In Veracruz

New Year, New Journey

2012-01-11T16:10:00.004-06:00

As the weeks have ticked by without much word, yours truly has decided to do what most folks do when traffic is slow, inspiration low, and interests have waned. They close up shop.

This leave of absence will only be seasonal, however. We will reopen when the time is right again.

When I'm back in Mexico. When baby stops eating all brainpower and creativity. When I can sleep longer than 2-hour intervals. When I start having complete thoughts again....could be a while.

But we'd rather prepare the populace ahead of time instead of prolonging the silence.

We will write again.

In a new year. And on a completely new journey.

Couvade syndrome: Sympathy or Psycho?

2011-12-19T18:43:00.000-06:00

Back in July and August, yours truly was wracked with sickness. Morning sickness, mostly.

Nasty nausea, dizziness, fatigue on top of a stubborn upper respiratory tract infection left me pretty whipped. Compound the everyday rain, cool temps and subsequent humidity (read mold), and you have one pretty miserable pregnant lady.

Hubby was great through all of this. He shouldered everything - from the household responsibilities to my weird moods and meal requests. Handled it all with a smile. Nary a complaint. But then it started.

"I'm not feeling so good. Feeling a little dizzy..."

"I'm so tired...think I need a nap..."

"That upset my stomach last night, better not eat that..."

And then he said it, "I think I can feel your pregnancy symptoms."

What?!?

"In Mexico sometimes the man can feel the pregnancy symptoms too and I think that's what I have."

Needless to say, I was not so sympathetic. "Honey, I am certain you are NOT feeling my pregnancy symptoms."

"But I am! Look, I even found the name of it..." (points to an article about couvade syndrome). "See, it's a real condition!"

Rolling my eyes and skimming the text, I was sure to point out psychosomatic in the article.

"Know what that means? That means it's all in your head!" I said, thumping my index finger against the right temple.

Silence. A sly smile before starting out a "But I-".

I wasn't having it. Telling a pregnant wife that you feel what she feels when she is in the throes of morning sickness, wacky hormones, and brutal bronchitis - all of which she can take next to no medications for, will win zero sympathy points.

No doubt, my dear husband may have felt something, but not what I felt. Lay down if you're tired. Take a Tums if your tummy hurts. That's normal. It's not pregnancy.

Hubby's "condition" has since been a good source of smiles.

I recommended he begin taking prenatal vitamins and folic acid supplements immediately. Cut out the caffeine and raw milk. Better start looking for Men's maternity clothes. And next time we visit the doctor we'll ask him to keep the transducer warm so he can do his ultrasound.

He's taken the teasing well.

We'll see if he starts having contractions in a couple months.

Self-Talk, Stateside

2011-11-20T21:44:00.001-06:00

Ahhh...It's so nice to drive here.
Police are not looking for lunch money. I need not fear them.
Trash is in the can, not all over the ground.
It's so QUIET.
Nobody here walks. Anywhere.
I am pop-culture illiterate. And I'm fine with that.

Ahhh...toilet seats.
Farm animals only transport the Amish.
Fresh food is not always affordable.
Not a stray dog in sight.
Everyone is in a hurry.
Cash is curious...better pay with plastic.
Free refills!

Ahhh...a real steak. And Starbucks.
Where are the tortillas?
This 'authentic' guacamole sucks...going to make my own.
It's SO much easier to be pregnant here!
Ugh...super stores. I miss my small shops.
FLUSH the toilet paper.

Ahhh...soft clothes. Thank you, drying machine.
Hooray for Customer Service and refund policies!
I am walking...and I have the right-of-way?
Everyone's busy...nobody has time. Everyone is in debt.
Good to be back at church.
Baby likes bland. I can eat again.

Ahhh...indoor climate control.
Thank you, cold weather. You kill cockroaches.
No cheek-kiss greetings...hug or handshake.
Salsa is not supposed to be sweet...going to make my own.
Unsupervised stuff will not be stolen, in my home or elsewhere...most of the time.
Hot water on demand!
Where do they get these bananas? They taste terrible.

Ahhh...the four seasons. And all their holidays.
Fall is beautiful.
Can't wait to see snow.
I've really missed my family and friends.
I really miss my husband.
I'll do anything to have this baby born healthy...that's why I'm here without him.

And that's what I keep telling myself.

Happiest of Halloweens

2011-10-31T19:19:00.000-06:00

Been back in the US for a couple weeks. Enjoying fall and a happy host of upcoming holidays, all of which will be spent stateside. Missing my husband, wishing he could be here to celebrate them with me. As does he.

But I am never alone these days. A presence much more real than a spooky spirit is ever with (and within) me. And after next February, always will be...si dios quiere.

From both of us, Happy Halloween!

Ask la Gringa: Drug War Truth, Is it Safe?

2011-10-13T14:53:00.007-05:00

Due to several emails received recently on the subject of drug violence in Veracruz, this post will attempt to answer the heart of all of them - what is really going on there concerning the drug war, and, is it safe? Can I visit/move there? With kids?

I should preface this subject by informing readers that we no longer live in Veracruz city full-time, thankfully. Although we moved for different reasons, the violence that has erupted in Veracruz this year has been astounding. Went from relative peace and quiet to what seems to be an escalating war with no end in sight. Our information and insights are limited, but our sources and experiences are reliable. My answer is based on that.

