Mexicowoods—An Expatriate Life

Arriving in Patzcuaro

Arriving in Patzcuaro

08/31/07 08:31 AM Filed in: Mexico

We're on a short visit to Patzcuaro. Here in the State of Michoacán, we have left the arid semi-desert of the Bajio, entering a region of mountains and lakes.

The area is heavily forested. Jean says it smells piney, like Wisconsin. I'm reminded of high Sierra campgrounds: tall trees, the scent of wood fires, thin air—we're at 7,200 feet.

We notice some architectural differences. Here the roofs are all pitched and tiled, unlike San Miguel where they're nearly all flat. Why? Heavier rains? Snow?

Adobe is extensively used in construction. Soil here is deep, less rocky, so not as much stone is accessible for constructing walls. For some reason, there isn't much brickmaking, either.

I've mentioned in previous posts that regional color schemes influence the appearances of Mexican communities. In this part of Michoacán, buildings are painted white above, brick red below.

Much more wood is used for building. No silver mines, so Michoacán wasn't deforested by miners. Wooden columns formed from single logs attest to the availability of large pines. They give arcades a warmer, more rustic feel.

An early morning walk yields a scene or two. Here a woman sweeps the street with her homemade broom. She seems to be lost in a sea of cobblestones. How will she ever sweep it all?

An old man takes his morning constitutional. His sweater could have come from Scandinavia. People dress in layers because mornings and evenings are cold. We're sleeping under a comforter.

An enterprising young man operates an informal panaderia (baked goods store) on the platform of a shrine.

He's doing a brisk business. Street food vendors buy wholesale quantities of bolillos or pan dulce from him.

Few tourists seem to be here this time of year. School has started in Mexico. Many Americans have been scared away by reports of drug-related violence or political strife; others have changed travel plans owing to the quagmire created by the Department of Homeland Security's botching of passport requirements.

For Jean and me, it all means we have a beautiful, uncrowded place to explore.

A Good Hotel in Patzcuaro

A Good Hotel in Patzcuaro

08/31/07 09:57 AM Filed in: Mexico

We're staying at La Casa Encantada, a pleasant hotel a half block off Plaza Don Vasco de Quiroga—just far enough to escape the noise.

The hotel is housed in a restored colonial mansion. Two patios filled with plants offer soothing places to sit and relax.

An excellent breakfast is included, served in the large dining room. It's prepared in the original kitchen. A collection of folk art adds to the ambience.

A WiFi broadband internet access point is available in the dining room—a sine qua non for me.

Our bedroom is airy and light, and has wooden floors—a real treat in Mexico. For a wonder, the mattress is soft, unlike the rigid slabs we usually put up with.

Our room costs on the order of $1,000 pesos per night. La Casa Encantada is the #1 rated hotel in Patzcuaro by contributors to the TripAdvisor website. Jean and I highly recommend it as well.

Interesting note: The hotel is owned by a couple of Canadian women, whose marriage certificate is posted on the wall next to the kitchen. It's the first evidence I've seen of Canada's sensible and humane policy.

Phys Ed

Phys Ed

08/30/07 09:09 AM Filed in: Mexico

Passing by the Jardín, I encountered a group of elementary school students racing around pylons while their classmates sat in the shade of the cylindrical Laurels.

It's the beginning of the school year, and all the kids are wearing spiffy new uniforms. No holes in sweatpant knees, brilliant white new shoes—they almost sparkle.

I remember the soaring joy I used to feel when allowed to run flat out in P. E. class. The expressions on the kids' faces bring those same feelings back.

Of course, we're all enthusiastic at the start of a race. By the third or fourth lap, the loneliness of the long distance runner sets in. We ask, "Why am I doing this?"

This guy is supervising the races. Part of his job is to hand out lollipops to the winners. Looks like he's a winner, too.

My favorite ice cream vendor, who usually hangs out at the Plaza Civíl, is targeting of the crowds of youngsters, setting up shop in the Jardín.

He knows that kids are his best customers. Doesn't look like he's getting a whole lot of play today, though.

Fresas

Fresas

08/29/07 08:30 AM Filed in: Mexico

Along with tropical fruits like papayas, mangos, pineapples, mameys, tunas (prickly pear fruit), and guavas, Mexican people like strawberries. Just try to get jam in any other flavor at your restaurant breakfast.

I wouldn't have thought that strawberries would be popular in Mexico. They're a European fruit after all, and Mexico is blessed with so many others. Besides, strawberries are labor-intensive and don't keep well.

Strawberries aren't particularly prevalent in the mercados, but on the highways and in the plazas, vendors sell walk-away cups of fresas con crema.

In San Miguel de Allende, if you have a hankering for strawberries and cream, you go to this cart on the east side of the Jardín. The nice vendor will fix you a large cup of strawberries with however much sugar you want and lots of sour cream.

