Ojitos In Mexico

The Scene

Sat, 29 Nov 2008 09:31:17

A few weeks ago we went to the dinner party of an ex-pat friend. It was a very fun gathering of about 16 people, and I decided to bring along my guitar. When the host saw this, she announced to everyone that I'd be playing a "concert" (gulp) for everyone after we ate. We all dragged our chairs outside, and I played a handful of my instrumental pieces. It was a great setting, with the Sierra Madres rising up behind us, and I had a lot of fun.

Afterwards, I was talking with one of the few Oaxaquenos in attendance, who plays various types of traditional instruments (including the tiny guitar-like charango) and is a very active musician in the local clubs. He told me about a few places I could play, and invited me to one of his gigs to see if I'd like to sit in.

Though it's admittedly rare for us to go out on the town, as it were, we went out last night to see him play. I left my guitar at home; since I'm not especially familiar with many traditional or popular Mexican tunes, I wanted to listen before attempting to ever play along.

Sadly, we arrived just a few minutes too late to hear the music. However, a couple of the people in his band were heading off to another club downtown, called Son Cubano. They invited me to come along, and gestured at one of their guitars, saying I should follow them to the other venue and play with them for a bit. Though I wasn't quite sure what I'd be getting myself into, I accepted their invitation and Julie and I met up with them after finishing our glasses of typically incredible local hot chocolate.

Son Cubano is a classic-looking type of place, with modest tables and a small stage set off by scrawled literary and popular quotes decorating the wall behind it. There was a trio onstage, with two beat-up guitars and a set of bongos, playing some wonderful, heavily rhythmic Cuban music. We ordered a few lemonades and listened to the rest of their set.

During their break, another musician took over the stage, continuing with the Cuban feel. The leader of the first band came over to me and asked if I'd like to play shortly. I wasn't sure if he expected me to play solo, or with someone else, but I agreed, hoping that he meant solo as I didn't know a single one of the songs I'd heard all night.

Soon I was called to the stage, and thankfully, was alone up there. I played one of my more rhythmic original tunes, and soon was joined by the guitarist who'd just finished, except now he'd picked up the bongos and was playing along with me. It was a nice addition, I thought, and I think it helped my unfamiliar music go over a bit.

After my second tune, the first bandleader came up and whispered that a couple of guys in the audience wanted to come sing a song, and I should play along. I moved over to the second guitar onstage and shook hands with the newcomers. The one closest to me leaned over and told me the name of a song, expecting that I'd know it. I kinda shook my head and said, "Uh, that's a new one to me but I'll do what I can". He looked surprised, but launched into a romantic ballad with gusto, both of them harmonizing beautifully. I played along once I got the gist of it, filling in some of the spaces and taking a solo when they gave me a nod. It seemed to go well, and we played four or five more tunes together, each time starting with a whisper to me with the name of the next song, to which I could only shrug my shoulders again and again, promising to try my best.

I then handed off the guitar to yet another six-string slinger, but soon was invited back to the stage again to play again. Afterward, as I sat down and the first band continued playing, several people stopped by my table with nice things to say. Then the singer who I'd accompanied for the bulk of the night came by, shook my hand enthusiastically, and pulled up a stool. With much gravity, he said that he had a preposition for me, and that he'd like to know if I wished to join his trio. This was certainly a surprise.

I haven't played music with anyone in Mexico yet, and the thought of playing this lovely music regularly sounded fascinating. It certainly would be a learning experience. In this situation, who would say no? I shook his hand and said, why, yes.

He then asked what I'd require to be paid per hour.

That was a tough question. Not only have I never been asked to quote an hourly rate for playing (and I'm used to playing a whole night for peanuts in the USA anyway), but I have absolutely no idea what any musician might be used to receiving here. I mumbled something very modest, to which he laughed out loud and offered three times what I'd said, "If you're serious". This last he repeated several times, giving me a hard look; he was not kidding around. "One more thing," he said, "you have to wear a suit - none of this," gesturing at my t-shirt and camper's hat. I agreed to that, as well. How could I not?

He took my phone number, promised to call soon, and said that we had a gig in two weeks, a function for his job. It'll involve playing four or five hours, and will be "serious", he emphasized again. He went on to say that he worked for the AFI - "the FBI of Mexico", he explained.

"Serious"...yes.

Yikes.

Though I'm excited about this, the first thing I need to explain to him when he doesn't have any mezcal in his system is that it's actually illegal for me to work for pay here. What that means to someone who works for the Mexican intelligence system, I don't know - is he above the system, or wedded to it? - but I think I need to be COMPLETELY honest with him.

Whatever happens, this certainly is an interesting development, and it's a great feeling to take a step toward being part of the musician's community here.

Returning

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 08:15:45

(whoops, I meant to post this weeks ago. Sorry, my friends.)