What is really going on?
Violent confrontations between rival drug cartels, Mexican military and now suspected paramilitary groups. Specifically, the drug cartel that previously controlled drug flow in Veracruz (los Zetas) were supposedly protected by the former state governor, whose term ended in 2010. New governor is not 'in' with them, so the opportunity arose to challenge the Zetas.

Army troops and the Sinaloa cartel have been the main opponents to the Zetas, who are known to be exceptionally ruthless and violent. They have expanded operation to all kinds of activity beyond drug trafficking, mainly kidnapping, assassinations, and all kinds of extortion. Politicians, police and big companies are known to be on their payroll, all of whom want their hands in the pockets of small businesses and civilians.

Plata o Ploma (Silver or Bullet)
Common saying throughout Latin America, which means, take the bribe or take a bullet. Obviously the bribe is often chosen. Drug wars feed on bribes. Drug bribes cannot be stopped or fought because drugs are illegal. This raises the product price sky-high because only the most ruthless criminals with no regard for human life, let alone the law, will run the ring. Make billions. And kill anyone who gets in their way.

They bring murder, extortion, bribes, violence, and all sorts of other evil into the industry. No amount of 'defense' dollars will defeat it. This is the root of the problem, along with rampant corruptibility in Mexican society.

Is it safe to live/travel there?
This depends on one's personal comfort level. Over 100 dead bodies have been found in the past month, with several others missing. This sounds alarming. However, the majority of these victims were involved in drug trafficking/bribes/extortion that led to their death. And, in a city of over 600,000 inhabitants, I like my odds if I'm a law-abiding civilian.

That said, the innocent do get caught in the crossfire. Had I or a family member been been amongst the killed or injured due to grenades thrown into the city's Aquarium, statistics would have been meaningless. A journalist neighbor of ours was murdered in his home, along with his wife and son. My sister-in-law received phone calls threatening kidnap if she didn't pay up, just this week. She tells our nephew that the shootings at night are fireworks, so as not to scare him. And there is a noticeable decline in traffic after dark. People lock their doors and only go out if they have to. Checkpoints, troops, and even tanks are common throughout the city.

People are fearful. Although unlikely, the threat of violence does exist in Veracruz. More so than in the past years of my residency and visits. I personally do not feel threatened during my few-day visits, although sometimes the sights are unsettling. I would not live in Veracruz should a safer city be an option. Xico is still peaceful, as are many other areas in Veracruz state and Mexico. Not all of Mexico is dangerous. We hope it stays that way.

If you would like to ask la Gringa in Veracruz a question, please use the contact form or leave an anonymous comment on the Ask la Gringa page. Ask la Gringa questions will be posted anonymously and kept confidential. Names will not be published other than what you choose to sign your message with.

Could you listen to this all day?

2011-10-01T14:05:00.004-05:00

Barking dogs in Mexico are near equal in numbers to tortillas - they're everywhere. And every neighborhood has one that insists on being a bit more annoying that the others. No exception here in Xico.

About 15ft. separates the neighbor's wall and ours. Where from the other side comes the loudest, shrillest, most nerve-racking dog bark we've ever heard.

Non-stop. Never takes more than a 20-30min break during the day, and can go for hours. Impressive larynx and lungs. That need to be silenced very soon.

He takes the Most Annoying Dog in the Neighborhood title from the previous holder by a long shot. We thought the black lab on the roof was bad until this guy came around a couple days ago.

Now we spend the day with headphones on and earplugs in so as not to lose our sanity. We are contemplating how to soundproof this situation better. Build a high, double-layer wall? Foam padding on the interior?

I'm personally in favor of lacing a piece of meat with a strong sedative every morning. But that could get expensive. Toxins would be cheap and a one-time deal.

We have to do something. It's impossible to think let alone concentrate on work or any other task due to the shrieks of a rabid canine.

Take a listen. Could you listen to this all day?

Image of most annoying dog bark

Starting Off Saturday

2011-09-24T09:27:00.001-05:00

View outside my window this morning. Never gets old.

Clean house. Laundry on the line. Pulled pork in the crockpot. Sun is shining.

Good start to my Saturday so far.

Can't Fake It

2011-09-15T23:19:00.008-05:00

She stood on the sidewalk, across the street from us. Shirt stretched tight around her belly, about to burst through its yellow and white stripes.

She shot us a glance. Stone cold expression. Hot with hatred. An old anger. Grown from the inside, decayed through the surface.

I looked away. Stared at the street, my shoes, anywhere far from her face. I couldn't do it. Couldn't look at her without my own rage rearing its ugly head.

After all, it was her. The "mother". The woman who abandoned, abused, and exploited the six children she gave birth to. The woman who prostituted her own young daughters to subsidize her habits.

The woman who had her children taken away from her. Who should be in jail. Who should be sterilized. Who is very obviously PREGNANT again.

She knew who we were. Word travels fast in small circles. She wanted eye contact. A "buenos dias". Introduction. Recognition. Connection. She received none.

Couldn't do it. The cordial greeting, the small chat that even most Mexican enemies can muster for the sake of social grace. Not this time.

Stoic stares and silence. Better than the cardinal sin of (gasp) confrontation!

What would she want me to say? That her children have nightmares and irrational fears of being alone? How I had to explain to the eldest girl what "unwanted male attention" was when she asked why I carry pepper spray on my keychain? That we hope the black, rotten teeth of the younger kids will not affect their dental health later on, but there is no money to take them all to the dentist?

