tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78828891173353026802024-02-19T07:42:08.614-08:00My Mexico, My WorldThoughts, ideas, recipes, inspirations, and observations. Much of my life is focused on Mexico, as will be this blog, but my life as a gringa con una alma mexicana, a foodie, a music lover and dj, a writer, and aspiring photographer all provide interesting fodder for discussions of many subjects on both sides of the border.casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-90732090421934724742011-11-09T11:36:00.000-08:002011-12-04T14:11:32.127-08:00A Morelia!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">After five action packed days in San Miguel raising awareness and funds for Sergio Castro, we said goodbye to Casa Luna and Team Sergio and hopped a cab to Celaya, where we'd board a bus to Morelia. And who did we call for the cab? You got it, Pedro the photographer, who informed us that he was a singer in a trio of four. We crooned our way through Sin Ti and Camino de Guanajuato right up to the bus station door.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaY369CqBUxkgHPbLXXsbIr0HA6O8gRwFDXKyrSe8ojXwUTflLhvMyTPDkTPcMH25pxFLLWWbaJAFavg-PoAS_TjfB9VEi4YSm9f_BVOjLSYIBIQRdCxUVNlOStzLuETXgkH3WQ4tFhz1/s1600/IMG_8186.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674968033179916002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPaY369CqBUxkgHPbLXXsbIr0HA6O8gRwFDXKyrSe8ojXwUTflLhvMyTPDkTPcMH25pxFLLWWbaJAFavg-PoAS_TjfB9VEi4YSm9f_BVOjLSYIBIQRdCxUVNlOStzLuETXgkH3WQ4tFhz1/s320/IMG_8186.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 303px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 387px;" /></a></div></div><br />
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</span><span style="font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">L to R, Victor (aka: DJ XXX); Mayolo (king of late-night mariachi karaoke on the jardín), me (queen of the same), Jane, Consuelo, John, & Chelo's parents, Gloria and José. </span><br />
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</span>Buses in Mexico are a beautiful thing, comfortable, clean, affordable, and on time. By mid-afternoon Jane and I were at the <a href="http://www.hoteldelasoledad.com/">Hotel Soledad</a> in downtown Morelia. I adore this place. I've been staying there since forever and it has always been a lovely, perfectly located, mid-priced hotel. The location still can't be beat, but now it's a superb and only slightly above mid-priced hotel. The new owner, Leticia, has some seriously good taste and the staff is just the best.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzVvhxq3gV3ckVLf2OepBUh-6_4fK9vyntCB_S4n9EL2Gkm3hrZBX24cxlfKImUiV9fYd1gFjpW4rs2qm9aUV_LCjOuUf4-FH0SqNMd-5418jqrFpQNBhpRLeeewSIedLchblbEoq9L3XH/s1600/IMG_2173.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675000880989340626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzVvhxq3gV3ckVLf2OepBUh-6_4fK9vyntCB_S4n9EL2Gkm3hrZBX24cxlfKImUiV9fYd1gFjpW4rs2qm9aUV_LCjOuUf4-FH0SqNMd-5418jqrFpQNBhpRLeeewSIedLchblbEoq9L3XH/s320/IMG_2173.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">Drinks in the courtyard during a previous tour. Note the moat-like water feature around the fountain and remind me to tell you about the swim I took in it some time.</span></div><br />
Jane hadn't spent more than a couple of hours in Morelia, so we set out to see the town. And eat a gaspacho. Yes, that's gaspacho with an S, not a Z. Don't blame me, I'm just telling you what's what, not why. Thing is, first taste and you won't care how it's spelled, your only thought will be "How soon before I can have another one?"<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">What is it, you ask? It's an only-in-Morelia flavor-saturated miracle of culinary bliss. Chopped pineapple, mango, and jicama piled in a plastic cup, topped with fresh orange and lime juices, grated cheese, and chile. It's sweet, saltly, rich, sour, bitter, hot as well as soft and crunchy all in the same bite. It's to die for. Just writing about it makes my salivary glands go nuts. Here's my recipe for making it at home.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwYCY1LjMCpbw1Wx7l6GqKv81_Esz1envRVrVklFnx1T6GBICN5dMcXXAYgRqIoaE4znAB8pLebTnMQAZ0EuodVx_2Wu4hJB0sH9Dxcl_ZmjbmGkL5ns3ymN73gHbZNea6fMa8sEDICel/s1600/IMG_2159.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674975582163501506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwYCY1LjMCpbw1Wx7l6GqKv81_Esz1envRVrVklFnx1T6GBICN5dMcXXAYgRqIoaE4znAB8pLebTnMQAZ0EuodVx_2Wu4hJB0sH9Dxcl_ZmjbmGkL5ns3ymN73gHbZNea6fMa8sEDICel/s320/IMG_2159.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 410px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The one in the middle has watermelon as well, but I'm a purist and go for the original. Extra chile, por favor.</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span id="site"><span id="article"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Morelia-style Gaspacho<br />
</span>This is the classic version, but there are as many variations of this as there are Morelianos who make it. Some add watermelon, cucumber, I've even seen onion included (horrors!) The most important part of the recipe is that everything be evenly and finely chopped so that you always have a balance of ingredients in every bite.<br />
Ingredients: (2 hefty portions)<br />
1 cup of mango<br />
1 cup of jicama<br />
1 cup pineapple<br />
6 teaspoons grated Cotija cheese<br />
Valentina Sauce to taste<br />
Salt to taste<br />
Red/black chile, ground (Not SW chili powder, but ground <span style="font-style: italic;">chile</span>, like <span style="font-style: italic;">chile de arbol </span>or <span style="font-style: italic;">ancho</span>. Toast and grind it yourself if need be.)<br />
1 orange<br />
1 lime<br />
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Chop the pineapple, mango, and jicama into small cubes of the same size and toss them together. Place about a third of the chopped fruit in two large plastic or glass cups. Top each with 1 teaspoon of the cheese, a splash of salsa, a sprinkle of ground chile, and salt. Repeat twice, and on the last layer squeeze the orange and lime over the fruit before you add the cheese, salsa, chile, and salt. Serve Valentina or Tapatio Sauce on the side.</span></span> I've heard tell of people pouring a chilled shot of tequila blanca over it., let me know if you try that.<br />
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So, back to Morelia...<br />
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Our gang of four - John from Connecticut, Susan from California, Jane, and me - finally all came to roost in Morelia late Friday night. On Saturday we piled into the rental car and headed west to Lake Camecuaro, where we would be spending the night tonight in order to be near the village of Patamban early on Sunday morning.<br />
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But first, a stop at Horno Los Ortiz, quite possibly the most creative bakery in Mexico. The bakery is wonderful any day of the year, but it really rocks during Day of the Dead, when Judith sets up her ever-growing display of bread figures that inhabit her "pan-teón." (Get it? PANteón?)<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBfE1g4mxdVqJorOsous94nF8Zvgbq5jHcucs27lvTNVhjv6RTzWCV9kApta1LrRlbuhyOH19lVDwpqISk47BmqXYmkHuHQQEE4ml-kY8q0BO5vvD_d8bmLTZpCN7sPQRaAsV70SN3z1Y/s1600/IMG_4652.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674985873647830994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsBfE1g4mxdVqJorOsous94nF8Zvgbq5jHcucs27lvTNVhjv6RTzWCV9kApta1LrRlbuhyOH19lVDwpqISk47BmqXYmkHuHQQEE4ml-kY8q0BO5vvD_d8bmLTZpCN7sPQRaAsV70SN3z1Y/s320/IMG_4652.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 269px; width: 203px;" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Judith and Hugo of Horno Loz Ortiz </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0e7XxjscPlUiBloHWJVXsgNjxAfN7mIACkYgTNJNljYIvStdRkpzr9YMYZdYhitwSJWB_2In6P58RQrOADhxcVXIxlJ2nfE1UlBMEy1WT0ki7-RJaL-YFrx-RPMxTXtwUUYBYvkbSXE3Z/s1600/IMG_2221.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674985852777747330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0e7XxjscPlUiBloHWJVXsgNjxAfN7mIACkYgTNJNljYIvStdRkpzr9YMYZdYhitwSJWB_2In6P58RQrOADhxcVXIxlJ2nfE1UlBMEy1WT0ki7-RJaL-YFrx-RPMxTXtwUUYBYvkbSXE3Z/s320/IMG_2221.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 270px; width: 205px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Judith's fantastic bread figures in the Pan-teón</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0e7XxjscPlUiBloHWJVXsgNjxAfN7mIACkYgTNJNljYIvStdRkpzr9YMYZdYhitwSJWB_2In6P58RQrOADhxcVXIxlJ2nfE1UlBMEy1WT0ki7-RJaL-YFrx-RPMxTXtwUUYBYvkbSXE3Z/s1600/IMG_2221.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3TdTSGzlh4vj8lFydPitWyAjSnc_u0TyJitKnGE1dlIMSo1XgiV5IfTwGZStAvX0oEYdh8m5Sl6MlZ1uyTetiz1LcofgckFV2UbaVm2xxV3BW1-qRAietrishA2Z0J4y9czsFj42YPHZ/s1600/IMG_4647.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674985875345397826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3TdTSGzlh4vj8lFydPitWyAjSnc_u0TyJitKnGE1dlIMSo1XgiV5IfTwGZStAvX0oEYdh8m5Sl6MlZ1uyTetiz1LcofgckFV2UbaVm2xxV3BW1-qRAietrishA2Z0J4y9czsFj42YPHZ/s320/IMG_4647.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 272px; width: 204px;" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">The Virgin of Guadalupe rendered in bread</span><br />
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</div>We loaded up on tasty treats, but not before we heard the stories. Judith regaled us with humorous but poignant tales of how and why she created certain pastries: the <span style="font-style: italic;">Rollo de Canela con piquete</span> (cinnamon roll with a splash of tequila) and the <span style="font-style: italic;">Guangoche</span>, a packet of pastry stuffed with apple slices and cheese and tied with twine that looked like a burlap lunch bag. Both these pastries were dedicated to <span style="font-style: italic;">los mojados</span>, wetbacks literally, but used by Judith to describe any Mexican living in the USA now.<br />
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The other remarkable artist we met that day was Jenya (short for Eugenia), Judith and Hugo's daughter, a seventeen year-old helper in the bakery who makes incredibly fine <span style="font-style: italic;">papel picado</span> art. She brought out a piece she is currently working on, a Virgen of Guadalupe about 3-feet tall. Stunning!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIm_WrmPeMI9GOGdKD9rWv9cZ8046-5dg1s0fPPceTTzwTuwwe6xXNQhnMZ8cBbJlTbgQtPB4tGIsbd-DBlPZHvqbwJyy1lix0XmkPtyiApcqfCEvkcGiY3TUp58A99y30py5znSaEW4p/s1600/IMG_8279.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674992898438805074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvIm_WrmPeMI9GOGdKD9rWv9cZ8046-5dg1s0fPPceTTzwTuwwe6xXNQhnMZ8cBbJlTbgQtPB4tGIsbd-DBlPZHvqbwJyy1lix0XmkPtyiApcqfCEvkcGiY3TUp58A99y30py5znSaEW4p/s320/IMG_8279.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 320px; width: 238px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Jenya with her latest work of art<br />