I KNOW it's been forever since I've updated here. Most regretful. Thing is, since June we've been gone at least part of every month (which has been true for Julie since the very start of the year). A friend just asked me in an email, "Are you sure you live in Mexico?"

But now we're back and, after one more quick trip for me next week, we're going to be here for the foreseeable future. The house progress has, definitely, suffered for all of our travel, and now it's time to make up some ground. After applying some pressure (and a bit of cash) before the last trip, three things which we've been asking her about for well over a year have been installed. The water heaters are in, the cistern pump too, and most surprisingly, the drywall in the foyer (though the walls are concrete, sheetrock is used occasionally on ceilings to cover up drainpipes) . The last especially has been a particular thorn in my side as the excuse always was that it was a "quick thing", so why the hurry? After having heard that ten times, it was a real relief to actually see the false ceiling in there.

Next up is paint. We've picked out colors and we had a painter lined up, so thought we were good to hit the ground running on that. But the painter has been a pain to deal with, even before we've signed a contract. He first gave me a proposal back in March, and ever since then he hasn't let up on pressure to get the job started. Even after I told him time and again that I'd be in touch with him when we were ready, he'd continually call or drop by unannounced to discuss the job and insist that he get started ASAP. The final straw came during our last trip. Before we left, I'd told him clearly that we'd be gone for a couple of weeks, and at some point after we got back, I'd give him a call. But sometime last week, he came by to try to find us, and when we heard no response after endlessly ringing our bell and banging loudly on the garage door (according to our slightly peeved landlady), he started going around to our other neighbors and asking them where we were. This failure of communication and, it seems to us, basic interpersonal skills doesn't bode well for what needs to be a very close working relationship, so we're going to look elsewhere.

The first person we're going to approach is our architect. Though I know that contracting her to do anything additional at this point probably seems like madness, at least working with her has the advantage that we know that she'll follow through on the work, even if it may take forever. Our experience with the windows installer, where the work wasn't entirely done to our satisfaction but we didn't have a lot of recourse, makes us lean towards dealing with a known quantity (what is that quote about the evil that we know..?) instead. And we do have a quote from the original contract back in 2005, which needs to be expanded to accommodate for the changes in house design but at least we have a starting figure for the work.

Wish us luck. After paint, the room I've been looking forward to most: the kitchen!

For Want of a Bathroom

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 19:39:05

It feels like the final work on the bathrooms has been the only thing happening for the past six months. That's not altogether true, of course - the entrance road was a great addition, and now we have an entrance gate..!

(Not quite done all the way...surprise, surprise).

But really, besides those things, it's been all about the bathrooms. Getting the tile done, the tub put in place, and the proper handles properly installed has been epic. At this point, still, none of those things are completed. The tile is very close, just the tub steps need to be done. But last week, I visited one day (I'm trying to go out there just about every work day now) and noticed how badly the very expensive glass tile border in the shower had been installed - there was an overbite of at least a quarter of an inch compared with the tile surrounding it. As with so many other things, I figured we'd have to live with it. But I mentioned it in an email to our architect, just to poke her a little bit if nothing else, and to my surprise, the next day our rather chastened-looking worker was ripping it out. It looks really good now, but we lost a few days to that.

As far as the tub, we seemed very close two weeks ago, as the base seemed finished and the tile around the upper edge had been done enough so that it seemed as if the tub itself could be placed on it. But then we looked a bit closer at the base, and noticed that the tub would be resting on...Styrofoam. There were a handful of concrete blocks in the center, but all around were huge blocks of white packing material. I'm all for creative re-use, but normally one doesn't think of the plastic squeaky stuff as a building element. Our architect claimed that it was to reduce vibration from the whirlpool motor, and looking online I found some examples of people actually using this in their own homes with Jacuzzi's, but it still seemed a bit weird and I questioned her about it. The next day, to my surprise, a full concrete base had been poured. However, as yet our pricey tub itself continues to sit in the middle of the bedroom, gathering dust and scratches.

I thought we finally were ok with the handles. We found a decent alternative to the ones we really wanted, and they looked really good when they were installed last week. But - there's always a but - now we notice that they turn the wrong way. These handles are long-armed handles, which normally are off in the horizontal position, and one pulls both the levers down in the direction of the floor to turn them on. However, with these, the cold turns up while the hot goes down. Sigh.

When I met with the architect three weeks ago, we agreed on some dates. The first milestone was the 27th of August, at which point the bathroom was to be completed as well as the gate. Sad to say, that's not going to happen. But I'm going to be on her case, I promise you, to get it done before another six months goes by. It's getting embarrassin'.

Now, We Mean It

Sat, 09 Aug 2008 08:06:02

Wow, have four months really passed? Yes, indeed. There are several reasons for my absence here, most notably that we were both gone to the USA for two months (in fact, Julie is still there for another week). It was both work and pleasure for us - we each had office trips mixed in with visits to friends, and I also did a tour of 33 shows, just returning Tuesday. When I'm out of the country, I never really feel like blogging here, and with all the moving around I didn't have much chance to sit and write anyway.