Perhaps she would be glad to hear that their head lice is gone, now that they have soap and water for daily baths. Or that their ongoing psychological treatment is a work in progress. That they have learned to eat food with forks and spoons and can clean their clothes, now that they have more than one set.

Maybe she'd like to know the sores from the cigarette burns from her drunken, rapist neighbors have healed. Or that fortunately, her drug use and sexually transmitted diseases have had no long-term affects on her offspring.

Or maybe, she would like me to tell her how her children's faces are no longer hollow and sad. That they have soft smiles and big hearts. That they are happy, now that they are no longer with her.

I'm not perfect. I know I should not judge this woman. But I've seen how her children suffered at her hand. Still paying for her sins. Will continue to.

So I looked away, stared straight ahead and walked out of sight. Because I couldn't be nice to her. Couldn't pretend everything's ok.

Because it's not. I won't enable or ease her conscience. I won't save face for her faults.

Sometimes silence is best. Because sometimes I just can't fake it.

Haircuts from Hell

2011-09-04T11:37:00.009-05:00

A good hair stylist is like a good doctor. You feel lucky when you find them, and don't want to switch once you do. Hair and health are two big areas of stress for yours truly in Mexico, the former being harder to solve than the latter.

Thoughts as to why;

My hair texture, color, and volume is totally foreign to most hairdressers here. Thick, course, black hair is 99% of the population. Fine, thin, brown, hair is something seen only on TV. This results in my hair looking 'tiered' vs. layered due to the huge chunks cut at a time.
I am admittedly spoiled. My best friend is my hair stylist at a salon I adore in my hometown. She knows me, my hair, and is all around awesome at what she does. So my expectations are a bit high.

I've had my share of bad hair experiences here. Recalling the first one...

Next-door neighbor with a small estetica (salon), advertised hair cuts, color, nails, etc. I went in for a trim.

Felt my stomach sink when she wet my hair with a spray bottle - no source of running water. Then pulled out a pair of what appeared to be sewing scissors. Now I was scared.

A few snips later, literally, she turned me around with a "Ya esta" (All set). Five minutes total, tops.

With wet, matted hair cut into a few chunks, I felt like the photo above. "Didn't you just leave?", asked my husband upon walking in the door. Ugh.

Then there was the botched attempt at highlights from a well-respected (and expensive) salon downtown.

Apparently, in Mexico blonde highlights are achieved via high amounts of hydrogen peroxide. Must not have occurred to the stylist that pouring on the peroxide may react differently on lighter brown hair vs. black.

I walked out with white streaks. "I think it looks good", Saul said. God bless my husband.

Took my friend back home three long appointments to clean up the damage. She worked miracles in a very short period of time. God bless her, too.

Then there was "Gina". "He's good, but he's gay.", said my mother-in-law. So what? Sexual preferences unimportant, I just want a good haircut.

Walked into the salon, to see the back view of beautiful, long, blonde hair down her back. Skinny jeans with rhinestones, a cute, teal halter top and matching high heels.

Being the only two people in the salon, I thought for sure I was in the wrong place. Where was the gay guy? "Sorry, I think I'm in the wrong salon", I said in Spanish, and turned to walk out.

Turning to face me, a protruding Adam's apple gave him away. "Oh, no, sweetie, come one in...", Gina said in a tenor-toned voice. I later explained the difference between gay and transvestite to my MIL.

Gina didn't do too bad. Not great, but he cleaned up the split ends. Competent.

Then we moved to Xico. New town, new service professionals. Most of the hair salons look like those from the first disaster. Looks can be deceiving, not worth the risk.

One day in Xalapa, I passed by a salon that looked like it might be good. High-end products on display, washing sinks, hair dryers present. And everyone's hair in there looked really good.

So yesterday I gave it shot, and got what I expected. An acceptable haircut, ends cleaned up, feels healthy again.

Same issue persists with layering. Cutting huge chunks of fine, thin hair does not yield the results of thick, course hair. Wish I could communicate that better here.

No color, we aren't at that level of trust yet. After the white highlights I hold off until I'm back stateside for color.

It's not my beloved salon in Wooster, Ohio, but for emergencies it'll do. I'll get a clean cut.

And hopefully no more haircuts from hell.

Where We've Been

2011-08-28T21:28:00.005-05:00

Where have we been the past couple weeks?

Chasing Beauty:

Hanging out with the husband:

Hanging out with our adopted family:

Raising Funds for Mom (yes, shameless plug, please help):

And otherwise avoiding blogging. Not for lack of ideas. Rather a lack of willingness to indulge the important issues of the hour. Drug violence in Veracruz and immigration policy changes, for example.

Drug violence coverage on this blog is deferred due to a journalist neighbor in Veracruz city being murdered in his home last month, along with his wife and son. They lived a stone's throw away from our house there. A couple weeks later another Veracruz journalist was found dead, her body dumped behind a newspaper building.

Real stories are under or unreported. The media has its own interests in spinning the truth, they don't want to die for writing a real story. Neither do we. Bottom line - violence is on the rise in Veracruz, as it throughout Mexico. We are still safe in Xico.

Immigration is not discussed much here due to its inflammatory nature. Although, it's been receiving more political attention nationally, so we might touch it here, too.

Last week we spotted Chief Wahoo along the roadside:

Interesting graphical choice considering the billboard is advertising custom windows. Still, nice to see another Cleveland sports fan exists in our vicinity. If we spot an solid-orange helmet with brown stripes we will take it as a sign from God to never leave the region.