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</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlcoRGy11yr1V1BHydjUV_KP2P641m157uGumsIOTcpXlshBZxJrK0f8fbeJfNph1XY2l_xZK3mynbcsK5zfA8ardF2WhiT0fc3CzKvtGTZB15n057_zSSoBQF1Q1slTa_TFFN6ZXgwPl/s1600/IMG_8273.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674992903491390514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrlcoRGy11yr1V1BHydjUV_KP2P641m157uGumsIOTcpXlshBZxJrK0f8fbeJfNph1XY2l_xZK3mynbcsK5zfA8ardF2WhiT0fc3CzKvtGTZB15n057_zSSoBQF1Q1slTa_TFFN6ZXgwPl/s320/IMG_8273.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 320px; width: 239px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%; font-style: italic;">Detail</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">It was now mid-afternoon and we'd made it exactly 1/2 mile from the hotel. My kind of pace.</div></div></div></div></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-58641394240809100442011-11-07T09:52:00.019-08:002011-11-08T12:19:25.418-08:00On a mission in Mexico, Part 2<div style="text-align: left;">On Monday, October 24 (a mere two weeks ago, how can that be?) Jane and I met with John and Consuelo, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">filmakers</span> responsible for <a href="http://veremosproductions.com/el-andalon-2/">El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Andalón</span>,</a> a documentary film on the work of my hero Sergio Castro</span>, and Mary <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Murrell</span></span> and Ivan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Schuster</span></span>, the couple behind the fund raising events for Sergio in San Miguel. Team Sergio was beginning to gel. Over cappuccinos on the <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">jardín</span></span>, we introduced ourselves to one another and learned more about the plan of events for the next few days.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSjHiswgdr1Ykm1Y7y4gNJ8rtIPeQ-jsfINMu6pkrjVr95qjoTLtpwSgCxy1pw1iE-37IxaRnSl-AwIDCYIH27AaFhzXnUjW8aQ5AO3tFtssmHnydrK9BXz-_f1CSgotYfFnDcMTiY6cI/s1600/IMG_7944.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSjHiswgdr1Ykm1Y7y4gNJ8rtIPeQ-jsfINMu6pkrjVr95qjoTLtpwSgCxy1pw1iE-37IxaRnSl-AwIDCYIH27AaFhzXnUjW8aQ5AO3tFtssmHnydrK9BXz-_f1CSgotYfFnDcMTiY6cI/s320/IMG_7944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672340330222423778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">(Note surprised look on the gal at the table on the left. I think she might have mistaken us for famous people.)</span><br /><br /></div>Sergio and his wife would arrive from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Chiapas</span></span> later that day. (What a coup to have them here; Sergio rarely travels away from San <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Cristóbal</span></span>, where his many patients need him on a daily basis.) Patricia <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Ferrer</span></span>, a physician's assistant from Tucson who travels to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Chiapas</span></span> twice a year for two weeks to work side-by-side with Sergio, would be in San Miguel late that night, along with her physical therapist friend Kathleen and the 200+ pounds of medical supplies they carried with them. They were both en route to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Chiapas</span></span> but had squeezed in two days in San Miguel to help with the fund raising events.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBahss4fDhRZX_VyncV8bFBIw0-b9jRvUpo_hQJ49R9FeAGCZme63uOeWEsrHyR9Sw_JCfkqkrrXU1HtaVTatXtrOgjd5w01eB8dB0q-ogc1pdYuNHOHsQK2EX-9fDggA0aCagEI8b40L/s1600/IMG_4059.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZBahss4fDhRZX_VyncV8bFBIw0-b9jRvUpo_hQJ49R9FeAGCZme63uOeWEsrHyR9Sw_JCfkqkrrXU1HtaVTatXtrOgjd5w01eB8dB0q-ogc1pdYuNHOHsQK2EX-9fDggA0aCagEI8b40L/s320/IMG_4059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672419964140365730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Patricia, arriving in San Miguel<br /></span></span></div><br />Mary's local helpers <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Iri</span> and Olivia were busy building forms on which the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">trajes</span></span></span> would be displayed and with preparations of food and drink for over 100 people. More local pals were scheduled to take tickets and otherwise assist at both events. The San Miguel bilingual paper, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Atención</span>, had just run the second of Mary's beautifully written <a href="http://www.atencionsanmiguel.org/?p=2123">articles</a> about Sergio's work and his upcoming visit. Posters were up around town, the buzz was building. Everywhere we went we talked about Don Sergio and El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Andalón</span></span> and people responded enthusiastically; two guests at <a href="http://www.casaluna.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Casa</span></span> Luna,</a> our gorgeous home-away-from-home in San Miguel, bought tickets for both events and went about spreading the word to others.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3ZHw2lfciK_Yn0rUY2h6TlVpCV93cZAwt454h-L03XFBUEcrH_DPvuAijhYzFPDyMxaXwazhI6uywS2NID99JhHIeXu-Y4n7w0DcGj9dcib4QV7Rxkgs-tunTnUtQkuGfGETFvSiICzc7/s320/El+Andalon+Angela+Peralta+2011.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672715179527628626" style="text-align: center;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 320px; " /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">On Tuesday morning a visit to </span><a href="http://patronatodeninos.org/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Patronato</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">de</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Niños</span></span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">, a fabulously successful and </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family:Georgia;">venerable non-profit </span><span style="font-family:Georgia;">organization in San Miguel that provides free of low-cost medical and dental care to low-income children, </span><span style="font-family:Georgia;">was planned.</span><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Tuesday afternoon Mary and Ivan would host a luncheon and planning session for Team Sergio at their home. Tuesday night was the first of the two public events scheduled: the screening of El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Andalón</span></span> at the Angela <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Peralta</span></span> Theater. Wednesday the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Sala</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Quetzal</span></span> at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Biblioteca</span></span> was reserved for a showing of a portion of Sergio's </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">traje</span></span> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">collection. On Thursday Sergio and Elsa would head back to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Chiapas</span></span>, Patricia and Kathleen would be there to greet them, and they'd be back at work helping and healing by Friday.</span><br /><br />Our days were full. I was engaged. Engaged as in a gear that was properly meshed, interlocked and interacting with the other moving parts - in this case, Team Sergio. It felt beyond enlivening.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Tuesday dawned clear and cool. Sergio and Elsa had arrived safely, Patricia and Kathleen and the 200+ pounds of supplies were also in town. We all met up for the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Patronato</span></span> visit, an inspiring time. Pedro, the taxi driver who brought us back to town, became our new best friend and member of Team Sergio and offered to take the group shots at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Mirador</span></span>, coaching us into the best poses.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkB13N45BHEabEJ0TKe0384kuZ1aSiW1zxTQa3aIY7kZOCvYMqmngY8DWRXX-Xenzy1f_zvSurE-vnFVSL0UHQOPSemMbDGOC-Cb4sxzM7zF9vnGP8qwzOdm7XtbySYfnyL7Vgswwvgduj/s320/IMG_8028.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672717317746652210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px; " /></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">L to R, Consuelo, me, Sergio, Elsa, Patricia, Jane, Consuelo's parents Gloria and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">José</span></span>, and Kathleen.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">Photo by Pedro the taxi driver.</span></div> </div><br />The luncheon was just lovely, Mary and Ivan's beautiful home a marvelous backdrop for our first gathering as Team Sergio.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ccz-ilvRKg1DXg2t40t-eit5mgba66b_K4oln1V9bGvCcgO-1xcg8XD1DQUdz6s8NzkvOIE9Adi4EjYvJwHQ6PdfIJA1NW1JPkIWooNiPcUhRoMOH42fegl2cj9VP8Z4hJu7YfPeMG7I/s1600/IMG_0180.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ccz-ilvRKg1DXg2t40t-eit5mgba66b_K4oln1V9bGvCcgO-1xcg8XD1DQUdz6s8NzkvOIE9Adi4EjYvJwHQ6PdfIJA1NW1JPkIWooNiPcUhRoMOH42fegl2cj9VP8Z4hJu7YfPeMG7I/s320/IMG_0180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672377243274119426" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">All of us, in emails leading up to this meeting, had expressed our awareness that no matter what our own personal goals for Sergio were - a brick and mortar clinic, a proper museum on the main street in San Cris, establishing nonprofit status for organization, <a href="http://yokchij.org/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Yok</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Chij</span></span></a>, etc.- our only real goal was to find out what <span style="font-style: italic;">he</span> wanted and make a plan to get that for him.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtmG_542HyF8dTTqIVZoU6rOgxES0HBhu5Dkch3gg2fmPCp8mNN7qeZ1o5KyItGev4dzPAfRxSvBUgWIKQO-u2JdrcG_a0iEYEKs8ox4BE9TrzZYJQPLwdid-EbIr8jPcv89akeuDIMFZ/s1600/IMG_8056.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtmG_542HyF8dTTqIVZoU6rOgxES0HBhu5Dkch3gg2fmPCp8mNN7qeZ1o5KyItGev4dzPAfRxSvBUgWIKQO-u2JdrcG_a0iEYEKs8ox4BE9TrzZYJQPLwdid-EbIr8jPcv89akeuDIMFZ/s320/IMG_8056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672425788202781842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">Elsa and Sergio with their Welcome Cake</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div>Once the dessert plates were cleared we slowly segued into meeting mode. We asked Sergio what we wanted and needed. It wasn't easy for him; he talked about how hard it was to predict the future, to see past the immediate needs of each day - shelter and food for his family, medical supplies for his patients, and transportation for him to reach them. I was aware of how difficult this conversation must have been for him, a humble guy just trying to do his work because, as he says, "What else would you do?" sitting at a table with eight eager friends who <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> want to help. I, for one, can be pretty intense in a situation I am passionate about, and I was most definitely passionate about this. I attempted to lower my energy level so as to not overwhelm.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Eventually Sergio found a safe spot and began to share. What emerged was the crystal clear need: financial security, both immediate and long term. We compiled a laundry list of very specific items needed and their monetary value. Into focus came the amount of $72,000 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">pesos</span> needed to get things up to speed. We then looked at Sergio and Elsa's monthly expenses - rent, utilities, food, medicines, transportation to the villages six days a week - and settled on the amount of $4000 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">USD</span></span> per month needed to keep things running for the long term.<br /></div><br />Miss Pep Club that I am, I encouraged us to rally around the $72,<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">ooo</span></span> peso (about $5500 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">USD</span>) figure as a goal for our time together in San Miguel. "Si, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">se</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">puede</span></span>!" I called out, and the gang joined in.<div><br /></div><div>The screening was wonderful. Eighty-one people were in attendance and all eighty-one clearly felt the love. During the Q&A after the film the questions focused on "What more can we do to help?" We raised $15,000 pesos that night in ticket sales, DVD sales, and a spontaneous passing of the hat. The surprise of the evening was Sergio and Elsa's attendance. They came up on stage toward the end and Sergio spoke to the group in impassioned Spanish, explaining his mission to help very clearly:"I trust in God, he entrusts me with a gift to heal, and so I do."<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShcp7YIwE2oolr0Qlt9dXmnGmMXFHXKJ7M0AK7NSGO-ntHD9roWxBOVHeOM6GFkWX0Zj9cMY0FxtGd8XGsWm0n6fn0c9MXR_gEO-s3g3ZRj2Jpm3T3BjvqiOIzsniydP7qNTaWcVMIO_Y/s1600/IMG_4049.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShcp7YIwE2oolr0Qlt9dXmnGmMXFHXKJ7M0AK7NSGO-ntHD9roWxBOVHeOM6GFkWX0Zj9cMY0FxtGd8XGsWm0n6fn0c9MXR_gEO-s3g3ZRj2Jpm3T3BjvqiOIzsniydP7qNTaWcVMIO_Y/s320/IMG_4049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672413889495715506" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">Don Sergio on stage with John, Patricia, Elsa, and Consuelo after the Tuesday night screening.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size:medium;">Wednesday evening found us at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Sala</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Quetzal</span>, putting together the <i><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">trajes</span> </i>on the stands that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Iri</span> had made. They looked absolutely stunning in the context of the room; they formed a border above which David Leonardo's bold mural floated.