Mexico 6 years ago.

I don't like all of the changes, but many of the changes I do like are the ones brought about by the influx of Hispanics, mostly Mexicans and Guatemalans. Food, music, language. A different way of looking at life and dealing with hardship. I'm reminded of a recent statement made by my friend Katalina who lives in Puerto Vallarta: "It’s the time of year when there are more Mexican tourists here than Americans or Canadians. Do you know how I can tell the nationality of the crowd on the beach without looking? The Mexicans laugh much more than the gringos."

It's too bad that that angry and fearful man in Yakima can't accept his new neighbors with less fear and more love in his heart. And maybe learn to laugh more and hate less.

Homesick

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 11:10:00 +0000

When I'm in the U.S. I always tune my car radio to the local Mexican music station. It seems odd that I do that here, since I seldom listen to the radio when I'm in Puerto Escondido. When I lived alone in Zihuatanejo I sometimes listened to the local radio station, to help with my Spanish. But now when I work on my Spanish comprehension I listen to recorded books or watch telenovelas.

So why do I listen to Mexican radio in Walla Walla? Because it sounds like home. We hear radio and music everywhere we go in Puerto, so I'm suffering from language deprivation when I'm here. I need to hear the voices and the music of home.

When my daughter Anna and I were shopping in Macy's the other day I found myself gravitating towards the Hispanic families who were doing their Back to School shopping. I wasn't eavesdropping, really I wasn't, but when I heard them talking it just felt natural to want to hang out with them.

I also found myself watching a Mexican telenovela the other day. It's one I've never seen before but I don't think it will take me long to catch on to the nuances of what is going on. It's the usual drama of jealousy, unrequited love, misunderstandings. I wouldn't watch it in English, but in Spanish I'm not wasting my time, I'm "improving my listening skills".

I knew when I left Puerto Escondido that I would miss Terry, and the house I love, and the beach, and the cats. And our neighbor Kate (hi Kate!). But when I'm at home in Mexico it never occurs to me that I will also miss the music and the loud radio advertisements and the bumbling conversations with people who don't speak English. Life is like that, at least for me. Always a surprise somewhere.

3rd World Dentists

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 11:25:00 +0000

Mexico isn't a third world country. Officially I think it's designated either 2nd world or "developing". I know that I've been in far poorer countries than Mexico. And I've been in parts of the U.S. that are more depressing and dismal than most of the neighborhoods here.

But what does that have to do with me, and my dental work? About 10 years ago I went to a dentist in Walla Walla. Maybe it was 15 years ago. As I get older my grasp of time gets less reliable. This dentist looks in my mouth and then taps a crown and says "What third world country did you get this done in?"

I had to think for a minute. Then I remembered.

"Lawrence, Kansas."

Later I realized that my good friend Shelia, who is a dentist, had probably told this new dentist that I had lived abroad for a few years. But still, it's a funny story. And when it comes to dental work, I can't think of much that's funny, unless it's the dentist in Little Shop of Horrors.

My favorite dentist story has to do with Turkey. I think this story came to me from Shelia, the source of my dentist stories as well as being a great travel partner.

A young American backpacker was traveling through rural Turkey on a local bus. He was hit with an excruciating tooth ache. Other passengers on the bus realized there was something wrong, and despite the fact that this kid couldn't speak the local language it was obvious what was wrong. The bus driver stopped at the next village, all the bus passengers got off the bus, and passengers and driver escorted the American to a one room mud hut with an old beat up dentist chair. And rusty utensils. (Are they called utensils? tools? instruments of torture?)

While the dentist worked on his tooth, the bus passengers, villagers, and bus driver gathered round to watch. Someone in the group apparently spoke some English and helped with the translation. After filling the tooth the dentist advised the backpacker to see a dentist as soon as he returned home. This filling was only temporary.

Several years later he was asked his Turkish dental experience, and the American realized he had never had any trouble with that tooth since his trip to Turkey.