Yeah. That's sour cream. You can get strawberries with whipped cream in Mexico, but this dish is not as commonly available: if that's what you want, you have to ask for fresas con chantilly. Fresas con crema means strawberries with sour cream.

A word about sour cream in Mexico (where it's called crema acidificada). It's not as sour as sour cream in the U. S. There's just a hint of sharpness to it—enough to keep the cream from being cloying. We spoon it onto various fruits, on leek-and-potato soup, fajitas and, I'm embarrassed to say, Jello. (Yes, Jean and I have rediscovered Jello (gelatina), which, with crema acidificada on top, is really, really good.)

—§—

There's an eatery in San Miguel called La Fresa—The Strawberry. But the name in this case isn't referring to fruit. It's referring to the shapely woman in the high-style hat, a fashion plate from the '40s.

The Urban Dictionary gives fresa as "a social slang term used in Mexico ... to describe stuck up ... girls or boys that have picky tastes, are extremely spoiled and always get their way, have little concern for the needs of others, and are snob[s], rude, and ... obnoxious." I mentioned this usage of the word fresa to my artist friend Brian. He said (sounding as he does like Richard Simmons), "OH the FREsas! You SEE them in the caFÉS with their CELLphones and their CIGarettes. They're SO SPOILED, they just make me SICK!"

The fresas we see in San Miguel tend to be visitors from Mexico City. They arrive in expensive new cars, dressed in high style. They diss the locals. They're abusive to waiters. They're generally annoying.

The pouty-looking girl in the picture is an example. Her stylishly ripped jeans, hipbones poking coquettishly above the waistband, her long, perfect white fingernails, her throwaway $200 haircut, her makeup just so—all shout fresa. Exactly the way she intended.

As Brian said, you see them in the cafés—ripe and tempting, just waiting to be picked.

[Note: You may have noticed what appear to be ears of corn under the wheels of the fruit vendor's cart. Well, that's what they are, borrowed from a nearby corn-on-the-cob vendor's cart. This is an example of Mexican flexible thinking. Use whatever's handy to stop the cart from rolling down the slope. No rocks nearby. Hmmm. What to do? I got it! Gimme a couple a those ears of corn.

I absolutely guarantee you that tomorrow, some tourist—maybe a fresa—is gonna be served that corn, and a couple of fresh ears will be chocking the wheels. Waste not, want not.]

An Eyesore

An Eyesore

08/28/07 02:58 PM Filed in: Mexico

I've been walking past this beat-up building for at least four years. It's located about a block from my house.

I kind of like the place. There it sits, slowly decaying. Its appearance gives it character and interest.

The structure is unoccupied. That San Miguel has so many vacant buildings mystifies me. The lot this one stands on is quite valuable. The owner isn't deriving any benefit from it. Why doesn't he sell it or fix it up?

Visible on the right is the power meter, or more accurately, the hole where the power meter would go if there was one. A gray column of new plaster rises from the sidewalk to the hole, covering the conduit for the new underground utilities. I point this out in ironic appreciation of our city's beautification efforts, removing all those ugly overhead wires.

I've always wondered what the words on the front of the building meant: El Golpe de Vista. Transliterating with my limited Spanish, I came up with "The blow of the view." Of course that's not right.

I called Patty, my consultant in all things Mexican. She said, "I know exactly where you are. You know, that place used to be a cantina."

Oh great. My neighborhood apparently is seedier than I thought when I moved here.

Patty explained that El Golpe de Vista means "a relief," as in a desert traveler coming across a waterhole: What a relief!

Good name for a bar. After a hard day at work, it's a relief to visit a cantina.

El Golpe de Vista has one other meaning: "An eyesore". Which this place most certainly is.

A Dubious Enterprise

A Dubious Enterprise

08/24/07 07:27 AM Filed in: Mexico

I usually do the driving on our trips to the neighboring town of Delores Hidalgo, on account of our roomy car comfortably accommodates two or even three couples. We have lots of reasons to go there: to peruse the colonial-era sights, to buy Talavera pottery, to eat nopal ice cream in the plaza.

I don't get to see much of the countryside on these excursions, what with the narrow, shoulder-free highway, stray animals darting onto the road, potholes, and Mexico's weirdly erratic drivers to contend with. Safe driving requires intense concentration.

On a recent carnitas run, though, Paul (El Guapo) was driving, so I got to look at the passing scenery. On the right, there appeared a building painted in colors lurid even for Mexico.

As we passed the gated entry under the tiled roof, a startling image flashed in the corner of my eye. I asked Paul to stop so I could take a closer look.

¡Hola Mamacita! I guess this place isn't selling cantera fountains after all.