</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size:medium;"></span></i></span><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6c59imA-awaUic_onTW5CTo4GiZCAK7uaho2LwuU5Dmd-7j13kHCp425Aa8Jq05pj2JPXkSXg7qtu58ZGhRRADGSTKFB4N6OIaHhkEjPM2y5gXiavlw_JwHB6Gx1WjU4OJW3aUqVaYDUr/s320/IMG_8139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672413891098213282" border="0" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size:medium;"> </span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size:medium;">A printed guide of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">trajes</span> was available and people walked their way through the exhibit at their own pace. In the courtyard, Sergio and Elsa greeted people, and the crowd grew. Olivia's team served a gorgeous selection of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">botanas</span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">and an excellent sangria. We raised $5,400 pesos in ticket and DVD sales, and donations of $1,200 USD were received, with the promise of more to come. An exciting night. </span></span></i></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLauqdEwa5rBYuwzaVluU1N7hSeEENt_iIrHwc7cx4mH36UV1He48ut-Q68rQnccAePhcbB6uGeoNxvZD215TwnAXKPH3AsUiF-PnuRqms3J7qRSHyudQRW3_EdlDqHpuAGycRCjK18sR/s1600/IMG_8140.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 248px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWLauqdEwa5rBYuwzaVluU1N7hSeEENt_iIrHwc7cx4mH36UV1He48ut-Q68rQnccAePhcbB6uGeoNxvZD215TwnAXKPH3AsUiF-PnuRqms3J7qRSHyudQRW3_EdlDqHpuAGycRCjK18sR/s320/IMG_8140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672413902275229714" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">And now, the good news.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The results of our fund raising events in San Miguel are as follows:<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">October 25 screening of El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Andalón</span>: <span style="font-weight: bold;"> $15,000 pesos</span><br />October 26 reception and <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">traje</span></span> exhibit: <span style="font-weight: bold;"> $5,400 pesos</span><br />Other donations ($2700 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">USD</span> donations made at and after the events) <span style="font-weight: bold;">$35,910 pesos </span><br />IF Foundation ($990 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">USD</span> from event by Food in the Hood in Santa Cruz, CA) <span style="font-weight: bold;">$13,167 pesos</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span>My Mexico Tours' peeps donations</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> $2000 pesos</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span>Patricia's friends' donation </span><b>$1330 pesos</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Total $72,807 pesos</span><br /><br /><span>¡SI, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">PUDIMOS</span>!</span> We did it. We met and topped the $72,000 peso goal.<br /><br />Aside from the joy of hitting the mark, I am touched beyond words at the contributions that came from so many of you who weren't there in person in San Miguel but were most definitely there in spirit: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Tereza</span> and the whole Food In The Hood family; the IF Foundation, which has taken Don Sergio under their wing quite literally, allowing people to now donate through a US-based non-profit organization; Patricia's generous friends in Tuscon (whom it turns out I met years ago at the B&B), and the many friends of My Mexico Tours who allowed me to be there and sent money directly to Sergio as well. Bravo and <span style="font-style: italic;">mil <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">gracias</span> </span>to each and every one of you.<br /><img src="file:///Users/elizabethmcnair/Desktop/IMG_6359.JPG" alt="" /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBIWGbH7QZavpWqX14gpKGoGDbEa4hdCM2dMjk6BY8P2tjsQfl0T8P_mu4VNAg9G0vTHW9Qr5ffgEXhaq2IgnbsYNIcItSyY_t5kBBovubXqxJifFLaXAwWaVfWaSr2BPpXWDgw6KRC3t/s1600/IMG_6359.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvBIWGbH7QZavpWqX14gpKGoGDbEa4hdCM2dMjk6BY8P2tjsQfl0T8P_mu4VNAg9G0vTHW9Qr5ffgEXhaq2IgnbsYNIcItSyY_t5kBBovubXqxJifFLaXAwWaVfWaSr2BPpXWDgw6KRC3t/s320/IMG_6359.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672417912199220642" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Tereza's</span> darling daughters, who cooked, served, and cleaned up at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">June Food</span> in the Hood event in Santa Cruz</span>.<br /></div><br />The monthly $4000 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">USD</span></span> is a bit more complicated and will take some work. Monthly pledges from supporters might be the way to go. Allowing people to "join" Team Sergio, now known as Amigos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">del</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">Andalón</span></span>, via his web page would raise funds little by little while building a community of like-minded supporters of his work. A grass roots movement to show the film and raise money among friends and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">colleagues</span> seems a likely path to take. And without a doubt, a grant or the backing of a foundation would help immensely.<br /><br />Aside from the concrete achievements produced during of our time in San Miguel, many important seeds were sown that will likely produce fruit down the road. Several people from within the Rotary Club were in attendance and expressed their desire to help Sergio through the Rotary, possibly with a car or other concrete items. A well-known professional photographer (NY Times, National Geographic) is planning a trip to San Cristobal to spend time with Sergio in January, giving us a good chance of wide coverage for Sergio. Contacts were made with at least two large foundations who expressed interest in sharing Don <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">Sergios</span>' work with their boards. At least two people I spoke to have offered to go to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">Chiapas</span> in the coming year and provide hands-on help. These are just the results I'm aware of, I'm certain there are more wheels turning out there that we have yet to discover.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTz_PAbRnmfVWxEWzCnzwoPB_ZDVZzbRMRRvlEo0q6mFDo46S6tpDb8tHOmTabqHdlKAJFdZt-pUaa1iRr65Bd3VrBUoOFv5OI1SWVTFd1ru_bT8U6yf_8l7HIhwgXby_2qV3HV2ZR4fS/s1600/IMG_4054.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRTz_PAbRnmfVWxEWzCnzwoPB_ZDVZzbRMRRvlEo0q6mFDo46S6tpDb8tHOmTabqHdlKAJFdZt-pUaa1iRr65Bd3VrBUoOFv5OI1SWVTFd1ru_bT8U6yf_8l7HIhwgXby_2qV3HV2ZR4fS/s320/IMG_4054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672340309951526738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">A few of the Amigos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">del</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">Andalón</span></span>, celebrating after the screening</span>.</div><br />Our work is cut out for us. And we're ready. We met for the first time as a team just two short weeks ago, and we left as partners, Amigos del Andalón. We each have something unique to bring to the table and we worked together brilliantly. We share a vision that is bigger than ourselves yet completely achieveable, and we're committed to sharing that vision so that everyone may participate in helping Don Sergio to continue with his work.<br /><br />It's a rare and beautiful thing to be able to help such a purely good cause. Please visit <a href="http://yokchij.org/">YokChij.org</a> any time you'd like a hit of the joy.<br /></div></div></div></div></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-91221468431913386912011-10-25T06:35:00.013-07:002011-11-10T21:44:31.131-08:00On a mission in Mexico, Part 1<span style="font-style: italic;">I'm in San Miguel de Allende today, on a mission to support a fundraising </span><span style="font-style: italic;">event for a man I admire greatly. I'm here with Jane, my dear friend and former art teacher who first introduced me to Mexico in 1994, and my film maker friends from </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.veremosproductions.com/">Veremos Productions</a><span style="font-style: italic;">, John Speyer and Consuelo Alba-Speyer. I plan to share the day-to-day excitement of this visit, but first, some background...</span><br /><br />Many of you have met my hero in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Chiapas</span>, Sergio Castro. The <span style="font-style: italic;">excuse</span> to meet Sergio is his private museum, filled with an extraordinary collection of <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">trajes</span></span> (costumes or outfits) from many Maya villages of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Chiapas</span>. The <span style="font-style: italic;">reason</span> to meet Sergio is to know that hope, love, and compassion are alive and well and sporting a cowboy hat and boots.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Link" class="gl_link" border="0" /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjTyd4TiQDAk0YkD57e-SAnv8Z7nTDHyH3rEHZxpSmgeRqXvl8tj2bpOBda3KeKvWPkuRCBbgUSM3EQYy_L8W7PvSKYcPUXzrwszZ3q9ah1nsXEaUDpZ1npZGTNSM6wmLhyphenhyphenlAihyROSHL/s1600/sergio.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjTyd4TiQDAk0YkD57e-SAnv8Z7nTDHyH3rEHZxpSmgeRqXvl8tj2bpOBda3KeKvWPkuRCBbgUSM3EQYy_L8W7PvSKYcPUXzrwszZ3q9ah1nsXEaUDpZ1npZGTNSM6wmLhyphenhyphenlAihyROSHL/s400/sergio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667451147038887746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Sergio Castro Martinez</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">, photo by Veremos Productions</span></span><br /><br /></div>I met Sergio in about '98, on my first visit to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Chiapas</span>. My pal Jane, a voracious reader of guide books, found mention of him in a piece about San <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Cristóbal</span>, where we were headed. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Intrigued</span> with the idea of seeing so much indigenous art under one roof, we called the number listed. And called again. And again. It seemed that Sergio Castro was never at home; he was clearly a very busy man. On day three we were told he would be in town at 7pm that night and we could meet him then to see the collection.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmjTyd4TiQDAk0YkD57e-SAnv8Z7nTDHyH3rEHZxpSmgeRqXvl8tj2bpOBda3KeKvWPkuRCBbgUSM3EQYy_L8W7PvSKYcPUXzrwszZ3q9ah1nsXEaUDpZ1npZGTNSM6wmLhyphenhyphenlAihyROSHL/s1600/sergio.jpg"><br /></a>We knocked on the green door on Guadalupe Victoria promptly at 7pm and were greeted by Sergio himself. Ushered into the room of <span style="font-style: italic;">trajes</span> and a group of 12 other tourists, he explained to us in English that he would be giving the tour that evening in French. (We later learned that he also speaks Italian, English, his native Spanish, and several of the many Mayan languages of Chiapas.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vzAKs9cgO1T4spsYWl5JeST5ImMUhuwofwDbQSxOPg8fHUpvqowiuDo8V9wv1DfAFPncOp6ciYU6IHfY6jN8Cdj-53YeC8sMalgXk_Jpc4EFU32Y8RY-G73Yq8rK9PIfbmIJ37eHW7sf/s1600/IMG_6645.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9vzAKs9cgO1T4spsYWl5JeST5ImMUhuwofwDbQSxOPg8fHUpvqowiuDo8V9wv1DfAFPncOp6ciYU6IHfY6jN8Cdj-53YeC8sMalgXk_Jpc4EFU32Y8RY-G73Yq8rK9PIfbmIJ37eHW7sf/s320/IMG_6645.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671505569237533762" border="0" /></a>The outfits were remarkable; colorful, intricate, varied, hand crafted, all extraordinarily well made. He walked us through the exhibit, explaining the significance of the colors, the patterns, the accessories (an armadillo purse, a black stick, a beribboned straw hat). It was fascinating and enlightening, an anthropological look at the people of Chiapas through their clothing that would have taken us a lifetime to learn on our own. Sergio was passionate, knowledgeable, and a brilliant communicator. As it turns out, we had only just begun to know this remarkable man.