Even before we left, though, it was a bit hard to blog in this space. The house has become a boondoggle, an albatross, even - dare I say it - a joke. Traveling around and seeing friends, everyone would ask if it was done yet, and I would just have to roll my eyes and murmur...nope, nope. Not yet.

It has been three years now since we broke ground, and the time has come for us to get serious. Although we're happy with our living situation in our rental, it feels like we have been treading water, waiting on our own house to be done. The point of moving to Mexico was to buy a house to live in, and still, that goal has not been achieved, nearly four years after driving down from California.

The final impetus for really getting on the ball about finishing our home was going to visit the land on Wednesday. Historically - yes, we can speak from experience - when we leave on a trip, all work comes to a grinding halt, regardless of promises made and emails sent. This time was no different. There was some progress - our entrance gate is about 80% completed - but for two months, our hope was that nearly everything remaining would be finished. This did not take place. And as usual there were curveballs - the tile we'd bought to surround our tub is a type of thick glass, which apparently needed to be custom cut at a high cost - and our architect never bothered to contact us about it, though email is our usual mode of communication. She just did it, but only, apparently, last week. Bah.

More than anything, we can feel the end of the year coming, and we can't bear the thought of 2009 arriving and our house, begun in 2005, stil not being completed. So it is with great reluctance that we have decided to cancel the trip to Italy we were looking forward to (airline miles are our friend), and though we each have a bit of travel this fall, as much as possible we are going to stick around and make this project our priority. I met with our architect yesterday and made her commit to some firm, aggressive deadlines, and by golly, I'm going to visit the site every day if I can, making sure that progress is being made.

Basically, we need her to finish the tile in the master bathroom, install the tub and sink, put up a bit of drywall, and have a railing for the terrace put in. She committed to having all this happen in the next five weeks. After that comes paint, then doors, then closets, then the kitchen. Then, the installation of our solar setup...then, furniture. And we move in.

Can all this happen by December 31, 2008? Stay tuned!

The Keys That Fit

Tue, 29 Apr 2008 09:02:56

I know it's been a long time. I am sorry. There are things to report, few of which are upbeat as regards to progress, hence it's been hard to generate the enthusiasm. But our bad luck leads to better stories for you, I know.

I seriously doubt I'll be the first, but let me warn those who are thinking of building a house; prepare yourself for an endless series of frustrations absolutely inconceivable at the outset.

Toward the end of February, we were told that it's time to buy shower faucet handles, or llaves, which is also the word for keys. Fine. As usual, this involves numerous trips to stores and to websites, picking out a design that we liked and that would be somewhat in harmony with the bathroom fixtures we'd already bought and with the tone of the rest of the house. In this case the process wasn't nearly as tortuous as picking tile (simply because there are less choices), and we settled on a nice set made by a popular and respected brand (Kohler). It happens to be the only brand carried by the international chain of tile stores where we've bought 90% of our tile.

However, as we were preparing to pay we were told that this brand requires a particular set of valves (simply put, the part of the faucet handles that you don't see) of the same brand; the more common universal valves won't work. We seemed to remember that all of the plumbing except the handles themselves had already been installed, so we decided to wait on the purchase and fired off an email to our architect telling her of the conversation, including a document listing the specifications. She responded in a few days and said that she'd checked on it, and that no changes would be necessary, we could use the handles we wanted with the existing valves. Curiously, however, she went on to say that the brand we wished to buy did not seem to be of "good quality" and that she highly recommended we instead use the national Mexican brand, which costs about a fifth of what Kohler does and which is not especially well-regarded. At that point, emitting from nowhere in particular, the distinct and not at all unfamiliar odor of rat wafted through the room, though it may have just been in our minds.

Rather than taking her at her word, we decided to check with the store again. This time, they brought out a set of the heavy brass valves for me to look at, explaining exactly which parts were incompatible with the standard handles. We were again impressed by the quality of the stuff, and decided that we'd be willing to swallow the cost of buying these valves and having the plumbing redone. We fired off another email to the architect, saying we had solid word that we needed these other valves, but we still wanted to go through with it.

Now, when we'd first asked our architect about the handles, the week before, the pipes were still visible and there was no tile yet laid in the master bathroom. That week, it was suddenly made top priority for the tile to be laid there, so when I visited the project over the weekend I realized that now, they'd have to tear out all the new tile to get at the valves underneath. More money and time to be lost...great.

The architect replied, saying she wanted to stop by the tile place herself to confer. More time passed; visiting the next weekend, we saw that no work had been done on any part of the house. These things were apparently the, well, key to progressing.