It appears to be some sort of night club or roadhouse, sitting there isolated out on the highway. An out-of-town place to go, maybe, if you don't want to be seen visiting a strip joint by your neighbors or your wife.

The slogan at the top of the banner reads, "We want to see you happy." Indeed.

The previous images fail to fully convey the horrid color scheme. Here's the front door, clashing unforgettably with the stucco wall.

The orange broom with the green handle only adds to the chromatic cacophony.

The place was closed indefinitely for remodeling. I had to peer at it through locked iron gates. I wondered what the Lucite sign beside the door said, but it was too far away to make out. So I zoomed my point-and-shoot Olympus to the max and shot it for enlarging and reading at home. The effort was rewarding.

The sign announces some restrictions. Minors are denied admission. That would be 18 in Mexico. Sort of. Wouldn't want to compromise the morals of teenage boys, would we?

The second regulation provides a really interesting Spanish lesson. Persons in an "inconvenient state" are not allowed. That one sent me scurrying to my dictionaries. Turns out Inconveniente is a polite way of saying "drunk". I guess the equivalent English term would be "intoxicated."

That's gotta be one of the more politically correct expression I've ever seen.

The third rule is a mystery. You're not allowed in if you're wearing pants or shorts. (I didn't think pants or shorts were Spanish words.) But the real question is, if not pants or shorts, then what should you wear? Kilts? Nothing? What the girls in the poster were wearing?

Just what kind of a place is this, anyway?

A Last Look at El Charco del Ingenio

A Last Look at El Charco del Ingenio

08/23/07 02:01 PM Filed in: Mexico

I know I've had a lot to say about our botanical gardens, El Charco del Ingenio. I've written an overview of the park. I posted about the incomparable collection of cacti in the Conservatory of Mexican Plants. Then there's the surprising and delightful waters, habitat for so much wildlife. And most recently, wanting to leave no subject untouched, I covered the bathroom situation.

Let's see. That leaves the plants. I mean, since El Charco is a botanical garden, I should be discussing the plants, no?

Much of the grounds contain natural plantings. In some places, gardeners have pruned, improving the esthetics of small trees such as this Huizache Chino, a native of central and northern Mexico.

Huizaches have yellow, ball-shaped flowers, creating a heady fragrance in the spring. The fuzzy seed pods appear in the summer. I love sitting in the shade of these plants on a sunny day, breathing their scent.

An apparently related plant—tough and woody, feathery leaves and ball-shaped pink and white flowers—blooms in the summertime.

I don't know what it is called, nor the names of the blooms pictured on the right and the bottom. I include them because they're interesting, and sooner or later, I will learn their names.

All the above are dryland plants. In the wet canyon, the flora changes.

A mat of algae grows on the surface of a pond, wildflowers grow at its edge. There seems to be a lot of nutrients in the water—a subject I'll cover in a future post.

Duckweed colonizes the surface of water standing in a granite crack.

I fondly remember rambling beside ponds in New jersey's well-watered countryside. I was pleasantly surprised to find I could do it here in arid Mexico, too.

Many of El Charco's plants were collected and placed in grouped plantings.

Yucca, agave, cactus and succulents combine to make an eye-pleasing landscape. Artificial, yes. But you'd have to travel for years to see all the varieties gathered here.

Golden Barrel Cactus were rescued from a canyon which was flooded when a dam was built. They're thriving in their new home.

Another large type of barrel cactus was rescued from the same site. These visiting children give it scale. (Also a little awwww value.)

A tiny fraction of the plants growing here are pictured. You simply have to come and see them for yourself.

And doing it soon would be a good idea. Development on its borders is affecting the park. Instead of vistas of a natural countryside, we're beginning to see new, large houses.

Some were built in violation of zoning ordinances, but in Mexico, the law is a flimsy reed when attempting to block entrenched interests.

But for today, the park remains a magical place, attracting botanists, tourists and photographers.

Here, Paul (El Guapo) peers through his battered Nikon FM2, attempting to capture the wily Ocotillo. El Charco is indeed a blessing, in that it keeps him off the street.

School Photos

School Photos

08/21/07 09:10 AM Filed in: Mexico

The elementary school kids went back to classes yesterday. Our housekeeper's daughter, little Teresa, is starting third grade. She showed up at our house wearing her brand-new uniform.

"Oh Teresa," said Jean, "Tu uniforme nuevo, ¡Que bonito!"

I said, "Quisiera tomar un foto."

So Teresa stood in front of our fountain and assumed her formal portrait expression.

What a sweetie, eh?

Trying to get her to smile, I stupidly said "Teresa ¡Sonríe!" No luck.

Finally, Jean came over holding Rosita, our Boston Terrier.

See? Everybody's smiling now. Except Rosita, who is barely tolerating the indignity.