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JPHpNETOGYwrYrxKKGWES0QWyxPio7R8LaKs_gTuFhuadpekzKSrLKMBvJXwTh1VP8r2OxEwRO40Rw95Ykd7bH5l-kTKPkyc9L5ZgrP-T3wSffiilnUzdWUjeULs_VrBiAd0VNY4kZzt/s1600/IMG_7076.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9dz-7S9awm2p0f3oxCgE1AzzMTG03hy8IuNv2S7utGmWupuyX4FHa3bLpZjWCkr30cYDcwctSSZSEYVFCxqq6DWsNL3iYZ9mprNM9T6-xm3uXBarTicsdpoWsaBNSSIFZxkHI4AFq-2k/s1600/IMG_7071.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 392px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9dz-7S9awm2p0f3oxCgE1AzzMTG03hy8IuNv2S7utGmWupuyX4FHa3bLpZjWCkr30cYDcwctSSZSEYVFCxqq6DWsNL3iYZ9mprNM9T6-xm3uXBarTicsdpoWsaBNSSIFZxkHI4AFq-2k/s320/IMG_7071.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671505575142444274" border="0" /></a>After viewing the <span style="font-style: italic;">trajes</span> Sergio led us into a makeshift theater in a back room, offered us a box of store-bought cookies, asked someone to turn off the lights, and flipped the switch on the projector. The film flickered to life. Only then did we learn of his work, his passion, his mission: providing the poor of Chiapas with health care, clean water, and schools. For free. Funded with pesos from his own pocket and those he could crib together from donations made by tourists like us who came to see the <span style="font-style: italic;">trajes.</span> We were blown away. We wiped the tears from our eyes, waited for the goosebumps to abate, and happily stuffed the donation box with our pesos. We were card carrying members of Team Sergio from that moment on.<br /><br />When I started My Mexico Tours in 2003 my mission was to share my Mexico - the art, food, places, and people I had come to know and love - with others. Sergio, and his collection and his work, were high on the list of things to share. The Chiapas tour groups have enjoyed seeing the textiles and learning about the various indigenous groups in Chiapas and they adore meeting my charismatic, humble, maverick friend Sergio. Then they see his film and learn about his work. There's not a dry eye in the room as the lights come back on, and without exception they all turn to me and say "How can we help?" I point to the donation box and they generously join Team Sergio. Some have helped with the actual day-to-day work of visiting the rural villages, carrying Sergio's bags, assisting as we dresses wounds, or maybe just holding a patient's hand. Others have sent medical supplies. Many continue to fund his work with financial contributions to his foundation, <a href="http://www.yokchij.org/">Yok Chij</a>.<br /><br />John Speyer and Consuelo Alba, two travelers who visited Chiapas with me in 2009, have taken the message of Don Sergio's good work and made a movie. A really <span style="font-style: italic;">good </span>movie. A movie that captures the soul of this remarkable man and puts it out there for all to see, allowing more and more people everywhere to know about and contribute to Don Sergio's work.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30SZFaQa_zMJY9hY5OKnecaX_bVb-MlpICN-74GBxYV7Dd2MPbPBEEdhPJS3cUgCIlYG9cjWXWvNfwqE253RMItzvxu5a30GA5bXGbNxwNoe25EE9aprHi9mzTNNbZAT3AOIAwbvKNMkz/s1600/poster.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 155px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg30SZFaQa_zMJY9hY5OKnecaX_bVb-MlpICN-74GBxYV7Dd2MPbPBEEdhPJS3cUgCIlYG9cjWXWvNfwqE253RMItzvxu5a30GA5bXGbNxwNoe25EE9aprHi9mzTNNbZAT3AOIAwbvKNMkz/s320/poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667566966078475586" border="0" /></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/el-andal%C3%B3n-a-documentary-film/117044141666022">El Andalón</a>, by <a href="http://veremosproductions.com/">Veremos Productions,</a> will be shown tonight here in San Miguel and that's what brings Team Sergio together with a mission in Mexico. I am honored and thrilled to be here to help this purest of causes. Details to follow...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-27180480797240726162010-01-03T19:00:00.001-08:002010-03-05T08:17:35.373-08:00Brik by brik...The Divine Miss M came to town recently. No, I don't mean Bette <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Midler</span></span>, I am speaking of the <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> divine one, culinary diva extraordinaire, Marlena <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Spieler</span></span>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>If you live in the SF Bay Area and you're likely familiar with Marlena from her regular column in the Chronicle's food section, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Roving Feast</span>. If you live elsewhere you may have a copy of at least one of the almost seventy - that's right, seventy - cookbooks she has penned over the years. Not near SF nor a cookbook owner? Then maybe you've read her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">über</span></span>-ebullient <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Facebook</span></span> posts on the joys of cooking, making, and/or eating kippers, cheeses, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">kim</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">chee</span></span>, pasta, pumpernickel, and more.<br /><br />I was introduced to Marlena's work in 1995 by Annaliese, who was opening a restaurant in Santa Cruz and asked me to help get it up and running. At our first meeting I asked her what her vision for the restaurant was and she gushed "Sun-drenched cuisine!" referring to a book of "lusty foods and robust recipes" by Marlena <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Spieler</span></span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlV-MT4E8V2kzqHuBXIOf3hRiYo7LGdKNA-KmaQs7s4UD2S4-POnmFZag_6Mm3JisESVkaOuhgcXIW2bqFjvSv6LgTPoDKfSOOHq3QTyGnx_5-6hlasWicMUpk7IZNgT8XY73Yid4M1qat/s1600-h/IMG_3235.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlV-MT4E8V2kzqHuBXIOf3hRiYo7LGdKNA-KmaQs7s4UD2S4-POnmFZag_6Mm3JisESVkaOuhgcXIW2bqFjvSv6LgTPoDKfSOOHq3QTyGnx_5-6hlasWicMUpk7IZNgT8XY73Yid4M1qat/s400/IMG_3235.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422632377952731122" border="0" /></a>Flash forward to November 2009 in Happy Valley. My foodie pal <a href="http://saffronpaisley.com/">Sonia Bañuelos</a> introduced me to Marlena over dinner and by the next day we were, the three of us, in cahoots and "in production," in my kitchen making a little <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_urC91XKRLA">video of Marlena</a> preparing <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">brik</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> a </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">l'oeuf</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">. </span>"It's so easy, it just takes a minute or two.", <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">sez</span></span> Marlena. "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Phyllo</span></span>, a minute or two?" thinks me.<br /><br />In my years of catering I flag-folded hundreds of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">phyllo</span></span>-wrapped appetizers every week, and "easy" is not a word I had ever used to describe working with it, more like "fiddly" and "fussy." But there was Marlena in my kitchen with her handbag full of flavorful goodies y voila! in a minute or two she had a <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">brik</span> in the pan, few minutes more and we were savoring its crispy, unctuous, spicy goodness.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuqhpKzCiKc0rRtt1BifS27WVNk2_JR3gO0d588-U_GGn5mj7wjalkcm6eh8Q6DnqY76weUeciNC2pOMEmrJYWY9IKIE8OHVDMmwk3zELF0he7fJlKxyfDgV7bckRT1SAusEwL7ry4j-f/s1600-h/IMG_3256.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuqhpKzCiKc0rRtt1BifS27WVNk2_JR3gO0d588-U_GGn5mj7wjalkcm6eh8Q6DnqY76weUeciNC2pOMEmrJYWY9IKIE8OHVDMmwk3zELF0he7fJlKxyfDgV7bckRT1SAusEwL7ry4j-f/s400/IMG_3256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422709948193552562" border="0" /></a>Since that day I've been spreading the Word of Marlena and cooking <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">brik</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> a l'oeuf</span> for friends on both coasts, telling all who'll listen that working with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">phyllo</span> can, in fact, be easy. An not brushing each sheet of pastry with butter means this really is super quick - and much lighter than the butter-soaked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">phyllo</span></span> dishes I'd made before. Here is the recipe, such as it is (more of a suggestion, really), for each<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">brik</span>:<br /><br />1 sheet of phyllo pastry<br />finely chopped onion<br />minced garlic<br />preserved lemons, chopped<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">harissa</span> sauce<br />chopped fresh herbs - parsley, dill, mint, cilantro<br />1 egg<br />Oil for cooking<br /><br />Preheat oven to 400. Heat oil in saute pan over medium high heat. Place <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">phyllo</span> on flat surface. Place all ingredients on pastry and quickly fold up like a flag to enclose all. Place in saute pan and brown on both sides. Place in 400 oven cook for 5 minutes; whites should be set and yolk should still be runny. Marlena mixed up a quick 'salsa" of the filling components - herbs, lemons, harissa, onion, and garlic - and served that alongside the <span style="font-style: italic;">brik</span>, which I loved; it made each bite flavor saturated.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">My tips: It works to place the herbs, lemon, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">harissa</span></span>, etc. evenly across the pastry so that when you cut into it you'll get a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7S-64NjYiziJFFZDVwGw-u6CNPjvHQaETvyOjRCxKjr3sWbk3KtxCaAitwyuJ2Yfdq46o3IYTWbHsGhJprvWbXyQ2iVkua5rkR8xDZg6NpG1j4diZNoG6_ddiORnzFm3kPh1UceolOTQ-/s1600-h/IMG_3250.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7S-64NjYiziJFFZDVwGw-u6CNPjvHQaETvyOjRCxKjr3sWbk3KtxCaAitwyuJ2Yfdq46o3IYTWbHsGhJprvWbXyQ2iVkua5rkR8xDZg6NpG1j4diZNoG6_ddiORnzFm3kPh1UceolOTQ-/s400/IMG_3250.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422711301607449090" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuz6B0TiuhYEcZtEdkeDoEJxHU7BI1MjYj8eP4kNaUsrRPtGWqOW3_GtZjQuH6pUrBOjjJjIBM_7ydpAwaeWuwl83GF5FBLl8lccrPiYg5VXHdWjuID7qstFlMMjvUq3k0mJEu3ytmGKJJ/s1600-h/IMG_3375.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 176px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuz6B0TiuhYEcZtEdkeDoEJxHU7BI1MjYj8eP4kNaUsrRPtGWqOW3_GtZjQuH6pUrBOjjJjIBM_7ydpAwaeWuwl83GF5FBLl8lccrPiYg5VXHdWjuID7qstFlMMjvUq3k0mJEu3ytmGKJJ/s400/IMG_3375.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422642881522073506" border="0" /></a>little bit of everything in each bite. Put the egg in last, otherwise the pastry starts to get soggy and that makes it harder to handle. Also, doing this means you can put the egg in the center of everything and have a chance of it saying there. (I said <span style="font-style: italic;">a chance</span>, it is still a raw egg with a mind of its own, after all.) Somewhere online I saw someone assemble their <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">brik</span></span> in a shallow bowl, I tried that and it does help keep things in place.<br /><br />What I learned from watching Marlena: Loosen up around <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">phyllo</span> dough</span>! The pastry doesn't have to be perfectly folded, nor does it matter if it cracks, it will all brown up nicely in the pan. I've even grabbed a second sheet at the last minute and used it to rescue a bursting<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">brik</span></span>. And I've completely given up the flag-fold in favor of free-form.<br /><br /></div>The part of the recipe that I am still working on perfecting is the cooking of the egg. Five minutes in a 400 oven is a good place to start, but the amount of time it takes to fry the pastry to golden brown depends on many things, obviously, and, once the egg is inside the crispy pastry I'm still a little lost as to how to tell how done it is. Hmmm, <span style="font-style: italic;">pobrecita mia</span>, I might have to make a few more <span style="font-style: italic;">brik </span>this week to see if I can figure that one out.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fs4Xu1VS6KNkwBstH3H2_ZmGVqRmgDXo25m0zfHkvh3GqWfwfnFqlrF7-SYDK0nc0r_Zs3xxhREEx6J4r7CNVUyQihWFug7upHR1rtF8xpwRRwhg9Yxh9vfmEwdp2nectnV7DIvYiDmm/s1600-h/IMG_3367.