The next week, at last, she agreed; yep, we need the new valves (thanks for the tip!). Once again she advised us to use the national brand, citing all the work that would have to be done, but said it could be done if we really wanted it. By now, oh yes, we really wanted it, and could see that her advising against our favorite mark was just a way to avoid doing extra work. But there was a fresh, heretofore-unheard wrinkle. She told us that, unfortunately, it would be especially hard to install these valves because our walls aren't thick enough.

Our walls are not thick enough. A herd of rats, none of whom had showered in a week, scampered by in a tornado fog of garlic flatus. Did she expect us to believe that one must construct bathroom walls of a certain depth just so a certain brand of faucet handle could be used? Back in July of 2005, before the first brick had been laid, were we not only to have picked out our faucet handles but also pressed both architect and vendor hard enough so that someone, finally, would admit that we needed a double row of bricks in an interior bulkhead on the plans to support said handles?

You have GOT to be kidding me. We repaired to the store on our own once again to confirm this ridiculous preposition. Cheerily, they told us, oh right, you're gonna need 20 centimeters. We have about 15. "Oh yeah, that's normal."

It was this statement, coupled with the fact that every employee at this store recognizes us on the phone before introducing ourselves, that leads me to believe that they don't sell a whole lot of Kohler faucets in Oaxaca, and in fact, we may be the only people who have ever tried to buy them.

So, at this point, two months after our first inquiry, we finally gave up. It just seemed to finally be a bit much to not only break off a large section of fresh tile, dig out a large area of concrete, scrap the existing tubing, then replace it all, but also to have to add six inches to the wall, just so we could have our priceless little handles.

Oh well. At least we could have Kohler showerheads, both the store and the architect told us. At first.

Hahahahahahaha.

Mystery Posts #2

Wed, 12 Mar 2008 22:12:53

As some of you may remember, way back when we had a little episode with fenceposts spontaneously spawning in inconvenient places. Though that issue resolved itself as mysteriously as it began, once again poles have appeared in places we don't want them. In this case, they form a rough perimeter around our property, though in positions that don't seem to conform with what our deed says.

We were confused about it for a good week - could it be a neighbor? the town? the government? - but yesterday, finally, our architect fessed up, as if it was no big deal. She claims that during a visit a year ago, we had mentioned wanting posts to someday delineate our borders. So, for once, she took some initiative and made it happen, without bothering to ask us again. If only we could translate this initiative into real action...sigh.

One thing which has appeared, and welcomely so, is RUNNING WATER. Whoa!

They work! We think!

This feels like a really big step. I've been too chicken to actually use the fixtures yet - it's a little weird to see the precise route where your human by-products will travel to their resting/decomposing spot - but the water is there in the bowl and one must believe that there are pipes connecting it to the big treatment tank. Naturally, even after asking us by email three times and by telephone once, they installed the wrong sink with the wrong faucets in the wrong bathroom. But that wasn't even a surprise at this point.

And here's the big picture, currently:

Note Spanish tile, water tank, staircase, and at the left, at last, our truck.

Right now, they're working on a concrete base for the bathtub, after which they'll be tiling the remaining bathroom. Then they'll be doing a small addition to the wall at the top right (where the tank is), for safety's sake, after which painting should start. Poco a poco...

Far Too Long

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 09:34:15

I'm sorry, once again I've neglected this blog. We've been busy, with Julie going to the States, my dad and stepmom coming to visit, and us having visited Puebla three times in two months just for the food.

There are lots of house happenings that I have to talk about, too. Yet still, let me temper it by saying that much remains to be done. As you may have noticed, we are well into 2008, and it will take a minor miracle for us to be in by July, our three-year anniversary of groundbreaking. We have become a cautionary parable ("These people moved to Mexico and it took three years to build a house, be warned against embarking on the same foolishness!"), or a humorous anecdote ("These people moved to Mexico and it took three years to build a house, hahahaha!"). Take your pick.

We had a great time with my folks. They were ambitious enough to agree to our plan for them to arrive in Mexico City, bus to Puebla, then bus to Oaxaca, all in the space of ten days. Meals were had, sights were seen, and many taxicabs were shared in DF. By the way, always agree on a price before entering a cab there. We stayed in the Zona Rosa, and for our frequent trips to the Polanco neighborhood, we were quoted both 25 pesos and 180 pesos, and a range in between. The largest city in North America rarely hesitates to take the opportunity to rip you off.

Showing off Oaxaca is always fun. This time, we rented a four-door car to spare our guests the uncomfortable indignity of being stuffed in the half-seats in the extended cab of our pickup. If you're going to rent in Mexico, first be sure to reserve a car online, you can get a rate nearly as cheap as is possible in the States, though the advertised walk-up rate can be five times that. And take really, really good care of the car while it's in your possession. As we found when renting a car out of DF, several years before moving here, they will search the vehicle high and low for any small dents or nicks you may have caused. In that earlier visit to Mexico City, we had to pay for new tires because there were "bumps" on them. I was luckier this time and nothing was found, but three men plus a little boy spent a full fifteen minutes inspecting every corner of the VW Polo, including the undercarriage, when I returned it after five days. Harrowing. Oh yes, and you're required to buy the daily insurance, which is probably a good thing.