When the Walla Walla dentist first asked about my "third world" dental work, I thought he was referring to the crown I had on another tooth -- the one that I got in Taiwan in 1975. That crown lasted for almost 30 years. Go figure.

Fatso

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 06:33:00 +0000

When I was in Zihuatanejo in March someone called me "fatso".

I have to admit I've gained a few pounds since last summer, so in March I was definitely not at my most svelte. But this woman doesn't like me anyway, so I like to think she whipped out the "fatso" comment as one she knew would hurt, even if I hadn't gained any weight. And I was wearing an unflattering top that day.

Yeah, that's it, it was the top I was wearing.

One of the things I miss most about Zihuatanejo is my daily walks with my friend Nancy. I miss Nancy for a lot of reasons, not just for the walks but for the friendship and the long talks and the comfort of having someone who will listen no matter what I am nattering on about. But it's the walks that helped me keep my weight down. And I'm blaming the lack of walking for the (slight) weight gain. In other words I'm blaming my fatso status on the lack of walks, and my bad taste in clothes. Not on my lack of self discipline.

Recently I found a (fortunately temporary) way to cut down on my eating. I had to go to the dentist last week to get a crown replaced, and the work is taking a week before it's all finished. My mouth is sore, and I'm worried about eating something that would dislodge the temporary filling and cause the ordeal to drag out even longer. So I'm not eating much these days.

The dental work couldn't have come at a better time, since I'm leaving for the states soon, and that means I'll be eating more. Last summer I went to Russia, where I lost weight. Then I went to the states, where I gained the weight back. My friend Paula wants to go to sub-Saharan Africa next year, and that sounds to me like the perfect diet plan. There'll be lots of walking, and probably not much food. And it's bound to be more fun than the dentist.

Rainy Day Blues, Part II

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 14:12:00 +0000

Ok, I'm trying not to be a whiner, but I have to talk about this some time.

There's the moldy cat food. We buy dry cat food in large bags in Acapulco, and we put it in a plastic container to keep it dry and fresh. Doesn't matter. It's the rainy season. The cat food has started to mold.

Oh, and the bread. On Tuesdays Felipe brings fresh bread baked the same morning by a neighbor who makes artisan breads and has them delivered to businesses and homes. When Felipe doesn't show up it's because it was too humid for Kiki to bake. How depressing is that! Too humid to bake!

And there's my lovely pool. The pool that, when I'm not floating in it, I'm looking at as I write or nap or read. The pool that turns green and murky from the rain water.

On the other hand, there's this:

The cats. Cats who fight over who gets to sit by Terry. Cats who sleep at the end of the bed every night, cats who wait by the front door for us to come home. (Yeah, they do, really). I can't imagine life here without these silly cats. So we throw the moldy food out and go buy fresh food even though it's more expensive than the bulk.

The bread is delicious and warm when Felipe brings it. Even if we have to wait till Wednesday because of Tuesday's high humidity.

The pool is cooler than it was a month ago. The rain lowers the temperature of the water just enough to make the water feel refreshing, but not cold. And, since in this weather I can work up a sweat doing, well, doing anything, the cooler temperature is a blessing.

I'm counting my blessings and trying not to whine. This requires changing a lifetime habit, so it will be poco a poco, as my Mexican friends would say.

Oaxaca City visit

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 14 Jul 2011 06:32:00 +0000

Terry and I went to Oaxaca a few weeks ago. When we were there we made a few trips out of town to see Zapotec and Mixtec ruins. But mostly we just hung around in town. In Oaxaca's famous Zocalo Terry got his shoes shined and I made friends with Iliana, the daughter of the man who did the shining (bootblack? is that the term? that's such an odd word). Iliana took a break from playing with her friends to sit and listen to my far-from-fluent Spanish. We talked about her family and her school.