Been missing the US more than usual lately. This happens every football season. It'll pass. We're still happy in Xico. Even when we've been away.

An American Day

2011-08-14T10:32:00.021-05:00

Plaza de la Americas, Xalapa

Every once in a while the mood will strike. We'll find a few extra pesos in our pockets, get all dressed up, and board a bus to Xalapa for an American Day. Like yesterday.

We exchanged our peaceful pastoral surroundings for the hustle and bustle of the elite Mexican mall chain - Plaza de las Americas, or "Plaza America", as the locals say.

Normally, we don't like shopping malls. Especially in Mexico. Overpriced goods on name brands that could be purchased for far less in the States. Sales reps around every rack and kiosk. Speaking English usually shoos them away if a polite "No, gracias", doesn't.

But we weren't looking for American clothes at inflated Mexican prices. We were there to feel 'American'.

To sit in a dimly-lit movie theater with cushy stadium seats and eat popcorn. To hear English spoken on the big screen. To see scenes of manicured, green, lawns and vinyl-sided houses with shutters in the background. Mailboxes and garage sales. Maple trees and clean streets. Signs of four seasons. Holidays. Traditions. Local accents. Food, like deviled eggs, macaroni salad and green bean casserole.

For a few moments, I'm back in middle-class America, with my own family, friends, and acquaintances as the characters. The movie screen surrogates the social and civil experiences. I'm back there, if only a vicar in vestige. And I'm happy.

Happy ordering from an English menu at Chili's. Close to the US counterpart, expensive compared to local fare. But we don't care. Not today.

Food is good. Half-rack ribs and fries, side salad with ranch dressing and yellow (American) cheese. Free refills on strawberry lemonade. We watch the Steelers vs. Redskins preseason football game on the NFL network. In English.

A few more laps on the marble-tile floor. Shaking our heads at the prices. $90 (dollars) for a Levi's button-down shirt. $110 for Nike lightweight jacket. $140 for an identical pair of shoes purchased in the US for $80. We move on.

To Dairy Queen, where we share a small blizzard. Also more expensive than the US, but this is our American Day. If we want a blizzard, we shall have it. And savor every bite of crushed American candy blended with ice cream.

Exit the tempered-glass doors. Out to the perfectly paved parking lot. No potholes, cracks, trash in sight.

A step on the pedestrian bridge bids a goodbye to our American Day. Descend to the other side, where tortas and taquitos are sold on the sidewalk.

We won't do this again for a while. It's expensive to be American in Mexico.

But for the few hours of semi-indulgence, and sparse moments of sentimental nostalgia, it is worth it.

We sit on the sunny side of the smokey city bus, and smile at the replayed scenes of our American Day.

Hasta la próxima vez.

Es Una Tortilla

2011-08-07T20:51:00.009-05:00

Last Saturday the hubs and I had pancakes and eggs for breakfast, which always reminds me of an event in our early dating days.

The waitress set that fresh stack of golden-fried cake batter at his place setting. Lightly buttered. Syrup on the side.

Utensils neatly sealed into a signature Country Kitchen sticker - where they would remain.

The year was 2002. We decided to go out for breakfast. Already dating a few months, culture clashes weren't new. But dining differences were.

He worked at a Mexican restaurant in my hometown, so he never wanted Mexican food. We always elected for anything non-Mexican. Proper culinary protocol unperturbed. Until the pancakes.

Folding the flapjack with his fingers, he dipped the tip into the syrup cup before his hand delivered the first mouthful.

"Es una tortilla.", he remarked happily.

At first I thought he was making some sort of a joke that I didn't get. Then embarrassed when I realized he wasn't. I didn't get it - I had never seen him eat with his hands.

Why wouldn't he unroll his knife and fork like everyone else in the restaurant? Maybe if I modeled good behavior...

I spoke up. I wanted to know why he was making a mess instead of using proper cutlery.

"Porque es una tortilla!" ("So what?" I thought. "Use a fork and knife like a civilized person"). Despite my disapproval it was clear the "tortilla" was not going to be eaten with anything but his hands, because, it is, evidently a tortilla.

A few years later I took my first trip to Mexico. Then I finally understood. The tortilla is in itself a utensil. Made by and for la mano (the hand). The relationship is inherent to Mexicans.

It would be absurd to stick a fork into an existing eating instrument! And not nearly as fun.

Although I've grown accustomed to eating some things with my hand, a pancake is still fork food to me.

And to my husband, es una tortilla.

A Little About Me & You

2011-07-31T00:47:00.002-05:00

Fellow mexpat blogger Lisa has created an interesting list of questions to help us get to know one another better. Not one to normally follow suite, but admittedly, I found the answers interesting, and figured I should participate as well. So here goes.

1. How long have you been with your husband?

Nine years together, married two.

2. Can you remember one funny miscommunication because of language barriers?

We've had plenty between the two of us, but the funniest one I remember was at a Toastmaster's meeting. The speaking exercise was themed around "Dear Abby". Members were given a question and had to give an impromptu answer in two minutes. One question centered around a teenage girl being teased and bullied at school by a group of boys. His answer, spoken in otherwise excellent English, used the verb "molest" at least a dozen times..."When the boys are molesting you..."Tell someone you are being molested"..."Ignore people who molest you...", etc. Spanish/English speakers are smiling already because they know the mistake. Molestar in Spanish means to bother. He thought he was saying bother throughout his speech, and I gently informed him at the end of the meeting how molest is used in English conversation. He was embarrassed, but we had a good laugh. I don't think he'll ever make that mistake again.