We saw our house, saw the largest organic mass in the Americas, visited the rug town of Teotitlan and the pottery town of San Bartolo Coyotepec, went to market in Etla, found reasons to visit a small panolpy of other pueblas, and did a whole lot of walking downtown (with occasional stops into chocolate shops to revive ourselves with the smell). We may have run our visitors a little ragged, but I'm sure they weren't bored.

Now, on to our property. Probably the most exciting thing is that our entrance road is finished. Last weekend we actually drove down the new concrete tracks the steeply curving lane and up to our house. Unbelievable! We parked on the loose gravel that had been provided as a parking area on the sloping north side of our structure, and simply hopped out to walk right into our place. When it was time to leave, we hopped right in again, threw it in reverse...and spun like mad for a full minute 'til we smelled the tires burning. Uh oh. Loose gravel on a grade does not a solid surface make. Though our main worry had been the ascent of our lane, simply backing out of our parking spot then became a project for the rest of the afternoon. We dug away the stones, found cardboard to put under the wheels, and lurched forward and back to try to find a better angle, but we were getting absolutely nowhere. Our elation at the sight of our truck on our land had dissipated into a growing panic at getting it out of there again. Finally we found a couple of big flat boards, rolled forward onto them to get a head start, and noisily spun our way onto level ground, gravel flying in all directions.

Julie chose to hop out for the much more intimidating lane ascent, which went without incident except for a brief spin on some dirt that had been kicked up on the cement when we entered. I'd taken a running start to build up some good momentum and went on up at a smooth but slightly terrifying 25 mph or so - I didn't want to take any chances.

We have a gas tank on the roof, we have a water tank beside that, we have classic red roof tile, we have wall and floor tile completed in two bathrooms and waiting in boxes for the third. And we have toilets and sinks ready to be installed, a bit under duress. We received an urgent email from our architect earlier in the month saying we needed to buy toilets - NOW. Turns out that the bacteria who live inside the sewage treatment plant only have a six-month life before they starve, and it had suddenly been nearly half a year since installation. So we needed toilets, and fast, so we could send the microscopic little sanitation workers some...food. Ew. They're being installed today, and hopefully in enough time so we haven't killed them, or we're going to have a really terrible sewage problem in six months or so.

The forgetfulness on this important issue is just one of our continuing beefs with our architect. Sometimes it feels like we're at war, with bills and stern emails as the heavy rockets, and forgotten details and sudden panics as the undercover weapons of attrition. Each advance still feels like a chore, and there are seemingly countless steps left to go. Yet progress continues, and our house is looking more and more like a livable structure. With windows and working toilets, I can almost picture what it'll be like to actually wake up there every day, some time in the unimaginable future.

Restaurant Redemption

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 00:14:27

The morning of New Year's Eve, Hackl was open for breakfast and we finally had a decent meal. Though in presentation, taste and quality it far exceeded anything we'd had over the previous 48 hours, it was nearly the cheapest. I don't get it.

We've been to Puebla so many times now that there's not a whole lot we haven't seen, and so we generally just laze around between meals. Sometimes we do take advantage of the sparkling bowling alley (no bolinche in Oaxaca) or window-shop at one of the seriously upper-crust malls (Prada, etc.). This time, though, we were planning on visiting nearby Cholula, site of the largest pyramid by base width in the world (though it's largely covered with dirt at this point, with a Spanish church insultingly perched on top of the ancient religious structure). Unfortunately, we couldn't even manage this short trip as I apparently developed a kidney stone (I blame the two Fondas) and spent most of the day writhing in pain on the bathroom floor. Not the most entertaining thing I've done on vacation, and probably the biggest raw pile of hurt I've ever felt. Julie's a bit of an old pro at internal ailments, and familiar with WebMD as well, so as I yelled and yakked my way through the day, she diagnosed the issue and let me know that I probably wasn't going to die, which was some small comfort.

We had dinner reservations for the special Hackl New Year's dinner at ten o'clock, and no way was I going to miss that. Thankfully, I recovered gut control by early evening and we headed out through the surprisingly quiet streets. Puebla doesn't know how to party like Oaxaca, apparently. New Year's is a major event in our city, and for the radish festival a week ago, there were two 30-foot castillos and a whole waterfall of fireworks over the 500-year-old cathedral, scattering sparks over the thousands in attendance. (Yes...radish festival). Here in Puebla, even in the zocalo there was nothing going on except a few clowns (yawn) and a line of vendors selling the kind of food that gives Mexican cuisine a bad name.