I invited Iliana to share my favorite Oaxacan snack (no, it's not grasshoppers) -- home made potato chips. They're fresh and crispy and not too greasy and you can buy them from itinerant sellers or from carts parked on the corners of busy streets. We walked by a little shop with a window onto the street that sells home made potato chips, french fries, and doughnuts. I didn't try them this time, but next time I will try the doughnuts since I didn't see anyone selling those on the street.

Terry and I liked the neighborhood around the Jardin El Llano. The Jardin is up the street from the English Language Library, which is a very large and well-organized library with a nice collection of books in all genres. And right across from the Jardin is a bar called El Paseo, which had the right kind of beer, live music, and free botanas (snacks)! This was the perfect neighborhood for a former librarian and a confirmed beer aficionado to hang out in.

One day while we were hanging out near the Jardin El Llano a parade came by. It was a Sol beer-sponsored parade, with a truck handing out glasses of Sol. There were a few party-poopers (people on their way home from work, probably) who were not that happy to have to wait while the parade went by, but the participants were definitely having a good time.

Getting to and from Oaxaca has turned out to be one of our favorite parts of the Oaxaca City experience. The little plane from Puerto takes only 40 minutes to get there, and on the way you not only get to see all the magnificent mountain scenery, you also get to see the windy road that you are NOT taking ....

Rainy Season Worries

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 15:10:00 +0000

Some people have elephants in the room. Some have a skeleton or two in the closet. We have a scorpion in the laundry basket.

I've been telling anybody who will listen that I like the rain, really I do. It smells good. It cools things down (temporarily, very temporarily) and it's heavenly to stretch out in my hammock with the rain pouring down just inches away from me, while I read and nap and daydream.

But sometimes you can have too much of a good thing. When we moved to Puerto Escondido last fall we just missed the storm of the year. We were happy to have missed it, and we liked Puerto so much that we endured the aftermath of pot-holed and washed-out streets. And it wasn't just the streets that were destroyed. Part of the cliff across the road from us caved in, and people living there lost their front yards and their steps going to the beach.
Whenever I dream about living on a cliff overlooking the ocean, I think about the destruction that we saw when we first moved here. And I have second and third thoughts...

All this rain has brought green to the fields and mountains that were once brown. There are flowers blooming and shrubs and trees growing so fast you could probably sit and watch them grow if you had the patience. A bush I never noticed before has started blooming by the front door.

Inside the house it's sadly a different story. Everything feels and smells musty. Pillows, clothes, towels, anything that can absorb moisture is busy doing just that. The mosquitoes and gnats and flies and ants are driving me crazy. They're everywhere, and once I've fought off the insect onslaught in one area of the house, they appear somewhere else.

Oh, and the cats are cranky. We're fighting the fleas as best we can, but they resent not being able to go outside, and they are afraid of the lightening and thunder.

I know we will live through this. Winter will come and we'll count the months since it last rained and wonder if it's ever going to rain again. Meanwhile I worry about the important things.

At the top of my list of important things is that laundry basket. Can we manage without it? If we keep the top on it all season will the scorpion just go away? And if it does go away, where will it go next?

I'm not afraid of the lightening and thunder, and we're not on a cliff so I don't think our house will slide away, but that scorpion makes me nervous. That's the kind of thing that keeps me awake at night.

Monte Albán

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 16:30:00 +0000

Terry and I were in Oaxaca city recently. We used Oaxaca as a base to visit Monte Albán and Mitla, two ancient population centers for the Zapotec and Mixtec indigenous peoples.

Monte Albán in particular was very impressive. It was larger than I expected, and by no means did we see all of the site. We were able to visit the hilltop where the main archaeological site, the gift shop and the cafeteria are located. But there are other hilltops that were once a part of this huge and complex center.

This Zapotec city lasted from 500 BC to 750 AD and was at one time home to at least 40,000 people. We walked in the grass covered "plaza," flanked by palaces and other important buildings. There were several ball courts, and there were tombs flanking the plaza. The Zapotec elite who ruled the surrounding villages lived in a truly beautiful location, with views of the valleys and rivers below.