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 329px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fs4Xu1VS6KNkwBstH3H2_ZmGVqRmgDXo25m0zfHkvh3GqWfwfnFqlrF7-SYDK0nc0r_Zs3xxhREEx6J4r7CNVUyQihWFug7upHR1rtF8xpwRRwhg9Yxh9vfmEwdp2nectnV7DIvYiDmm/s400/IMG_3367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422728253655049458" border="0" /></a>Take a look at these two other great blog posts about <span style="font-style: italic;">brik</span>: <a href="http://cookingschmooking.blogspot.com/2009/12/brik-loeuf-by-three-buddies.html">Cooking Shmooking</a> and <a href="http://justeileenandsue.blogspot.com/2009/11/sundays-with-marlena-spieler_27.html">Just the Two of Us.</a>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-52224786275147304462009-12-04T14:34:00.016-08:002009-12-04T20:29:51.196-08:00Scones for Marlena<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EZb3WeGvds71hNqgzVvPT6fTYILy5yYkWdc4xniSor-9i9WX-WOP68MSxx5s46XrJRcJ0dA7zqrLCXcAYPBK0BFVXE9V-h5mwR160GAGt3uPqNLrtjqhXBX-LUnfLysPjwlElvZvMQqk/s1600-h/IMG_3194.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5EZb3WeGvds71hNqgzVvPT6fTYILy5yYkWdc4xniSor-9i9WX-WOP68MSxx5s46XrJRcJ0dA7zqrLCXcAYPBK0BFVXE9V-h5mwR160GAGt3uPqNLrtjqhXBX-LUnfLysPjwlElvZvMQqk/s400/IMG_3194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411559218323124386" border="0" /></a>This morning I was proclaimed "The Best Scone Maker in Existence" by Her High Holiness of the Roving Feast, <a href="http://marlenaspieler.com/">Marlena Spieler</a>. I couldn't be prouder. I feel like I've been knighted by the queen herself (which would be appropriate, given that Queen Liz II was coronated at the Stone of Scone in 1953.) After all, Marlena, author of about 70 cookbooks, world traveler, and superb food writer, lives in London and knows her scones.<br /><br />I, however, having been raised in 1950s suburban Connecticut, know my way around a glazed doughnut, a cruller, and even a bran muffin...but a scone? They weren't even in my orbit, much less my repertoire (remember, I'm a cook, not a baker), until fairly recently.<br /><br />From pastry bumpkin to scone maven; how is that possible, you ask? Two words: Sunset Magazine. In the early 90s my neighbor and friend Diane made a batch of scones that knocked my socks off. I asked for her secret recipe, she handed me a Sunset Magazine cookbook. I baked, I ate, I was hooked.<br /><br />The original recipe calls for the basics: butter cut into flour, sugar, and leavening, liquid added, and a simple combination of currants and lemon peel in there for flavor. Scones made from this recipe are delicious, will allow you to win friends and influence people, and make you very welcome at pot luck parties, especially high teas and brunches.<br /><br />But I'm a rule breaker, I bore easily, and I like to cook with what's on hand, so by my third batch I was using a Cuisinart to work in the butter. The currants were left in the dust as I mixed in chocolate, dried fruit, nuts and seeds, cheeses, sun-dried tomatoes, herbs - really, whatever hit my fancy and was in the house. (Not all at once, of course...but you knew that.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Since that first fateful batch I have baked literally thousands of scones, most of them during my years managing La Casa de Espiritus Alegres Bed & Breakfast in Guanajuato, where we served a freshly baked basketful to appreciative guests every morning. House favorite: chunks of Mexican chocolate, almonds, and candied orange peel.) We also used this recipe at the much-missed Emmanuelle's Restaurant in Santa Cruz, where loyal scone hounds lined up daily to see what delicious flavor combination would come out of the oven each morning. They have been written about in newspapers, guide books, magazines, and online. Traditional? I don't know, but delicious? Absolutely.<br /><br /></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Buttermilk Scones</span><br /><br /> 3 cups all purpose Flour<br /> ⅓ cup Sugar<br /> 2 ½ teaspoons Baking Powder<br /> ½ teaspoon Baking Soda<br /> ½ teaspoon Salt (omit if you're using salted butter)<br /> 6 oz. cold unsalted Butter, cut in pieces<br /> ¾ cup Currants & 1 tablespoon grated Lemon Zest OR 1 cup Mix-In of your choice<br /> 1 cup Buttermilk<br /><ol><li>Put flour, sugar, baking powder, soda, and salt together in Cuisinart and pulse until thoroughly blended. Add butter and pulse until it resembles coarse cornmeal.</li><li>To the dry mix add the currants and lemon peel or other "mix-in" and pulse just a couple of times to combine evenly. Add buttermilk and pulse until dough begins to form a ball and cleans the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and form into two discs. Cut each disc into 6 wedges and place wedges on a greased cookie sheet. Brush tops with buttermilk or cream and for sweet scones sprinkle with cinnamon sugar. Refrigerate scones at least ten minutes, or even overnight.</li><li>Place cold scones in a 425 oven. Bake for for 18-20 minutes or until tops are golden brown, turning once mid-bake.</li><li>Serve hot from the oven. Clotted cream, butter, and jams are all lovely with them, but they are about perfect just as they are.<br /></li></ol> *Some wonderful ideas for Mix-Ins, but only the beginning: Candied Ginger and Dried Apricots...Bacon, Cheese, and Chives...Dried Pineapple, Toasted Coconut, and Slivered Almonds...Sundried Tomatoes, Feta, Pine Nuts, and Fresh Herbs...Chocolate Chips and Candied Ginger...you get the idea.<br /><br />Notes:<br /><ol><li>You're allowed to use the Cuisinart<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span>only if </span><span style="font-style: italic;">you promise you <span style="font-style: italic;">will not overmix</span>. </span>You're looking for the same texture you'd get if you used two knives or a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour, a coarse meal. This allows the rising to happen, resulting in flaky moist scones.<br /></li><li>On the same note, once you've added the buttermilk, stop pulsing as soon as the dough <span style="font-style: italic;">begins</span> to come together. Better to turn it into a bowl or out on the board at that point and finish the mixing by hand than to overmix and risk melting the butter.</li><li>If you have buttermilk around that's great, if you don't, just substitute regular milk (and yes, you can stir in lemon juice and create instant buttermilk.) I've also used yogurt (plain or flavored) and a combination of all of the above with success.</li><li>The second secret to successful rising is <span style="font-style: italic;">cold scones and a hot stove</span>. Chill the dough or chill the scones on the pan, but be sure they are cold when they go in the oven. Also, a 425 degree oven is not very forgiving, so don't walk away at the 15-minute mark. If you find that your oven is consistently browning too quickly, start out at 425 to get the rise you want and drop to 350 after 10 minutes.<br /></li></ol>So what flavor scones did I make for my special guests - the Divine Miss M, Sonia "Spielberg" Bañuelos & Little Sprout, and the lovely Vanessa?<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1QfhEcQidf-EAnTh_Z7EXOgW7fgsU6JBvKUhFAsLQt3NPgkdWwLfkK1zQauohoElHAhxiFluqjvPI7vy3w2BNmoCi4hUf4cfTVEoG4nNDTEJQtG5wePwvUX2MgJeBD1OL8Ip8IY_e5M7/s1600-h/IMG_3231.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 408px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk1QfhEcQidf-EAnTh_Z7EXOgW7fgsU6JBvKUhFAsLQt3NPgkdWwLfkK1zQauohoElHAhxiFluqjvPI7vy3w2BNmoCi4hUf4cfTVEoG4nNDTEJQtG5wePwvUX2MgJeBD1OL8Ip8IY_e5M7/s400/IMG_3231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411563625950380722" border="0" /></a></div><ul><li>Sweet scones loaded with chunks of good quality <span style="font-weight: bold;">Bittersweet Chocolate</span>, coarsely chopped <span style="font-weight: bold;">Roasted Almonds,</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Dried Montmorency Cherries</span> (Left)<br /></li><li>Savory scones with cubes of sharp <span style="font-weight: bold;">Cheddar Cheese</span>,<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>minced <span style="font-weight: bold;">Fresh Herbs</span> from the garden (fennel fronds, parsley, sage), and a sprinkle of Pungo Creek <span style="font-weight: bold;">Indian Corn Mea</span>l for toothsome texture, dusted with the tiniest bit of smoked paprika. (Center)<br /></li><li> Reefer Madness scones inspired by the ingredients for <span style="font-style: italic;">brik</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> a l'ouef</span> that ended up in my refrigerator after Marlena and Sonia visited the other day: a bit of <span style="font-weight: bold;">Preserved Lemons</span>, chopped, precooked <span style="font-weight: bold;">Broccoli Rabe</span>, and crumbled<span style="font-weight: bold;"> Feta Cheese</span>, brushed with a bit of yogurt and finely ground parmesan. I baked them free-form to leave the greens intact. They were exotic, fragrant, and fabulous. (Right)<br /></li></ul><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3aubYktpozpRyrWSLZzAU2mEiAOpCRyqTahBkPjdzNVfZO9ZJc32FiCqP2JUyZU9M118knSp7AP0TnhyLJAOjsRJVMGRSA9sirfW8QQ-vNIwsi8HBpnzYH3HEqAt-14q6yR53T5HUh6Q/s1600-h/IMG_3232.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 282px; height: 316px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3aubYktpozpRyrWSLZzAU2mEiAOpCRyqTahBkPjdzNVfZO9ZJc32FiCqP2JUyZU9M118knSp7AP0TnhyLJAOjsRJVMGRSA9sirfW8QQ-vNIwsi8HBpnzYH3HEqAt-14q6yR53T5HUh6Q/s400/IMG_3232.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411563658323022802" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">The Divine Miss M with the scone platter.</span><br /></div><br />By the way, I tried to find the original Sunset scone recipe online today. Following threads like <span style="font-style: italic;">In Search of the Perfect Scone</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Lost Scone </span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Recipe</span> led me to <a href="http://find.myrecipes.com/recipes/recipefinder.dyn?action=displayRecipe&recipe_id=1173741"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lemon Buttermilk Scones</span> from Sunset Magazine</a>. I bet they're delicious, but it's not the same recipe. I know this because - non-baker that I am - I never would have had the nerve to leave out an egg or change the amount of flour by even a tablespoon, much less raise the oven temperature by 75 degrees.casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-1173970773153890482009-11-04T15:00:00.029-08:002009-11-04T17:00:29.231-08:00El Tiempo Teine Alas (Time Flies)The last time I posted here it was June and I was in Guanajuato, Mexico. I was drinking a cinnamon-scented <span style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://mymexicotours.blogspot.com/2009/06/licuado-de-platano.html">licuado de platano</a>, </span>attempting to stay cool in the before-the-rains dry heat of the central highlands of Mexico and fretting over the terrible state of tourism in Mexico due to the latest news attack (er...I mean report) from north of the border. It's now November in Santa Cruz, we've had or first big storm of the season, and the leaves are falling from the big oak tree outside my door in Happy Valley. Yes, it's been a long time since I've blogged.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil74Zsjtl5cv_1OzuTwQTjY7LZDh95HzSyPzKs9YrDNaUyvQYTgAHY_UZUUSVF4bLoR5pWlVI3ZglDmAUdKmzNXGzJ5gDSXhE7BcP4ymNppqIHHUmGGANBRaDxBXFbEjrJSuKa5vmktRUe/s1600-h/Happy+Valley.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil74Zsjtl5cv_1OzuTwQTjY7LZDh95HzSyPzKs9YrDNaUyvQYTgAHY_UZUUSVF4bLoR5pWlVI3ZglDmAUdKmzNXGzJ5gDSXhE7BcP4ymNppqIHHUmGGANBRaDxBXFbEjrJSuKa5vmktRUe/s400/Happy+Valley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400369020571194530" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">It's not like there isn't plenty to write about. During my time in Guanajuato there were visits by dear friends from both California and Mexico, wonderful meals and celebrations cooked and shared, even a day of horseback riding. In the final days the flurry of oh-my-gosh-I'm really-leaving activity produced enough blog fodder for many a meaty post: learning about my neighbors in Marfil, watching Lulu make the most amazing <span style="font-style: italic;">gorditas</span> ever; hangin' with Cuchis, the <span style="font-style: italic;">dueña</span> of the little <span style="font-style: italic;">tiendita</span> at which I spent many an afternoon over a cold beer learning the stories of Marfil while watching the world go by - in cars and buses, on foot, horses, and burros.