El Charco Scatology

El Charco Scatology

08/20/07 12:46 PM Filed in: Mexico

The fruit of the Nopal (prickly pear to us Norteamericanos) is an important food in Mexico for both animals and humans. They ripen here in El Charco del Ingenio around this time of year. Large, cultivated-looking fruits, called tunas (see note), are offered in the mercados and by roadside and street vendors. Cheapskates hike out into the campo to pick the smaller wild ones, like those shown below. They're free and they have a much more intense flavor, but you have to peel a lot of them to get a serving. They taste to me a little like watermelon, and they have lots of tiny seeds which you have to swallow.

Photo: Paul Latoures

Birds peck at them, hollowing them out. Beetles and ants follow along, taking advantage of holes made by the birds in the fruit skin to get at all that sugar.

Small mammals and reptiles apparently eat their fill of them, too. I've never seen them eating, but their scat tells the tale.

That red coloring and those seeds came from tunas, still identifiable after passing through some creature's alimentary canal.

Fox and lizard droppings lying on the ground are acceptable to those who walk in the botanical garden, 'cause it's natural, you see. The same is not true for human scat. In response, El Charco's directors provide sanitary facilities.

A few years back, the main restroom was a shack walled with the reed called carrizo, which grows plentifully in riparian zones and is widely used for fencing and privacy screens.

The privacy afforded by carrizo is marginal, but probably adequate for most people's needs. Certainly someone so inclined could peer at bathroom occupants through the screen. But I imagine few peeping Toms visit El Charco.

But at least one visitor would disagree with me. Leafing through the visitors' log, I encountered a statement by an outraged woman who claimed that the caretaker had peered at her through openings in the carrizo while she was using the facilities. Her entry was made in 2002. She called the man a pervert and demanded the directors do something about him. She strongly suggested a new, more secure bathroom was in order.

A couple of pages farther on in the log, an architect drew a sketch of a possible new bathroom for the gardens. (We have such talented visitors in San Miguel.)

A while later, a new bathroom was built, with flush toilets, vanities, and much better privacy.

El Charco, however, is big. It's probably a couple of miles from end to end, especially if you include Parque Landeta, the municipal park on the eastern border that is under the same stewardship as El Charco itself. Parque Landeta solves the sanitation problem with a couple of trench latrines with—you guessed it—carrizo screens.

At the west end of El Charco, a second public bathroom was constructed on the reconstructed ruins of the old mill after which the botanical garden was named.

The building is nice, although our sensitive visitor would probably have been dismayed at the lack of signs for gender assignment. The toilets are the vault type—never pleasant, but welcome when needed.

But these lack stools. They're squatters. Now, probably five billion of Earth's six billion people use squatters. But we Norteamericanos don't. Moreover, Norteamericanos like me have long lost the flexibility to use one. When I try to hunker, I fall over.

Anticipating this, the management presciently provided a length of pipe secured to the wall and floor, to be used for support while squatting. You won't find one of these in an old-fashioned Japanese toilet. You will at least find toilet paper there, but you won't find a grab bar.

(Note: In Spanish, a prickly pear fruit is a tuna; a tuna fish is an atun. Go figure.)

Corruption and Illiteracy

Corruption and Illiteracy

08/17/07 12:18 PM Filed in: Mexico

A while back, I tangentially mentioned the effects of corruption on the standard of living of Mexican people. Extortion by crooked cops preying on their countrymen is bad enough for individual citizens. But the real impact of rotten government and avaricious business cronies is discouragement of investment, stifling economic growth.

Transparency International ranks Mexico at 3.1-3.4 on a corruption perception scale of 0-10, putting it in the same company as Ghana and Senegal. In other words, pretty corrupt. Smart investors will look elsewhere. Like maybe Slovenia.

Today, our bilingual newspaper, Atención, ran an article on illiteracy in San Miguel and Mexico. Reporter Jesús Ibarra gave Mexico's illiteracy rate as 6%.

One might think that this isn't too bad. But to enjoy First World incomes, a country's illiteracy rate needs to be less than 1%. The reason for this is that illiteracy rates reflect the overall quality of schooling. Less than 1%—your schools are OK; 6%—your schools suck.

Actually, Ibarra's figures are optimistic. Wickipedia puts Mexico's illiteracy rate closer to 10%—little better than Zimbabwe's. Even more horrifying, he cites San Miguel's illiteracy rate as 17%.

San Miguel's teachers are paid $3,600 pesos per month. A typical housekeeper makes $3,000. Get the picture? How can Mexican children learn when taught by people worth only 20% more than illiterate (probably) housekeepers?

Why aren't Mexican teachers paid what they're worth?

You guessed it. The whole system, from taxation to school funding to teachers' unions to school administration is hopelessly corrupt.

Have a nice day...