This visit reminded me of a trip to Egypt my daughter Anna and I took in 2001. I had asked her where she wanted to go if we went on a summer trip, and she said Egypt. She said that she liked old things. I was 53 at the time and felt really flattered. So we took a cruise up the Nile, stopping at the temples and tombs along the way. We later described the trip as magical to anyone who would listen.

I guess I'm like Anna, I like old things too. I now want to go visit all those sites in Mexico I've heard my friends talk about. Chichen Iitza and Tulum, Palenque and Teotihuacan.

The Zapotec civilization was eventually eclipsed by the Mixtec, who were most in evidence in Mitla, another site of magnificent ruins located near Oaxaca. The Mixtec were eclipsed by the Aztecs, who were, of course, eventually conquered by the Spanish. And so it goes, as K. Vonnegut would say.

I majored in history and none of this "rise and fall" of civilizations surprises me. What surprises me is that people always think it won't happen to them.

Oh, and the only irritating thing about Monte Albán? The name derives from the Spanish conquistadors. The hilltop reminded them of Monte Alban in Italy. The Zapotec name for Monte Albán is Danni Dipaa. I guess this name would be harder to remember than Monte Albán, but I like it better.

Biznaga, bisagra

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 12 Jun 2011 23:25:00 +0000

Terry and I are doing research for an upcoming trip to Oaxaca. We have to get out of this town (Puerto Escondido). The heat is killing me. It's making me grumpy and irritable and tired. So Terry proposed a trip.

Hey, I'm not an idiot, I know he figures it's either find some way to make me happy or ....live with it. He's decided to take action. No flies on Terry, as my friend Paula likes to say.

We're flying to Oaxaca City to enjoy some big city treats and some cool mountain breezes. We've been to Oaxaca before and we had a great time, but we want to try some new places this time. So we're doing some research.

One of the restaurants that's recommended in Lonely Planet and on our local website is called Biznaga. For some time I've been reading and hearing the name of this place and in my mind I pictured some old rustic building with lots of rusty HINGES. Because the word for hinges in Spanish is BISAGRA.

Ok, I'm an idiot.

Well, not really. I like to think that these little snafus actually add to my "acquisition" of a foreign language, as they say in educational circles. After lots of speculation (well, me speculating, Terry rolling his eyes) I finally looked up the word biznaga, only to discover it's the name of a particular cactus. It's what I would call, in English, a barrel cactus. Which reminded me that I saw lots of barrel cacti in the Botanical Garden in San Miguel de Allende, also know as El Charco de Ingenio, recently.

So now I know two words in Spanish, where before I knew only one, and even that one was a bit tenuous for me. Biznaga -- cactus. Bisagra -- hinge.

Speaking of San Miguel. It was a great trip. I had so much fun with my friends Nancy and Glenda and Kathy. I bought shoes. I bought jewelry -- which I never do but I fell in love with an amythest ring in a tiny shop called "Mar de Luz." The jeweler there mostly designs goblets and whatnot for churches, but he also makes jewelry as a sideline. And I liked his wife, and I liked the idea that every item in their very small shop was unique...

The Botanical Garden was interesting. Nancy said it was better earlier in the season, when the cacti were blooming. I believe her. But I enjoyed our time walking through the garden anyway, because for me the enjoyment of trips like this has more to do with the friends and the conversation and the sharing, and if the trip to Oaxaca with Terry is as good as the trip to San Miguel was, then it will be a very good time indeed.

Decisions, Decisions

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 17:22:00 +0000

One of our favorite restaurants in Puerto Escondido, the Ben-Zaa, offers specials on Friday nights during the low season. In the winter months this restaurant offers one special each night, but during the slower months they do things differently. There are no specials during the week, but on Friday nights there are TWO specials.

Steve, who owns the restaurant with his wife Maria, is a great cook. I have never had a meal at their restaurant that I didn't enjoy. Steve specializes in "gringo" food, or what I like to think of as comfort food.