3. What State/City have you relocated to?

In early 2009 we moved from Ohio to Veracruz, Veracruz. In May 2011 we relocated an hour and a half west to the lovely mountain town of Xico, still in Veracruz.

4. Do you and your husband have any children? If so, what ages?

No progeny yet. Vamos a ver que quiere dios.

5. What is one thing that your blogger friends don't know about you?

I'm terrified of snakes and large, jumpy dogs. When I was four, I was attacked by a German Shepherd while at a baby-sitter's. I remember reaching to pet his back, when he turned around and bit me across the face, which I still have scars from. After that it's fuzzy, but to this day I'm nervous around big, barking dogs. Especially German Shepherds. The ophidiophobia is unfounded. Snakes just give me the creeps.

6. What are some of your favorite hobbies or past times?

Anything creative. Always loved reading, writing, music, art. I still break out an instrument or sketchbook once in a while, but in Mexico writing is the cheapest medium. So I do that more.

7. How did you stumble upon the (Mexpat) blogging community?

I found John Calypso's blog while looking up information about Veracruz online, before we moved here. After a few months in Veracruz, and very few new friends, I knew I needed to connect with people somehow. Several new posts and new blogger friends later, In Veracruz is still around.

8. Have you learned something new about yourself during this whole process of moving to another country?

I learned that my open-mindedness has more limits than I thought. I'm usually very accepting and unassuming until something severely offends my value system, which seems to happen more in Mexico. I've learned to reflect and process why this happens, but still struggle with how to manage/avoid it.

9. Something you love about Mexico and something you can't stand or miss living without.

Love the slower pace. There's not all the pressure to keep up with everyone else, to multi-task at all hours or make impulsive decisions. People here see no reason to be burnt out at the end of the day. They always take time to relax, no matter the profession. Also love the antojitos and aguas frescas, all kinds.

I can't stand the whistle-blowers in parking lots! Seriously, I can back into and out of my own space - stop whistling! I will park far away from the entrance of a store and walk just to avoid those damn whistles.

I miss my family and friends more than anything. Next items would be sushi, a good steak, Thanksgiving dinner, driving on smooth roads without topes, outlet malls, and football season.

10. Did you know your in-laws before moving and has it been a big adjustment being closer to them?

I knew them before moving, and I knew it would be a big adjustment living so close. In fact, the original idea was for us to all live together. I knew after a prolonged visit that it wasn't going to work. Even having our own house, but just down the street was hard, especially the first six months or so. My suegra used to come over at least 3-4 times a day, sometimes more, with no real purpose, and would stay for hours on end. She has a healthy speaking volume, can be very abrasive, and liked to point out the many things I was doing wrong. Constantly.

I remember having a particularly bad day with her, and finally had a meltdown. Through tears I told my husband that I just couldn't take it anymore. We had tried many times to confront the privacy/personal space/respect issues with civility, and it didn't work. I was going to take a break and go back to the US for a while. It was the only way I could get some breathing room and regain my sanity. He looked at me and said, "I'll be back.", and went over to his mom's. He never told me what was said, but things improved dramatically after that night. I didn't go back to the US.

Now, living further away, we don't see them as much, but we are on good terms. Sometimes a little distance works wonders.

11. If you were going back to the States next week, where is the first place you would go, after seeing your family?

Camping and horseback riding somewhere in southeast Ohio or West Virginia. I love Hocking Hills and the New River Gorge regions.

One Thing to Love on a Clear Morning

2011-07-27T18:46:00.001-05:00

Pico de Orizaba

Sun is up. Air is clear. All is calm. It's the only time we see snow here.

Gazing at the Pico never gets old.

Xiqueñada Continued

2011-07-24T21:27:00.000-05:00

Several visitors staying for the week and not feeling 100% proved challenging when attempting to extract all of Xico's town festival. Sights, smells, sounds of a small town on celebratory steroids overloaded the senses.

Then there's the organization of so many people to get up and get going. After missing two heavily anticipated events, and almost being crowded out of another, I hope they realized they cannot show up over an hour late and still see the action. It's either over or too crowded to see anything. Next year I will go alone if necessary. But I won't miss it again.

We did get to see Mary Magdalene in all her glory, and her dress museum. She has her own building that houses over 700 dresses! That's an impressive wardrobe.

Of course, we hit the waterfalls and the running of the bulls, which was ok. We were expecting a Pamplona-style running of the bulls, and it seems most of the macho men were more interested in antagonizing the bulls than showing any real machismo. One young man did get caught in the horns and juggled up in the air before being stabbed a few more times on the ground. He was unconscious and carried away, but we think he was alright.

Haven't ventured back to the action this weekend. Too many sweaty hot dogs, stale urine, burping booze smells polluting the air. Can't handle that right now - makes me too queasy. Maybe next year.

Some shots of the fun:

Inglesia de Santa Maria Magdalena

Flower petals from Perote, Veracruz

Inside the church

The Lady of the hour

Some of Mary's many dresses

Cascada Texolo

Let the Pamplonada (running of the bulls) begin!

Alfombra de la Xiqueñada

2011-07-20T15:23:00.001-05:00

Last night we finally felt well enough to participate in societal celebrations again - La Xiqueñada de 2011. La Xiqueñada is a series of celebratory events, lasting for the good portion of the month of July.