We were greeted warmly at Hackl and settled down for a five-course meal, which turned out to be seven or eight with all the various surprise things we were brought. Highlights were the tuna carpaccio with fried capers, a shrimp crespelle (sort of a crepe) on pureed peas (way fancier than it sounds), and an oversized, single ravioli stuffed with spiced yam and dried cranberries. Everyone in the restaurant was enjoying the meal so much that midnight passed us by, and it was about ten minutes later that the owner himself looked at his watch, raised his glass and shouted "Happy New Year"! We toasted everyone with our juice and mineral waters (I wasn't taking any chances) and finished up the amazing repast with the bowl of fresh grapes which apparently are part of the New Year's tradition.

They'd told us earlier that they were not going to be open at all on the First, so we bought all kinds of pastries and bread they had for the morning and the bus trip back to Oaxaca, leaving with about five bags of baked goods, including two parmesan-crusted loaves they gifted us with. Then we bid goodnight to everyone and shook hands with the owner (who we revere like a deity), before stumbling back home, drunk on good food. Nice to end our vacation on an up culinary note.

One thing we noticed again on this trip is that as a rule, folks in Mexico don't ask "What do you do?" as an introductory question, as is common in the U.S. Perhaps people simply don't identify with their vocation; so many have jobs that don't really make use of their full skills (an awful lot of individuals somehow scrape by from selling gum at crosswalks) that it may be seen as incidental to who they really are.

For us, when we travel in-country, the #1 question from the typically friendly hotel and restaurant staffs is "Where are you from?" Of course, with myself being obviously not Latino, this is, perhaps, the obvious query. After having lived in Mexico for the first year or so, we started responding, well, we live in Oaxaca. This always elicits a pregnant pause of a second or two, then perhaps a clearing of the throat, followed by "But, where are you really from?" It seems to be very unusual for someone to move to Mexico and NOT be of retirement age. When we explain a bit, that we've been living in Oaxaca for over three years, and really like it, the questioner always seems very pleased that we've made this our new home.

Foodies in Purgatory

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 00:30:30

A strain of restaurant which appears to be growing in popularity in Mexico is the much-touted "all natural" cafe, with large, glossy menus filled with pages of juices and salads and many vegetarian (and sometimes, organic) choices. The first of this ilk that we were aware of was 100% Natural (natch), which was a lifesaver more than once on the vacations we took to Mexico before moving here. A branch recently opened in Oaxaca, which is dependably yummy, and we've also found another place with similiar aims, and a similiar name, simply "Naturel".

After our success at Pujol, and subsequent failure at Fonda del Refugio (let me say again: AVOID THIS PLACE), we were more cautious in choosing an eating spot on our third day in Mexico City. During our long walk through the Condesa neighborhood the previous day, we'd made note of a pleasant-looking place called La Buena Tierra, boasting the by-now-familiar lengthy list of juices, salads and a lot of good stuff for the non-carnivores. We had hibiscus blossom tacos (awesome - really), a huge salad and a toasted goat cheese sandwich; it would be our last good meal for two days.

After lunch, we took the Metro (the cheapest in the world, at two pesos a ride) to the Frida Kahlo house and museum, in the neighborhood of Coyoacan in the south part of the sprawling city. Though Coyoacan is largely residential, the area around the famous blue house was filled with tourists. We waited in line for close to an hour, but the interesting house filled with lots of her artwork (and some of Diego Rivera's) as well as biographical momentos and info made the wait more than worthwhile. On the long walk back to the Metro, we stopped for an above-average churro at a well-known hole in the wall, Churros de Coyocoan (duh).

That morning, near our hotel, we'd seen one young man stepping hard on the shirtless body of another fellow, who lay prone in the middle of a crosswalk. At first alarmed, we quickly realized it was just a short routine to elicit tips from the drivers waiting at the stoplight. We've seen all manner of these short performances, ranging from the dull (an old man beating a drum none-too-rhythmically, a boy quasi-juggling by throwing three oranges in the air and catching them after a single arc) to the inspired (fire-breathing). After the participant on the ground (who certainly got the short end of the stick in this arrangement) rose up, we saw that they'd first put down a burlap bag and covered it with a layer of what looked to be tacks, though it was really just for show as there were no visible marks on his chest.

This afternoon, as we rode in the sweltering Metro back to the Zona Rosa, we got a closer look at this routine. Nearly every ride on the Metro involves some sort of entertaining distraction, usually just a youngster with speakers in their backpack hawking a pirated CD, but sometimes a karaoke performance (and once a puppet show above a curtain quickly hung across the aisle). This time, a man lay down a cloth in the middle of the car, dumped a cupful of broken glass on it, removed his shirt and demonstrated his tolerance for pain by lying first on his back, then his chest in the spiky array. Though his body did bear the marks of his trade, he didn't get many tips. Perhaps I could have helped his returns by stepping on him for a few seconds.