The Ben-Zaa is located two blocks from our house, they serve very good margaritas during "happy hour", and they have gringo specials on Friday nights. Needless to say the Ben-Zaa is where Terry and I can be found on Friday night.

On Wednesdays Steve announces the Friday special. Word goes out on the Internet. There is much discussion. There are decisions to be made, choices that are not so easy!

Imagine my chagrin when I received the notice for May 6. I was in San Miguel de Allende with friends when I received the email. I had no way of making it back to Puerto Escondido for the May 6 dinner. The two choices were Turkey Dinner or Liver and Onions. I could never have decided between those two. So maybe it was just as well that I was "stuck" in San Miguel.

Since that Friday the choices have been less difficult. We've had BBQ Ribs or Lamb-burgers. That was easy for me. I'm not that crazy about lamb. Then we had Pork Chops or Osso Bucco. I like them both but pork usually wins when I'm choosing entrees. Besides, lucky me!, I have a partner so we can order one of each and share. (Love you Terry!)

We have a tradition of taking our neighbor Kate with us when we go to the Ben-Zaa. Poor Kate almost always has a difficult time with the Ben Zaa choices. In fact the subject of what to have for dinner on Friday night sometimes takes over the conversation on our morning walks.

I'm glad that my life has become so simple that one of my major problems is deciding what to eat on Friday night. And people wonder what we retired folks do with all our extra time...

Surviving the Heat

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Mon, 30 May 2011 12:31:00 +0000

"The state of Oaxaca is experiencing record heat" according to local news sources.

I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a swimming pool. We are in pre-rainy season mode right now in Puerto Escondido, and it's killing me. It seems hotter and muggier here than it ever was in Zihuatanejo.

Of course, we're further south, so maybe the weather is different here. Or I'm getting older and less adaptable. No, that can't be it...

I think I would have to leave town or move if we lived in a place without a pool. By 10:00 AM every morning I am dripping sweat. I can tolerate the heat (barely) if I sit perfectly still in the living room under a fan. But I am not comfortable there for long. And if I sit perfectly still I fall asleep...

So most days, between 10:00 AM and 5:00 PM, we can be found floating in the pool. Reading and sleeping. Sleeping and reading. The pool has become an indispensable part of my life in Puerto.

All my life I've liked swimming pools. My parents made sure we had access to a pool when we were kids, and we learned to swim at an early age. Thanks to generous neighbors and friends, and a large community pool, my kids and I spent many happy summer days swimming and lounging in and around pools (thanks Bob and Jan! thanks Shelia! thanks Nanqi and Steve!)

Right now I don't have the energy to actually swim, and our pool isn't big enough for laps. But Terry and I have discovered that we can set up the laptop on the side of the pool and watch baseball (Go Giants!) and movies. That's when we're not reading or siesta-ing... One thing we have in common is the ability to pretty much sleep anywhere, anytime. A good skill to have in this climate!

Mexico by Bus

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 15 May 2011 23:59:00 +0000

I recently took a trip to Zihuatanejo and San Miguel de Allende. It was a bus trip, and for most of the trip I took night buses.

I like the night buses. I have always been able to sleep anywhere, so night buses are perfect for me. I wake up, and there I am, in a new city!

Lately there have been news reports about highway robberies in southern Mexico, especially at night. Buses seem to be a prime target. The robbers either get on the bus at a regular stop, as if they were regular passengers, or they stop the bus along the highway. Either way, they spend just a few minutes on the bus, take money and valuables from the passengers, and then make a quick getaway.

The Puerto Escondido to Acapulco highway has an especially bad reputation for robbery, so I decided not to wear any expensive jewelry. This was easy to do since I don't really own much in the way of expensive jewelry. Fortunately passengers are seldom injured during these shakedowns, so I wasn't really worried about my safety.

As it turned out, I had only one bad experience related to bus travel. It occurred Monday night in Acapulco, when I arrived at the bus station from Zihuatanejo at 12:00 PM. My plan was to connect with the 2:00 AM bus for the 8 hour ride to Puerto Escondido.