Despite my best intentions to give them all air time on the blog, sickness stole the space. Next year I'll do better. For now we'll pick up the reporting, albeit a bit behind.

The biggest part of the La Xiqueñada is the Festival de Santa Maria Magdalena, Mary Magdalene, the town's patron saint. The festival kicked off last weekend, with bullfights and mariachis in the Plaza de Toros, and will end with the running of the bulls this Friday.

Yesterday, the big event was the making of the famous alfombra (rug). The alfombra stretches from the church square down Hidalgo, the main street, to the town entrance. It is quite the creative compilation of colored sawdust and cultural icons.

Miraculously, it didn't rain at all yesterday! First day all month. This means that our town patron saint was pleased with the handiwork, according to some locals. It is quite beautiful, see pictures below.

Xico's heritage is noted on each section. Religion, indigenous influence, Spanish conquest, religion, flora and fauna, toros (bulls), and of course the Santa herself.

Tourists have come from all over Mexico and abroad. The town is hopping. Roasted elotes (sweet corn with mayo, cheese, and chili pepper), micheladas (beer + salsa beverage), and homemade mora (blackberry liquor) are everywhere.

Today is the procession of the arch, but we have been waiting on out of town family to show. Looks like we'll miss that, but the parroquia promises nightly entertainment, and we still haven't seen Mary.

She's in the church, and the line to get a look was quite long last night. Tonight we'll try again, si dios quiere.

Some shots of the alfombra:

Husband with a michelada

On the Mend

2011-07-15T20:55:00.003-05:00

It happened. We found a good doctor. In Xalapa, about an hour away on the bus.

The experience was very positive. His waiting area, clean and quiet. Absent was the TV blaring telenovelas (Mexican soap operas) and restless children climbing furniture. Sweet receptionist, making small talk and filling out forms while we waited. No texting on her cell phone or gazing into a makeup mirror.

Doc was polite. Asked for a thorough history, so we told him. Asked for previous records, which we gave him. He thanked us for our honesty - so many patients are not, he lamented. Curious statement. Dishonesty with doctors doesn't make sense. How would that help us?

We recounted experiences and explanations of previous physicians here in Mexico. He shook his head. And began a lengthy discussion about how so many doctors in Mexico should not be practicing. And how, good, qualified physicians struggle to build a practice as they battle getting their name out and patient attitudes.

Interesting point of view. We were all ears.

His perspective was, many folks can practice as doctors with very minimal training, thanks to lackadaisical attitudes in certification and regulation. They aren't good. They don't really help patients. But they are cheap, and that is all most patients care about, he said.

It's frustrating to watch a consultation go to waste, because the patient thinks the treatment plan is too expensive and unnecessary, he explained. They won't get lab work done. They don't buy meds. They skip appointments. When the issue escalates they end up in the hospital.

He doesn't believe the latest, fanciest equipment is always necessary to give a correct diagnosis. Some physicians here invest to impress, and it usually works, he said. "Send them home with fancy pictures and you'll sell here."

As a young doc who's well trained and passionate to help patients, it's tempting to leave the region. Go to the DF (Mexico City), Monterrey, Guadalajara, Cancun, etc., where the pay is better and patients more reliable. Regulations more respected. But he's from Xalapa, and wants to help his hometown.

Hope he stays put. We spent over an hour with him, not once did he seem rushed or bothered. Time passed was enjoyable for us, and we think it was for him too.

We left not only with a remedy, but enlightened. And most importantly, on the mend.

Gracias, good doctor.

Being Sick in Mexico Stinks

2011-07-13T18:58:00.005-05:00

June 27th. That was the day we took the trip to Sam's Club with the adopted family. That was the last day I felt well.

Almost three weeks and several pills, syrups, sprays, teas, and throat lozenges later, not much improvement can be noted. Cough, cold, sinus headaches, sneezing, hot/cold chills, pain in my right side and even a throbbing toothache persist. Guessing it's some sort of sinus problem, but that's just a guess. I am not a doctor.

So go see one - right? I have. And I've sampled a variety of pharmaceuticals. Nothing has helped. Diagnosis devoid. Many primary doctors here lack diagnostic resources, be it equipment and/or skill. Veracruz is one of the least advanced states in Mexico for medical care. So the cough continues.

Hubby has also been under the weather. But he has a wonderful Cardiologist in Veracruz who found the problem easily. He's on the mend. I am not.

Folks here usually down the meds until they can no longer afford them, or seek alternative treatment. The rich go to Mexico City, over four hours away, to see specialists. But a specialist in what? Colds? Cough? All I need is a correct diagnosis. And I can't rationalize spending over $1,000 on a flight back the U.S. to get it.

Finding a good doctor around here isn't impossible, but not easy. It's not like in the U.S. where you can walk into a doctor's office and know that the doctor is at least accountable to a certain standard of ability via quality training and board certification.

No, not here. In Mexico a very wide discrepancy between doctors' skill levels can exist. Many practice under an MD, but the title doesn't indicate competency. Decent doctors are difficult to find without some kind of word-of-mouth referral. Otherwise it's a blind search for a proficient physician.

And that's where we're at. About to hit the month mark of illness. The town gears up for the annual big festival, and I'm stuck inside. Where the cool, damp air doesn't differ much from the outdoors. And rainy weather matches my mood.

It stinks being sick.