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq0wuboBKXi18nqtkhgPJZBd8MGjPZ0pZSqmDe1B2i8obta4Q9Zx_1v0lmaMFIJ6Xwv43vhyHnQquytOLi9ZopAppsM1D9a_F8Bn2av7pBhaEIOjwRXn5KKk-Tl2cp-K5dC752su4SWdS/s1600-h/IMG_9447.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXq0wuboBKXi18nqtkhgPJZBd8MGjPZ0pZSqmDe1B2i8obta4Q9Zx_1v0lmaMFIJ6Xwv43vhyHnQquytOLi9ZopAppsM1D9a_F8Bn2av7pBhaEIOjwRXn5KKk-Tl2cp-K5dC752su4SWdS/s400/IMG_9447.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400405193366476882" border="0" /></a><br /></div>And I finally tracked down the answers to all but one of my questions about the <a href="http://mymexicotours.blogspot.com/2009/05/sounds-of-hood.html">Sounds of the 'Hood</a>, meeting (and videoing) the guy screaming <span style="font-style: italic;">Arrozzzz!</span>! outside my window each day, even climbing the bell tower and photographing the amazing timepiece (as well as the little <span style="font-style: italic;">muchachos)</span> responsible for the church bells that perplexed me every fifteen minutes all day and night - <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> day and night - during my two-month stay.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG5neIOlJi4UIiXxLXUD9m7_ohHWBYC-PrqG6LkYsi4k-wEv7yT5gxIzXddyUu-AcfxB0wAI_hXOoUOaQ4tHixgegzI0NwC9LnHUuzj59kgxhSRJbJfiGIiEhM9hvIO5frUhBV7w6E5Ed/s1600-h/IMG_9536.JPG"></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG5neIOlJi4UIiXxLXUD9m7_ohHWBYC-PrqG6LkYsi4k-wEv7yT5gxIzXddyUu-AcfxB0wAI_hXOoUOaQ4tHixgegzI0NwC9LnHUuzj59kgxhSRJbJfiGIiEhM9hvIO5frUhBV7w6E5Ed/s1600-h/IMG_9536.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqG5neIOlJi4UIiXxLXUD9m7_ohHWBYC-PrqG6LkYsi4k-wEv7yT5gxIzXddyUu-AcfxB0wAI_hXOoUOaQ4tHixgegzI0NwC9LnHUuzj59kgxhSRJbJfiGIiEhM9hvIO5frUhBV7w6E5Ed/s400/IMG_9536.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400405177919667730" border="0" /> </a></div></div>Then there was the breathtaking birthday meal at The Most Unexpected Restaurant, Ik Etsnab in Santa Rosa, a little village in the hills above Guanajuato. Picture a sleepy village on a mountain road and then tuck an über-modern glass box into the trees, staff it with a young and talented Mexican couple, and celebrate with dishes like From the Sea, complete with toasted parmesan "sand" and salty "sea foam" topped with flowery flotsam and jetsam and you'll understand the "unexpected" part.<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg102QMYvkPzpyA_TOcHO4TIS_5Tt3go4FPfAESjZEqLHPwFuaFgEkwQzigQEPikvKHhZyFPifd24zDu99PO3e3UVjdd0R1-sHNz87maNDHTSjGIY2s5WOZBnT2y1tED7_sssMYgIJUmdQh/s1600-h/IMG_9356.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 268px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg102QMYvkPzpyA_TOcHO4TIS_5Tt3go4FPfAESjZEqLHPwFuaFgEkwQzigQEPikvKHhZyFPifd24zDu99PO3e3UVjdd0R1-sHNz87maNDHTSjGIY2s5WOZBnT2y1tED7_sssMYgIJUmdQh/s400/IMG_9356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400369054021940018" border="0" /></a><br /></div>And the mad 4-day drive home deserves a post entitled Down to the Last Drop (due to the state of both my gas tank and wallet - over and over!) that produced a photo series I call 70 MPH, all shot driving down the highway staring straight ahead with my right arm stretched toward the open passenger-side window while I raced home in time for a yearly catering gig.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUVFZVErH8AfdVUNqwNNh-nltAtCjjYK__EYjvw3bsx9uu1tjD6uYqmwT_mY9JPOrdEOsIokV0lowPArT8JR8sxGJejGaCwUBDQa0P8Y-tGnnkYHedHM1Tq8PN_Gx768e6fVjKxrOL1h2/s1600-h/IMG_9800.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 382px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUVFZVErH8AfdVUNqwNNh-nltAtCjjYK__EYjvw3bsx9uu1tjD6uYqmwT_mY9JPOrdEOsIokV0lowPArT8JR8sxGJejGaCwUBDQa0P8Y-tGnnkYHedHM1Tq8PN_Gx768e6fVjKxrOL1h2/s400/IMG_9800.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400389519204241634" border="0" /></a></div>Yes, it's not like there hasn't been plenty to write about: The grim fog that settled in over me once I got home and unpacked and realized that tourism to Mexico had all but stopped. My ire at the media and the ache of sympathy I felt for my friends in Mexico that followed the realization. Days and days of through-the-eyes-of-a-child adventures with my darling 5-year-old housemate, and then while he summered with grandma and grandpa the month of cooking and entertaining that ensued in a child-free home, along with all the joy (and new recipes and friends) that brought me.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG7ffFUvkVQ0RUbriqZt3ENZguFvBWutrOpEa1X1XVFxSpyyIkvVq2RSWJUlXNvBw8K9EGHcHZyiUVKQ0zdtd0jkZ7LdqFM-cFbPmklArGrKlZRIwWMyuU6NKZKwmDdfiy8jq46gQ37oa/s1600-h/IMG_0277.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXfPFUM8PqSPMn2nuy9N02EoVnznBR74dfIMVfBx4rZKiN6w2iRtwrnu9NSzgc5AXl6Q9aoZepqqfQ-2vkM8Ee6AEjbxv-nqPN48N9-lSI_zXz4-5q0K_p95U54raQFXT8cXT2X0wEeD-/s1600-h/IMG_0084.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 106px; height: 142px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXfPFUM8PqSPMn2nuy9N02EoVnznBR74dfIMVfBx4rZKiN6w2iRtwrnu9NSzgc5AXl6Q9aoZepqqfQ-2vkM8Ee6AEjbxv-nqPN48N9-lSI_zXz4-5q0K_p95U54raQFXT8cXT2X0wEeD-/s400/IMG_0084.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400412253757225890" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdUAlxRJvVsUwo-KNutG_ugatuMYiATzZ60VgxaBq282_ZiAnZmWhde5p-W1qc14kOcgjIhl1IVXsqBwaeoNqD-3F5h67rWD5qLuD7ELokcsA6if9SaoM-BesEXF_OmedekbZUJjavsLN/s1600-h/IMG_0236.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 147px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggdUAlxRJvVsUwo-KNutG_ugatuMYiATzZ60VgxaBq282_ZiAnZmWhde5p-W1qc14kOcgjIhl1IVXsqBwaeoNqD-3F5h67rWD5qLuD7ELokcsA6if9SaoM-BesEXF_OmedekbZUJjavsLN/s400/IMG_0236.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400412266441441490" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG7ffFUvkVQ0RUbriqZt3ENZguFvBWutrOpEa1X1XVFxSpyyIkvVq2RSWJUlXNvBw8K9EGHcHZyiUVKQ0zdtd0jkZ7LdqFM-cFbPmklArGrKlZRIwWMyuU6NKZKwmDdfiy8jq46gQ37oa/s1600-h/IMG_0277.JPG"> <img style="cursor: pointer; width: 102px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG7ffFUvkVQ0RUbriqZt3ENZguFvBWutrOpEa1X1XVFxSpyyIkvVq2RSWJUlXNvBw8K9EGHcHZyiUVKQ0zdtd0jkZ7LdqFM-cFbPmklArGrKlZRIwWMyuU6NKZKwmDdfiy8jq46gQ37oa/s400/IMG_0277.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400412273636967922" border="0" /><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>A couple of exciting My Mexico Tours events here in the Bay Area. The opening of Bonny Doon Winery's Cellar Door Cafe, the brightest star in Santa Cruz's restaurant sky since India Joze and Emmanuelle's closed, to which new friend Sonia (thank you, Facebook!) introduced me. An article in the local newspaper in which I participated that had the unexpected and delightful side effect of bringing me together with my food guru Jozseph...and the alchemy that continues to develop between us since then.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVG7ffFUvkVQ0RUbriqZt3ENZguFvBWutrOpEa1X1XVFxSpyyIkvVq2RSWJUlXNvBw8K9EGHcHZyiUVKQ0zdtd0jkZ7LdqFM-cFbPmklArGrKlZRIwWMyuU6NKZKwmDdfiy8jq46gQ37oa/s1600-h/IMG_0277.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXfPFUM8PqSPMn2nuy9N02EoVnznBR74dfIMVfBx4rZKiN6w2iRtwrnu9NSzgc5AXl6Q9aoZepqqfQ-2vkM8Ee6AEjbxv-nqPN48N9-lSI_zXz4-5q0K_p95U54raQFXT8cXT2X0wEeD-/s1600-h/IMG_0084.JPG"> </a><br /></div>Yep, there've been plenty of adventures, opinions, tastes, and ideas to share; my iPhoto library bursting at the seams; all friends warned that everyone and everything in my BIG life is now fair game as blog fodder, yet the blog block continued.<br /><br />And then my dear ol' dad got sick. On August 28 he was told it was fast moving small cell lung cancer and 39 days later he died. I spent 36 of those days with him 24/7.<br /><br />And that, you see, opens the floodgates, trumps all the other stories, urges me to write again. About dad, and family, and loss, but most of all about the miraculous magical mystery tour we went on for those 36 days.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The title is clear: Way To Go, Dad. Coming soon, to a blog near you.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8ZaKb4mya1sC5ZoXDQwIJEa_4zsu-MXn6tq8iRopMjSmXtXseIndED0v_n248rW79Ov7uXp1TtJQKXIuH1d3G2yvz6HOq1KpsQAlnddf2T_g1dAVyRFD4bJFY9fTaRvcVQWSw1r_-f4O/s1600-h/IMG_1985.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8ZaKb4mya1sC5ZoXDQwIJEa_4zsu-MXn6tq8iRopMjSmXtXseIndED0v_n248rW79Ov7uXp1TtJQKXIuH1d3G2yvz6HOq1KpsQAlnddf2T_g1dAVyRFD4bJFY9fTaRvcVQWSw1r_-f4O/s400/IMG_1985.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400369029783608290" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Robert A. McNair, surrounded by Paul, Mark, and Yers Truly<br />Lazarus Road Trip, Eastern Shore of Virginia, September 28, 2009<br /></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-57009554570881605572009-06-10T08:58:00.009-07:002009-06-10T10:18:59.581-07:00Licuado de PlatanoOne can't drink papaya lassi <span style="font-style: italic;">every</span> day, can one? This is my other favorite breakfast drink, the perfect fill-me-up at about 11am.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> LICUADO DE PLATANO</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6khM3Hqx-FF-Cs6yOLa7Zi84wVv1EgHMx079nOERAtKGWVDqY4a3WKjhDInTkk2lMK0PLdiUI6pqSGJ9_wIQuR4PWfhvDXa8N_m5UnvXrmy1ivT2RUy3FP7ABBiZLEluBqR5G8lUEUPe2/s1600-h/IMG_9319.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 273px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6khM3Hqx-FF-Cs6yOLa7Zi84wVv1EgHMx079nOERAtKGWVDqY4a3WKjhDInTkk2lMK0PLdiUI6pqSGJ9_wIQuR4PWfhvDXa8N_m5UnvXrmy1ivT2RUy3FP7ABBiZLEluBqR5G8lUEUPe2/s400/IMG_9319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345746905684165186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >2-inch piece of </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >canela</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" > (Mexican or Ceylon Cinnamon)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br />6 or so almonds</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br />1 very ripe banana</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br />1 cup Lori and Dan's homemade goat milk yogurt</span><span style="font-size:85%;">, or your good local unsweetened yogurt</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br />1 teaspoon excellent quality honey</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" ><br />3 ice cubes</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Put cinnamon and almonds in blender first, then add banana, yogurt, honey, and ice cubes. Zap on high until very smooth.</span><br /><br />*You really need <span style="font-style: italic;">canela</span> (also called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinnamon">True Cinnamon or Ceylon Cinnamon</a>) for this. It has a softer and looser bark than <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassia">Cassia,</a> its cousin that we usually see in grocery stores in the US, and therefore will blend into the <span style="font-style: italic;">licuado</span>, giving it a heavenly scent and taste. Try your local Latin market.<br /><br />About that pottery...Beautiful, isn't it? The large piece in the back is Guanajuato-style <a href="http://www.internationalfolkart.org/mayolica/origins-en.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">mayólica</span> </a>made by local master Gorky Gonzales. The small cup is the work of Gene Byron, a Canadian woman who lived here in Marfil from the 60s to the late 80s. Gene was a prolific artist in many forms -- painting, sculpture, designing lamps and lighting fixtures of punched tin, brass, and copper. She also painted somewhat whimsical designs on tile and pottery, many of which adorn this house, which she and her husband built. But that's another story for another day....<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /><br /></span>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-9046156287134353792009-05-31T08:05:00.004-07:002009-06-01T15:10:43.653-07:00Sounds of the 'hood...<div style="text-align: left;">Marfil is my 'hood these days. It’s a small (about 24,000 people) <span style="font-style: italic;">colonia </span>(think precinct or neighborhood) of the city of Guanajuato. The B&B I used to manage, La Casa de Espíritus Alegres, is also in Marfil, just across the road about a hundred yards. What a difference those hundred yards make. Well, a hundred yards and a few hundred years—this house<br />was built in 1960s, La Casa in the 1600<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdquvamekxND30jWzdR9UawTnmCwcn51pqMxIOfyMgiC7FS6L-oimGcbBPVBOwzvaHgFAMit0PKtkWrWbKLDe1tqwD1logPVWGbUB7KiKG4aAGnmEP-YkYmoXFOZJcq3vTvvHUaBa77LlU/s1600-h/+casa+door+1_1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdquvamekxND30jWzdR9UawTnmCwcn51pqMxIOfyMgiC7FS6L-oimGcbBPVBOwzvaHgFAMit0PKtkWrWbKLDe1tqwD1logPVWGbUB7KiKG4aAGnmEP-YkYmoXFOZJcq3vTvvHUaBa77LlU/s400/+casa+door+1_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342417431618925970" border="0" /></a>s.