To my surprise the 2:00 AM bus was full. I hadn't expected a Tuesday morning 2:00 AM bus to be full. True, Tuesday was Mother's Day in Mexico, but would all these people be traveling on a night bus just to visit their mothers? Go figure....

The next bus for Puerto would leave the station at 6:30, which meant I had 6 hours to wait -- in one of my least favorite bus stations.

I opted to buy a ticket for the 9:30 AM bus. I took a taxi to a hotel where Terry and I often stay when we're in Acapulco. I got a room with a view of the bay and I fell asleep to the sound of the surf.

Other than the unplanned stopover in Acapulco, my trip to Zihuatanejo and San Miguel was delightful. I spent time with friends and visited some favorite places. We stayed in a beautifully restored house in the center of San Miguel with a roof-top view of the city from our penthouse apartment. We ate good food and drank lots of wine and laughed a lot.

Oh, and my bus trip was uneventful. The only highway robbery I encountered was the taxi driver who took me to the bus station on Tuesday morning.

Pillows and English

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 16:43:00 +0000

The highway that runs between Puerto Escondido and Acapulco is full of small towns, topes (speed bumps), and military checkpoints.

Sometimes the young men at these military stops wave us on. But usually they ask us to pull over to the side of the road. We never know what to expect during these encounters. Each conversation and experience is different.

Sometimes they want to look in the back of the truck. Sometimes they want to see our passports and visas.

One time we were driving from Acapulco with a truckload of stuff we had purchased at Costco. We had new pillows, cat food, paper towels and toilet paper, that sort of stuff. The young soldier who looked through our things was very interested in the pillows, wanting to know what they were and how much they cost and where we got them. At first I wondered if he was thinking they might be stuffed with drugs, but as we went on talking I realized he really was interested in how much they cost and where we had gotten them.

On this last trip no one at the checkpoints wanted to look in the truck. They just wanted to talk. They were bored.

One young man spoke very good English and obviously wanted to practice it. Surprisingly he said that he had never been to the U.S., that he had learned English from a private tutor. I hope he soon graduates out of the boring job of manning a checkpoint on the dusty highways of Mexico.

At the next checkpoint the young soldier apologized for not speaking English. And congratulated me on my Spanish (Mexicans are SO polite). Then he asked me to teach him English.

So when I see trucks bristling with armed and uniformed soldiers, instead of being frightened I remind myself that they are probably more frightened than we are. Many of them are just kids who would rather talk to strangers about pillows and English than to confront drug smugglers.

What you CAN'T get at OXXO

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 16:50:00 +0000

Terry and I drove up the coast to Acapulco and Zihuatanejo recently, a trip that we've made a few times. Each time it's a different adventure.

It amazes me how fast things change in Mexico. And it also amazes me that in some respects things don't change at all.

For an example of rapid changes, there are OXXOs (Mexico's version of 7-11s) springing up all over, in small towns all along the coast. I'm not sure this is a good thing. We always try to shop at smaller mom and pop tiendas, but I admit there are times when we stop at an OXXO, because we know they will have ice, or whatever it is we are looking for. Like similar stores in the states, they are homogenized and can be counted on to always have the same products.

I am happy to say that on this last trip we didn't stop at any of the new OXXOs. We did buy ice though. We pulled up in front of a small store and, without getting out of the truck, asked if they had ice -- not something you can do at an OXXO. The couple who owned the place were selling ice they had made themselves in small plastic bags.

We walked in to the store and chatted with them for a few minutes. Immediately the woman offered me her seat -- the chair she was sitting in when we arrived. It was also the only chair in the store. That doesn't happen in an OXXO.