Tempest Attraction

2011-07-03T18:37:00.001-05:00

A subcutaneous storm solenoid has been implanted in me. A tropical tempest attractor of some sort.

I moved to Florida in the summer of 2004. That fall four hurricanes hit the state, three of which passed in proximity to my apartment, leaving me powerless for several days. August in Florida without even a cool breeze to blow through the window is miserable. I moved back north after one year. Ohio is not known for many news-worthy natural disasters.

But then hubby and I moved to Veracruz in 2009. Coastal climate far hotter than Florida. Especially after Hurricane Karl came through last year and left us once again powerless. Waterless. Sweat soaking the sheets while trying to sleep. That sort of miserable.

We've been in Xico less than two months, and in comes Tropical Storm Arlene. Up in the mountains, there is no flying debris. Instead, we have downpours, flash flooding, mudslides, wetness everywhere. Dampness doused from dark clouds.

I began to cough. And sneeze. And wheeze. Downing hot tea and chicken broth for a week. Sick of being sick.

Never so glad to see storm remnants cease. Once again resurfacing, along with the sunshine and conventional weather patterns.

Back to normal, or on our way there. At least, until the next tempest attraction.

Changing Lives

2011-06-28T22:14:00.001-05:00

Cart full of goodies

The kids have new shoes, school supplies, a full pantry. Thanks to the generosity of those who donated. We raised over $1,000 for this family, which has been a tremendous help to them. Muchas gracias!

A trip to Sam's Club in Xalapa was like a trip to Disney world for the youngsters. Never had they seen such a huge store with bright lights, shelves stocked to the ceiling, food bagged in bulk. They grinned at each item in the cart. They know they'll be fed.

The shoe store was an equally enjoyable outing. Never had they had new shoes. Even after several hours, they never fussed, never complained. They did crash in the car on the way back to Xico.

Girls are getting treatment for their trauma. Physically, they'll be ok. Mentally will take more work. But now there is help for them. And hope.

Wish you could have seen their smiles, feel their happiness, as we were able to. It's a powerful thing, caring for others. Especially children. They are so quick to forgive.

Struggling to understand normalcy, they are adjusting. It's amazing how kids can adapt. It's amazing how love changes lives.

Caballo Crazy

2011-06-22T23:18:00.002-05:00

Random caballo (horse)

One thing to love about Xico are the random farm animals who graze our grass.

Sometimes it's a donkey, goat, or chicken that has wandered off. I check them out, smile, make a cup of tea, and go about my morning.

But if it's a horse, it must be properly greeted. It's first offered a handful of grass as an offering. Always feed those you want to befriend.

A few minutes are spent getting acquainted, inching closer and talking calmly. Not long after, the horse is comfortable enough to be touched. From the side, near the shoulder is usually safe, but each horse is different.

Today's horse preferred the face and nose stroked. And oddly enough, he loved smelling my face. Which I was fine with.

After 20 minutes, I had him eating out of my hand and following my lead. And likely had the neighbors gossiping about the gringa loca who talks to horses en Inglés.

And they are right. I am a bit caballo crazy.

Picadas

2011-06-19T19:08:00.000-05:00

Picadas Rancheras

Picadas Rancheras. Masa (corn dough) made a mano (by hand). Grilled on the griddle. Homemade saldsa ranchera ladled over. Onion and queso fresco on top.

Another one of hubby's culinary successes. They are as good as they look. Maybe better.

It's nice to have a husband who can cook. Not too many around. Far fewer in Mexico.

Gracias a dios, I found a good one.

What Love Looks Like

2011-06-18T03:04:00.014-05:00

Their backs are clean and clothed. Tummies full. Heads cushioned, bodies a bit warmer when they sleep.

As were our hearts when delivering aid to the newly-formed family of eight, thanks to the generous donations received. Many hugs, shrieks and squeals were received as the kids unwrapped bags of fleece blankets, pillows, food, soap, toothpaste, toilet paper, etc.

Seeing their smiles, feeling their hugs, sharing their joy - we felt undeserving of such benevolence. Our friends and readers are the worthy ones. For each dollar donated, prayer prayed, email of encouragement, we say a sincere gracias. It made a difference.

Evening passed as the excitement died down and a full moon rose over our heads. As the children got ready for bed, La Señora opened up some more. She spoke of seemingly simple routines that had been a chore to instill due to lack of parental guidance.

Basic hygiene was unknown. Brushing teeth, combing hair, washing hands, changing into clean clothes and underwear. After living in squalor so long, everything had to be taught. Like how bathe properly - with soap and a washcloth.

El Señor and her taught them to use utensils and sit down together for meals. Comb their hair and clip their fingernails. Spoiled food is not safe to eat. "Todo es una gran batalla ahora, pero asi andamos" (Everything is a great battle right now, but we keep going), she said staunchly.

I encouraged her and told her what an honorable thing it was to fill the enormous void in their lives. Not just physiological, but emotional. How wonderful it was, to give them love after a lifetime of neglect.

Her eyes lowered, head dropped. "Si, pero...pues, como vez las niñas?" (Yes, but...what do you think about the girls?). I wasn't sure how to respond. Her softened voice and sulking shoulders told me something upsetting was about to be unloaded. And it was.

"Las niñas...", said La Señora before she paused. Her voice quivered. She slowly spit it out as the tears came. The mother would send them to a neighbor's house, where two middle-aged men liked to get drunk and rape and sexually assault the girls repeatedly. For which the mother was compensated. The girls are ages 11, 8, and 6.