Back at the hotel, we mournfully looked at our greatly diminished list of choice restaurants - there was only one left, a place called Girasoles with a branch in Polanco and one close by which we'd been to on our car trip down to Oaxaca in 2004. In recognition of our aching calves, we picked the nearby location, a short Metro ride away, just off the massive zocalo.

The first bad sign was that the place was filled only with tourists, and not very full at that. Then the waiter was extremely pushy about their house margaritas, which he told me were made with Cuervo (which is NOT genuine tequila, and is rarely served in Mexican restaurants). I accepted his brusque offer, after requesting a change in liquor which he didn't seem happy about, but when Julie politely refused he kept on hammering away. She finally simply said "I don't drink!" to which he protested, well, there's hardly any alcohol in it...hmm. She ordered a juice and he strode away gruffly.

After a promising appetizer of "Besos de princesa", which was a plateful of fried onion, carrot, beet, cilantro and parsley served with tortillas, the rest of the meal was disappointing, pricey for what it was, and served without the least bit of politeness. At one point, two workers stopped near us, gossiping loudly, not interrupting their conversation to unceremoniously dump my main dish on the table. Perhaps the Polanco site has better manners; it's our suspicion that the downtown location of this branch has led it to slacken its standards, since tourists inevitably keep coming.

Our last morning in the capital, we fared no better, choosing a place modeled after a French creperie ("Creperie la Paix", in French no less) that turned out to offer only two kinds of crepes, and none of the sweet ones advertised on their signs. It was expensive, and served without class, and Julie's chilequiles tasted suspiciously of Doritos (!).

We headed off to the bus station for the two-hour ride to Puebla, our mouths watering at the thought of a Hackl dinner. We arrived at our standby Gilfer Hotel and checked email, passing time until a proper dinner hour which was hard to wait for. At seven we permitted ourselves to rush along the familiar path to our favorite restaurant...to be greeted by a locked door and a sign which told us that this Sunday, they'd be closing at six. No, no, NO. This place was, really, the only reason we were coming to Puebla this trip, and we were counting on dinner this day, two meals on New Year's, then breakfast the next day. Now we'd blown it for the first repast. Argh!

One of the staff saw us tearing out our hair and came out to apologize for the change in hours. He recommended a place a few blocks away, giving some vague directions. We headed out, now very hungry, but saw no sign of the alternate choice, and only a couple of other restaurants which were all either closed or severely lacking in promise. We briefly debated making a dinner of churros, but I really needed to fill my belly and so we pressed on. Julie remembered a mention of a popular place called "Fonda Santa Clara". I made a query in the zocalo and we found it close by, and thankfully open.

Our happiness quickly evaporated at the sight of another tourist-filled room, decorated with no surprise with plenty of shiny folkloric crap that attracts the unwary casual visitor in dire need of a kitsch fix. A glance at other diner's plates made it obvious that we should stick with something safe, and after we heard the table next to us return something to the kitchen because of rotten lime, we found the most mundane things possible, a bowl of soup for Julie and a plate of rice with a chile relleno for me.

It took 15 minutes for a waiter to arrive to take our order, another 15 minutes for our sodas to come (we weren't going to chance any fresh fruit), and another 15 minutes for the food to come, during which time the neighboring party returned another dish to the kitchen and then, simply left. They were wise. The food was singularly awful, my rice swimming in a pool of orange grease and the chile soggy from a tasteless, watery sauce. Julie's pozole soup was even worse, a plain broth with hominy so filled with bay leaves (normally, a single leaf for a pot is enough, and she pulled out seven or eight just from her bowl) and oregano that it made my nose hurt to smell it. And it arrived literally boiling, clearly having been stuck in a microwave for five minutes and heated to the point where a spill would have burned one's skin off. We got out of there as quickly as we could, grudgingly leaving the obligatory ten percent tip which I seriously questioned.

Obviously, one should think twice before visiting a Mexican restaurant with "Fonda" in the title. Please, give these tourist traps no more business!

Capital del Pais

Sun, 30 Dec 2007 21:14:50

Having visited the States numerous times in 2007, and already planning more trips for 2008, we decided to stay closer to home and spend our holiday break in Mexico City and Puebla.

Though Puebla is a frequent destination, we really haven't spent much time in "D.F.", or Distrito Federal, the capital which like Washington, D.C. is not part of any state and exists in its own territory. It's a six-hour bus ride from Oaxaca, not much further than Puebla, but we just kinda wrote it off at some point, perhaps after swearing never to drive there again (having encountered the notoriously corrupt cops firsthand). It's definitely a crowded place with 20 million-plus residents packed into an often smoggy valley, not necessarily the most welcoming venue. But it's a place of great diversity and vibrance, and it really deserves exploration.