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywaBRTO4nI_MXigmGiCiuz1WlBJfUgYVsbpv4DFn5l9YNV-Jqvh1VAhQOC07uwcZsB_1X84XiDBHujgOqrVAAGA31SVjbBN65wZ33FjBRJNRw69ygLiwIBVRiH77OALU8CeQzt-52hLEs/s1600-h/IMG_9218.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgywaBRTO4nI_MXigmGiCiuz1WlBJfUgYVsbpv4DFn5l9YNV-Jqvh1VAhQOC07uwcZsB_1X84XiDBHujgOqrVAAGA31SVjbBN65wZ33FjBRJNRw69ygLiwIBVRiH77OALU8CeQzt-52hLEs/s400/IMG_9218.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342418852282418514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The B&B is part of the Ex-Hacienda La Trinidad, a former silver-processing hacienda built along the Rio Guanajuato that is currently divided into a few private residences, the B&B, and in the hacienda’s former chapel, La Capilla, a kindergarten of all things. The gardens at La Casa are venerable and lush, a canopy of Jacaranda and Pirul <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schinus_molle">(Peruvian Peppercorn) </a>trees lace one's view of the sky; ivy, bougainvillea and <span style="font-style: italic;">co</span><span style="font-style: italic;">pa de oro vines</span> climb the ancient walls. It's absolutely gorgeous and I spent many a happy hour (and even a few Happy Hours) enjoying the beauty of Marfil from there.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The house I’m in now, however, is on the hill across the street and it is quite literally a completely different world up here. This house has towers of windows that provide a 180-degree view of rugged mountains, more haciendas along the river below, and sunrises over the the outskirts of Guanajuato in the east. In the eight years I worked at the B&B I had no idea that hundreds of egrets fly over Marfil every evening on their way back to the reservoir on the far side of Guanajuato. When I watch the skies here fill with spectacular cloud formations that end some lucky days with lightning, thunder, and rain, I’m reminded of the “big weather” of southwestern U.S.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJxgpGNzhp73PXu8qtHu_4laajW-4Lm5ZzCM_LmzhRjOxl_xFlsrG8FH9OolUEpR87-arbIlG9XCqVUM3lFxUAODz2fbelTl84jBbl6x-u0Uumwr_efNIoAYIW7oYJdkLWLws4TU7tKRt/s1600-h/IMG_8913.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 401px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJxgpGNzhp73PXu8qtHu_4laajW-4Lm5ZzCM_LmzhRjOxl_xFlsrG8FH9OolUEpR87-arbIlG9XCqVUM3lFxUAODz2fbelTl84jBbl6x-u0Uumwr_efNIoAYIW7oYJdkLWLws4TU7tKRt/s400/IMG_8913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342415955001474386" border="0" /></a>By being one block up above the main thoroughfare of Marfil I can barely hear the traffic below, and instead am treated to an entirely new set of only-in-Mexico auditory treats (and some tricks) such as:<br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The distinct calls, bells, and whistles used by vendors as the pass through town. The knife sharpener is my favorite, he plays a five-note scale on his whistle—up, hold, and then down—to announce his presence. One guy goes by every day beginning at about 7am crying out a word that I cannot for the life of me understand. It sounds like “Arroz!” which means rice in Spanish, but I’m pretty darned certain I’m wrong on that one. “El Gaaaaaas!” is common as the LP truck rumbles through, and then there’s the ice cream truck that slowly rolls along each afternoon blaring a honky-tonk piano version of "The Alley Cat Song" from a speaker wired to the roof. Is that the international song for “Buy Ice Cream Now” or is it only in Mexico?</li></ul><ul><li> Children playing in the street in front of the house. I'm not crazy about the clatter produced by this year's most popular toy. It is basically just two plastic balls on either end of a string; you hold the string in the middle and bounce up and down to get the balls to click. Newbies are fine, they don't succeed in clicking the balls that often, but the older boys are really good at it, and they have big balls, it you'll forgive the pun, that make an extremely <span>loud</span> "clackclackclackclack" that seems to go on forever. Think dentistry tool and eardrum; just horrible. But then there are the laughter-filled evenings and weekends when the kids bounce a ball in the street and up against the big stonewall at the bottom of the garden. That one I especially love, it sounds exactly like a happy childhood should sound. When the ball gets away from them and escapes over the wall they ring the bell to come and retrieve it which gives us a few minutes to get to know each other.<span style="font-style: italic;"> T</span><span style="font-style: italic;">hat</span> I treasure.</li></ul><ul><li>The birdsong is amazing here, beginning with the 3am chatter of parrots who've set up housekeeping in a tree outside my bedroom window. Parrots in the high desert of Guanajuato, you ask? Apparently they were (illegally) bought as pets and escaped from their cages. Go parrots!</li></ul><ul><li>There are people walking, driving, and riding horses on the cobblestone street that passes behind the house and leads to a large part of Marfil that I never even knew existed. The lane passes just below the third floor window where I spend many hours working, so I pretty much hear the coming and goings of the entire village’s day. This one fascinates because I can’t actually see the road, just hear the sounds, so I imagine the stories to go along with the sounds. My favorite is the lone rider on horseback who goes down at 10 and back up a 10:30 almost every night. I’ve made him out to be a <span style="font-style: italic;">campesino</span> who lives miles beyond here on his ranch in the hills and who comes down each evening to reward himself for his day of toil in the soil with one ice cold <span style="font-style: italic;">cerveza</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>from the little store down the way.</li></ul><ul><li>Then there are the bells of the church just a few doors away. Since the church is so close they provide the daily soundtrack to life in this house, but I've been here over six weeks and but I <span>still</span> haven't figured them out. They ring on the hour, obviously, and then 15, 30, and 45 minutes after the hour are marked with a different tone. Okay, got that part. Then there are the calls to mass, which seems to happen most mornings at 8:30 and a few times a day on the weekends. That’s when they ring and ring and ring, announcing first, second, and third and final call, basically. Got that part too. But then sometimes I swear I am listening for them and they simply don’t ring. Sleeping bellman? Broken auto-chimer? Then one day the tones sounded different to me. That had me picturing someone up there 24 hours a day and when they switched shifts the tone changed. But that couldn’t possibly be true, who the heck would sleep on a church roof and ring bells every fifteen minutes all day every day, right? Then one day, when I had just about convinced myself that they were definitely on auto-chime, I was standing at the kitchen window washing dishes when the call to mass began. I looked over to see a real person pulling the rope, over and over. Theory bashed. My current thought is that it is some combination of automatic and hand rung, both of which sometimes malfunction, allowing for the missing clangs and mysterious changes in tone. Before I leave town I intend to get to the bottom of this, even if it means putting on a skirt and going to mass.</li></ul><ul><li>And just today I realized that my 'hood here, especially in the morning with all its roosters and chickens and burros, sounds <span style="font-style: italic;">exactly</span> like my farm on Farm Town (a face book app that I am hooked on), which just delights me. When I return to Happy Valley and the familiar howl of coyotes and screech of red-tailed hawks I can turn on Farm Town any time I like and hear my Marfil 'hood.<br /></li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf8nR3HmHphtgWrkkUzwAoAGDuTt7o_pj9YXNi8eBtLwIUQkntHDD1vWDlr_p2Pu5EqmT2o2k9FhbHfbq6jFCkcy0uzLLoF5SmilMjRTVaws_k6ZXQaColSsTkmUVndBLCyHttGz8ThpC/s1600-h/IMG_9239.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 401px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf8nR3HmHphtgWrkkUzwAoAGDuTt7o_pj9YXNi8eBtLwIUQkntHDD1vWDlr_p2Pu5EqmT2o2k9FhbHfbq6jFCkcy0uzLLoF5SmilMjRTVaws_k6ZXQaColSsTkmUVndBLCyHttGz8ThpC/s400/IMG_9239.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342436915710817890" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">I'm the one with the blond ponytail, Farmer Betty.</span><br /><br /></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-47489741872616593392009-05-07T06:20:00.021-07:002009-05-12T15:12:56.345-07:00About that flu...<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">A little background: One of the reasons I wanted to write a blog about the experience of driving to Mexico alone was to share the other side of the story from what we were seeing in the news in the US - the kind and safe side of Mexico.</span> <span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Before I left, I wrote on </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">my website...<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><span>"I’d like to address the 'news' stories about Mexico you’re seeing on TV lately that are <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">wr</span></span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">eaking</span></span></span> havoc on </span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span>tourism in Mexico, as you can imagine.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span> I personally think it’s unconscionable for our sensation-seeking, ratings-rabid media to portray the entire warm, welcoming, and peaceful country of Mexico as being under siege and at </span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span>war. </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">It is simply not true.</span><span> Yes, the government has launched a war against the drug cartels that supply the USA’s insatiable appetite for drugs, but the battles are almost exclusively along the border towns and involve people dealing in illegal activities. Since you are not</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span> likely to be vacationing in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ciudad</span></span></span> Juarez or purchasing i</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">llegal</span></span></span> </span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span>drugs, a visit to Mexico</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span> for you will bear no resemblance to what you’re seeing on TV."</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">And my trip, thankfully, proved my point. I had an absolutely fabulous time and w</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">as well taken care of by kind and caring people wherever I went.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">With 'Handle the Drug Wars' now off my To Do list, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">jum</span></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ped</span></span></span> into my new life in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQEZO2vaI2E-xcfUW6osHEljlYDkZlIMnpCPy8VADdQY134SDpF1DWRuF4F4W090ZZdcDIrkSuZOeR4opk8QId8Y2ZK3R1Fb_Rejk37d4xBSrMPrbcVY-DRxCexfzU2f7_m2wK4elH8lw/s1600-h/IMG_8440.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQEZO2vaI2E-xcfUW6osHEljlYDkZlIMnpCPy8VADdQY134SDpF1DWRuF4F4W090ZZdcDIrkSuZOeR4opk8QId8Y2ZK3R1Fb_Rejk37d4xBSrMPrbcVY-DRxCexfzU2f7_m2wK4elH8lw/s320/IMG_8440.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333145134021609810" border="0" /></a>After a week or so of settling in I was ready to entertain. I invited a couple of pals over for brunch on Friday, April 24. The process of preparing the meal included visits to several little shops in my neighborhood, which delighted me. I never even knew they existed when I lived here before, and now here I was getting <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">bolillos</span></span></span></span> at the religious <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">tchotchke</span></span></span> store (I have no idea why they also sell bread, but I was told that they had the best rolls in town), choosing a gorgeous papaya at the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">fruteria</span></span></span></span>, ordering a <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Vampiro</span></span></span></span> (beets, carrots, and oranges) and a <span style="font-style: italic;">Verde</span> (parsley, pineapple, celery, and <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">nopal</span></span></span> cactus) from the fresh juice stand, and meeting my all neighbors along the way.