When this friendly couple heard about our destination they couldn't say enough nice things about Puerto Escondido. They pointed out that it was cleaner there, that the beaches are beautiful and the water is warm and "natural". As we left I found myself wishing this small dusty store was located in the "clean and beautiful" Puerto Escondido. But now that I've been back to Puerto for a week, I realize that these interactions happen every day here -- in the mercado, in small restaurants, wherever we go. But they don't happen in the OXXOs.

de Burros

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 12 Mar 2011 23:19:00 +0000

I've spent a lot of time in the local immigration office lately. I'm changing my resident visa status, so it's taking some time to get all the paper work together. In the process I've gotten to know the immigration officials pretty well. Every time I think I have it all together, and I'm ready to "file", they think of some other document that I need. They are kind, and apologetic, but still... it means another trip for me, and another search through my documents or another letter to write.

The latest trip to the office was so entertaining that I almost didn't mind that I had had very little to eat all day, that I had had to wake up early to get to the office before my spanish class, and that I was being notified that the information in the letters I had brought them the day before was incorrect. I went to the office three times that particular day, once before class and twice after class.

After all this, the guys (no women) in the office decided that this was too complicated to finish before I went on "vacation." Terry and I have plans to do some traveling, and my current visa will expire while I'm gone. After much discussion it was decided that it would be better for me to drop the request and start again when I return from my trip.

So in essence they were telling me that I could leave the country, even though they and I knew that my current visa would expire while I was gone. Then the director of the office gave me the rules: when I return to Puerto I am to come to immigration IMMEDIATELY. I am to bring with me proof of travel for EVERY part of my trip. He even listed examples of what I should bring in: bus tickets, airline tickets, train tickets.... even if you travel by BURRO, he said, you will need to bring proof.

Yes, he said that. "De Burro." Or maybe it was "En Burro". I was laughing too hard to pay attention to grammar.

I very seriously promised to bring receipts for any burro travel I might engage in.

But this meeting wasn't over. As I was leaving I caused an uproar, by mentioning that maybe it would be better if I re-entered Mexico on the day my visa expires -- the 29th, even though my previous plans had me re-entering 1 or 2 days later. Hey, I was only trying to be helpful.

NO!!!! Where before there had been some dispute among the officials about which laws covered my case, and what I should do about the missing documents, EVERYONE was in agreement that I should NOT return on the day of expiration. I can return before it expires, or I can return after it expires. BUT, return on the day of expiration, they said, even if I travel by BURRO, and I will be in big trouble. I might even have to pay a fine.

I didn't bother to ask how much the fine would be. I figure I can stay in beautiful Belize an extra day or two if necessary. After all the Mexican government says I have to.....

My Birthday Dinner

noreply@blogger.com (Ann) — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 20:48:00 +0000

We had guests staying with us when my birthday came around this year. Our guests suggested that Terry and I, just the two of us, go out to dinner to celebrate. I like to think this was a gracious offer so that Terry and I could have a romantic celebration together. On the other hand it's possible Shelia and Rich were looking for an excuse to get rid of us and spend some time on their own.

So we went to one of my favorite restaurants for dinner. It's called Flor de Maria. It's very near one of the beaches we like best, but it doesn't have a view of the water. What it does have is great food.

The Flor de Maria has a small menu which is written on a white board which the server brings to your table when you arrive. The first time we ate there we had roasted chicken and grilled dorado, along with soup and a salad. It was great.

Our neighbor Kate had recommended this restaurant, and when she told us about it she mentioned that one of their specialties was liver and onions. But we didn't see liver on the board the first night we ate there so I didn't think to ask for it.

The second time we ate dinner at this restaurant Joanne, the owner/hostess/chef, remembered us, and even remembered that we had sat at the same table 3 or 4 weeks earlier. She asked if we had enjoyed our meal, and when I mentioned that my only disappointment was that I hadn't seen liver and onions on the menu, she told me to always ask. Sometimes, she said, the supply was low so they didn't put it on the menu. But they have regular customers who always order it, so they usually have it available. So now I always ask.

For my birthday this year I had one of my favorite meals, shared a romantic evening with Terry, and spent the week swimming and boogie boarding with my old friend Shelia and my new friend Rich. I'm a very lucky 63 year old!