We booked a hotel in the Zona Rosa, a very dynamic place with a lot of tourists and also a big center for shopping and gay life. As we'd also found in Puebla, the rate that we found online (about $50 for a full suite at the Quality Inn) was a fraction of the walk-in price - we'd have paid over $180 if we just stumbled in off the street.

Food is never far from our minds, so after lodging, culinary considerations took precedence. Our first night, we treated ourselves to a cab instead of the very cheap, dependable metro, as the Polanco neighborhood to which we were headed only has a few stops. Cabs are plentiful and inexpensive in the city, with no meters, just a price agreed on at the outset of the ride, same as in Oaxaca and most other Mexican cities we've visited. Generally, I like this system, but Julie had an odd little interchange with the driver this night - he kept trying to convince us to hop in without determining the price, she kept asking how much it'd be, and it went back and forth like this by curbside until he finally asked, cattily, "Well, how much have you paid before?" Julie picked a (low) figure out of the air, to which he agreed and finally we seated ourselves in the back of the omnipresent green VW Bug, typically with no passenger-side front seat and thus more space to gain momentum in case of a sudden stop (safety belts are exceedingly rare in Mexican taxis) before being expelled through the windshield

Thankfully, we arrived safe and sound at Pujol, a highly-ranked place in a sleek, modern room that wouldn't be at all out of place in Los Angeles or New York. Though underdressed, we were promptly seated and graciously attended to by a small army of impeccably dressed servers, one of whom smoothly brought out a coatrack just for us after Julie hung her shoulderbag casually over the back of her chair.

Soon, a shotglass appeared in front of each of us, filled with a white substance and topped with a bubbly curl of foam. The server murmured something that sounded like "quesadilla", then vanished. We stared at his gift, unsure whether to drink it, eat it or wash our hands with it, so I gallantly played the rube and asked just what it was from the black-suited server who took our orders. He smiled and told us, yes, it indeed is a quesadilla. The vision of a filled flour tortilla on a grill couldn't easily transubstantiate to the aperitif sitting in front of us, and he took pity on our blank looks, explaining that it actually was cheese and a tortilla, just....drinkable. We gamely sipped, and were amazed to find that it was just as he described, fresh corn flour and cheese and, somehow, a lightly grilled flavor. Though impressed, Julie wasn't a big fan, but I loved it and finished hers and mine both.

I won't bore you with all of the exquisite details of the incredible meal that followed, but the nut-shaped scoop of oregano sorbet that accompanied the seven or eight other ingredients in my salad - oregano sorbet - is perhaps enough to suggest how interesting it all was. And incredibly delicious...we decided on the spot that it was our Hackl of Mexico City. Though it's not cheap, if you enjoy blowing good money on good food this is an excellent way to do it.

We spent most of the next day walking through the Condesa and Polanco neighborhoods (we'd spotted a gourmet ice cream shop on the way to Pujol and had to come back). These are upscale areas that house countless embassies and a multitude of restaurants and furniture stores which serve the diplomats and their entourages. Part of our mission was to check out the menus at a few of the other places that had come as highly recommended as Pujol. Unfortunately, we soon found that the end of the year is when businesses like to close for a few weeks to remodel - the three most interesting places were all locked up tight until January. As our feet were aching like mad from all the sudden walking (we're badly in need of more exercise in our Oaxaca daily routine), we chose a restaurant just a block from the hotel, which had been much bandied about as being the best choice in the Zona Rosa.

Boy, were we disappointed. Let me say in no uncertain terms - AVOID THE FONDA DEL REFUGIO IN MEXICO CITY. It SUCKS. The first giveaway should have been that tourists seemed to make up 100% of the clientele, never a good sign. The prices were high and the choices uninteresting, but we ordered a bunch of stuff anyway from the bored, unhelpful waitstaff. The guacamole was runny and overdone with lime, and came with no chips; when we asked for them, they arrived ten minutes later, on the edge of being burnt and tasting of ancient grease. Julie's garnachas (really just small sopes, thick masa circles) were similiarly overfried and greasy, her nopales salad was boring and dripping with the mucousy substance that comes when cactus is lazily prepared, my fava soup was dull, and my main dish was just weird, some sort of soggy bread with dried shrimp inside, smothered in a thick sauce that I could only eat half of. Our server was clearly aching to leave, and dumped the check on the table as soon as he cleared away my plate, which is just unheard of in Mexico.

It's always a mystery when a place like this gets rave reviews, but I think we figured it out. When people come to Mexico, they have a certain expectation, and this joint will fit those expectations. It's located in an old building which features various folkloric crafts and touches in the decor, and to a tourist ducking inside after a long taxi ride though the ordered chaos that makes up the city, it probably feels like the refuge in its name. The large portions are no doubt comforting, and even the grease in the food is probably, and sadly, expected as part of the experience. It's what many people think of when they dream of eating Mexican food in Mexico, and so, the tourists continue to arrive.

Do yourself a favor, and aim higher.

More tomorrow...