I was floored. Sick. Livid and unspeakably sad at the same time. She found out from the oldest girl, who did not fully understand had been done. How could she when her own mother endorsed and enabled it?

A gynecologist's visit confirmed genital injuries and infection. The girls are left with physical and emotional trauma that require treatment - for who knows how long? As if they didn't have enough to overcome already.

La Señora is overwhelmed. She doesn't know how to quell their nightmares, when they wake up crying or scared. She doesn't know what to say when they divulge the darkness of the hell they lived in. She just wraps her arms around them, while feeling inadequate and ill-equipped to really help them.

I hugged her and told her she is not alone. I would help any way possible. She squeezed me a bit tighter and longer. Grateful and sincere. But scared. How would she do it, her arms asked.

We walked away shocked and shaking our heads. Struck by sadness. Enraged. I sat down on the sidewalk and sobbed. Aching for those kids all over again. Pained by the horrific crimes committed against those girls. I prayed for peace and protection in their lives. For healing. For hope.

This couple has blown me away with their big hearts.

They have taken on an enormous labor of love. They have shown what real love looks like.

Story and photo were published with permission. The new parents need help meeting the needs of these children. Immediate essentials are school supplies for all and medical treatment for the girls. 100% of donations will be given to help this family. Donate button is in the side margin. Gracias.

Treading New Ground

2011-06-12T18:40:00.002-05:00

Favorite sandals

They are my favorite. And they know it.

Crooked-cut cow skin soaked and stretched by a tough tanner's hand. Not so neatly nailed through tattered tire tread. Not so stylish, the simple shape seared onto your straps.

Measurements mistaken. Lines upon your face. Rough around the rubber edges.

They call you crude. Obsolete. Second-rate. They call me outmoded. Unfashionable. Antiquated.

But to me you are unique. As such the hands that made you. A human creation, with all faults and fallibility inherited. You are not a machine by-product. Neither was your maker.

You are beautiful. Unprecedented. A work of art. More than adequate in functional footwear.

So we embrace your imperfections. Slough off the sneers.

We know the sparks are special when we slip you on. Step into the scenery. And as tired soles, tread new ground.

We've seen some amazing things so far.

When it Pours

2011-06-09T01:21:00.020-05:00

The skies started sprinkling when we set foot on the stone path. Dark and angry. But we were set on seeing acquaintances, and stopping for dinner.

We befriended them a couple weeks ago, while admiring the view near their shack. They sell antojitos and other yummy homemade stuff.

Their smiles sincere. Handshakes heartfelt. We liked them immediately.

Walking inside, six young faces turned and stared. Their eyes were filled with sweetness yet sadness. A fragility that could break into tears or sic a smile.

We sat down. Exchanged small talk.

As time passed we learned a lot. La Señora loves Xico even though some days it's tough to drum up business for taquitos and tortas. El Señor is a mason who loves to build but work is sporadic. Times are tough, pero Dios sabe todo lo que necesitamos (but God knows all of our needs), she says.

The six children sat at a table and were served a small sandwich and one tamal each. They gobbled it down. All very thin. Between ages 4-15. Not seeming to belong to our new friends, whom appear to be well into their 50s. But you never know.

After the young ones were excused, my husband gently inquired. La Señora sighed and spilled the beans.

The children are offspring of distant relatives, who had a habit of leaving them in a makeshift cardboard shelter in an empty dirt lot. Alone for weeks at a time.

Father has come and gone, last time left for good. Mother likes to party. The kind only found in the big city.

The children are essentially orphans. Left on their own. No decent clothes. No money. No Food. No water. No School. No guidance. No one.

Rain beat on the tin roof like a thousand teardrops from heaven as she poured out her heart. Her voice trembled as she said she couldn't bear to see them in such a deplorable state. Two weeks ago she went to get them. They will legally adopt all six. No protests from the parents.

Tears streaked down her face. She said they don't have much but if she could marginally improve their lives, she was going to. They may only get half a sandwich, but they won't starve. They may have to huddle together on the concrete floor at night, but it's not dirt. They will have clean drinking water, a shower, a flushing a toilet. A roof when it rains. Guardians who love them.

My eyes watered, heart ached. For the children, whom had never been loved or wanted. For the kind-hearted couple trying to provide for them. For the mother and father, whose lives must be so filled with pain and strife they couldn't face the responsibility of being parents.

I sat speechless. Fighting back tears and holding my breath. I hate crying in front of people. But these people had touched us.

We left them with a hug, a few extra pesos, and a promise to return in a couple days.

The rain subsided. We walked in silence. Awestruck by what had happened. I stopped on the stone street. Had it not been soaked, I would have hit my knees, but instead turned to my husband and hugged him. Then thanked God for all the blessings in my life.

I was going to help those people, and I knew how to start.

From a few late donations last year, we purchased some fleece. We were going to make blankets last winter for those in need. Instead, winter was skipped while in the US. Blankets were never made.

Today we pulled out the fleece and started working. We have material for three. We finished one. We'll make two more tomorrow.

We want to buy material for two additional blankets, a few sleeping pads, and pillows. To keep them from sleeping in layers on a cold concrete floor. Wadded clothing to cushion their heads.

When someone opens up even a little, they let you see their soul.

Soak your senses. Flood your spirit. Drown your heart.

Nothing is more purifying than when it pours.

*If you would like to help this family, see donate button in the side margin. Gracias.