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUH8eFGK_WSyWwu5k8cJ68u9biSzZ3MPOPyPZxLscN8mvcN9uo9PMtL5nIBBJFyJnY7c-ihdEYu1zkWpllDHxX2ELvqJewp52CqwgsACbmI13la8DMn4BEukWjnpHb00gn4ZDUSbP0Yg0E/s1600-h/IMG_8442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUH8eFGK_WSyWwu5k8cJ68u9biSzZ3MPOPyPZxLscN8mvcN9uo9PMtL5nIBBJFyJnY7c-ihdEYu1zkWpllDHxX2ELvqJewp52CqwgsACbmI13la8DMn4BEukWjnpHb00gn4ZDUSbP0Yg0E/s320/IMG_8442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333254265496329570" border="0" /></a>Pat and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Angélica</span></span></span> came around noon and we spent several hours together enjoying the view from my rooftop terrace, eating, talking, and catching up. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Gela</span></span></span> asked if either of us had heard about this new flu that had been discovered in Mexico City. We hadn't. She told us that the papers that morning had mentioned an outbreak of a new strain, apparently very strange and dangerous and maybe even transmitted from pigs. We shrugged our shoulders. Swine flu? No way. The day was beautiful, the company lovely, the bagels and smoked salmon delicious, and we - and everyone we knew - was well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ntxly69whStEKw5kSm72vR7I50yFdg3XU4rYUSn7NxdimTA4qNwfaJXBGNgFNM8SqlpQosAlw0ZworB1VFEQPQd4dPRNyeQML5dmKncy8cTd-Lk9ifZN5spbTwADfvZwQ8AQYXYgeqWr/s1600-h/IMG_8258.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Ntxly69whStEKw5kSm72vR7I50yFdg3XU4rYUSn7NxdimTA4qNwfaJXBGNgFNM8SqlpQosAlw0ZworB1VFEQPQd4dPRNyeQML5dmKncy8cTd-Lk9ifZN5spbTwADfvZwQ8AQYXYgeqWr/s320/IMG_8258.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333147466451346754" border="0" /></a>That night I googled "influenza Mexico" and read that Mexico had received confirmation from a Canadian lab of a new strain of flu. It was suggested that people in Mexico City not attend large gatherings, including soccer games and mass. The World Health Organization and the Center for Disease Control were involved and the words "epidemic" and "pandemic" were being bandied about. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Ayyy</span></span></span>, what madness was this?<br /><br />I spent a good part of the weekend doing what I would normally do. I attended an meeting of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Guanajuato</span></span></span> Renewable Energy Network (amazing!), visited with friends, and attended a wonderful concert of Brazilian guitar music. Most of the time things were completely normal. But when I wasn't out doing those things I was obsessively reading whatever I could find about Mexico on the Internet. My browser history for that weekend is filled with the BBC, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">NYTimes</span></span></span>, Google searches, and blogs about science, Mexico, health...as well as Anthony <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Bourdain's</span></span></span> No Reservations and Face Book. My in box is full of messages from friends in the hotel business reporting cancellations galore and links to articles about the flu...and all the regular fare alerts and mundane stuff too.<br /><br />It was rather surreal to be reading about one reality and experiencing quite another. I was reminded of Santa Cruz after the 1989 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Loma</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Prieta</span></span></span> earthquake. Then, too, what I saw on TV or read in the papers did not match the reality I saw all around me. While there was tragedy around me, and there<span style="font-style: italic;"> truly</span> was, if you turned on the television it appeared that ALL of San Francisco was on fire and slumping into the ground and ALL freeways were down. But when you went outside and looked around houses were standing (albeit filled with broken china) and people were surfing and playing volleyball on the beach. I felt that same sort of disconnect this time.<br /><br />But it was still scary, how could you not be scared?<br /><br />By Sunday night, April 27, Mexico City was said to be a "ghost town" with just a few people in blue face masks out. Schools there were closed until May 6, hospitals were besieged with people complaining of flu-like symptoms - most of whom were checked and sent home, and President Felipe <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Calderón</span></span></span> asked people to remain calm. In the US a public health emergency was declared after 20 cases of the "swine flu" were reported there.<br /><br />That night my heart ached for Mexico. How could it possibly take this other cruel blow when it was already suffering a recession largely tied to our own economic problems in the US, drug related violence, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">inflammatory</span></span> reports of the latter in the US news that were affecting tourism in a big - and negative - way? I was bothered by the dismissive "Well, it is <span style="font-style: italic;">Mexico, </span>after all..." tone I noted in many of the articles I read. And I cried when I read racists remarks in the "readers comments" sections that followed very decent articles in the NY Times and the Washington Post. I wanted to scream,"Viruses don't know what a border <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span>, you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">idiotas</span></span></span>!"<br /><br />Hugo Garcia, a Mexican <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">editorialist</span></span></span> for the Mexico City daily <span style="font-style: italic;">El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Milenio</span></span></span></span>, wrote "Now, like a sign of the Apocalypse, the last thing we needed -- an epidemic...What the hell did Mexicans do for the Gods to punish us like this?" I had been wondering the same thing myself, but using the words"karmic circle" in place of Gods.<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>And just when it couldn't get any worse, it did. Monday morning an earthquake of 5.7 struck in the nearby state of Guerrero and was felt in Mexico City. Little harm was done, but it was a <span style="font-style: italic;">huge </span>blow to an already shaken public. You really did have to wonder about the end of the world, the plagues and all that. What was next?, I wondered. Boils, floods, and locusts?<br /><br />Wait...locusts we could handle. Send locusts and we'll fry them up, sprinkle them with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">chile</span></span></span>, call them <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">chapulines</span></span></span></span>, and sell them in the markets in Oaxaca. That was the one weak joke I could make in an increasingly sad situation.<img src="file:///Users/elizabethmcnair/Desktop/Ideas+creativas.png" alt="" /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMyfLW8C0S-2m20kJw3cWwE_vIA0m_pdOqsrwtdcnQNKGQDt7o6hjQQxteSGpIV-6x-HHmParLOu7mWyBxnAL-pEPlC7bYern6M2kWwcQAhA-3VjiS9Wk_jc6Lx-05wIT9UiazKFchrOm/s1600-h/Ideas+creativas.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMyfLW8C0S-2m20kJw3cWwE_vIA0m_pdOqsrwtdcnQNKGQDt7o6hjQQxteSGpIV-6x-HHmParLOu7mWyBxnAL-pEPlC7bYern6M2kWwcQAhA-3VjiS9Wk_jc6Lx-05wIT9UiazKFchrOm/s320/Ideas+creativas.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333256171613977490" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Some creative <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">tapaboca</span></span></span></span> humor from Mexico City.</span></div><br />I started to hear from friends asking, "Got masks?" There was still not a single case of the new flu in the State of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Guanajuato</span></span></span>, and I was, quite honestly, more concerned with my mother's knee replacement surgery that afternoon (she's doing great, thanks for asking) than I was about a flu that was no where near me and that I wasn't going to catch and an earthquake that had apparently caused little damage, but I was aware all day of the gloom that hung over the country like a giant storm cloud about to burst.<br /><br />I had a dinner party that night, and over drinks I asked the group (two Mexicans, one Canadian who has lived here for many years, his German wife who lives here and there, and four North Americans - one a tourist, two who own homes here, and me) what they thought about the situation. The conversation was nothing if not lively. "This happened right after Hillary and Obama were here, could they have brought it?" "Our government knows more than they are telling us." "I don't get it, why is the US media seem to be trashing Mexico so badly these days?" "It's got to be a conspiracy of the drug companies to sell us anti-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">virals</span></span>." "Did you read the statistics of how many people die in he US from your everyday garden variety flu every year? <span style="font-style: italic;">30-50 thousand!</span> Who knew?"<br /><br />For dinner I served <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Cochinita</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Pibil</span></span></span> - a roasted PORK dish from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Yucatán</span></span></span>. It was fabulous.<br /><br />By Tuesday school across all of Mexico were closed, sending parents who had just gotten their kids back to school after Easter vacation dashing to the video stores to stock up for yet another Spring Break. I heard from a dear friend who was to arrive the next night and spend a week that she was canceling due to fears of the flu. Another friend, who planning to spend one night with me before going on to San Miguel where he was to officiate at a wedding, was informed that the wedding was cancelled. He decided to come anyway - flu be damned! - and spend the extra days in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. News reports started to trickle, then pour, in about a pig farm in Veracruz...La Gloria...<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Smithfield</span></span></span> Hams...a little boy named Edgar...a woman in Oaxaca...factory farming...and whose fault is this, anyway?<br /><br />One brilliant piece of reporting, I thought, came my way on Tuesday via <a href="http://www.rachellauden.com/">Rachel <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Lauden</span></span></span></a>, a food historian and friend who lives here in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. It's from a blog called <a href="http://junkfoodscience.blogspot.com/">Junk Food Science</a>, which sets out to debunk popular myths and get to the truth of the matter regarding food, health, and science. The piece is entitled Flu Fears, and though its numbers on this particular flu strain in this particular post are obviously outdated now, the sound information about <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">flus</span></span></span> and epidemics and the like is great, well worth a read. (Click <a href="http://junkfoodscience.blogspot.com/2009/04/flu-fears.html">here</a> to do so.) One important point she made was the unwarranted - and unbridled - use of the word "pandemic" by the media even though the facts did not support that.<br /><br />Oh, heck, what are facts to the media?<br /><br />Somewhere around May 1st it began to dawn on me that while the flu was very real and deserved my attention, I was once again being taken for a ride by our out-of-control media. I began to notice that almost all articles with doom and gloom headlines had words like "likely", "might become", and "could evolve into" in them. The light came on. I stopped obsessively reading everything I could find about the flu and choose instead to wait for things to calm down. They always do.<br /><br />Luckily Tobin was here to take my away from my computer for a few days and we had a wonderful time visiting Dolores <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">Hidalgo</span></span></span> and San Miguel. Oh, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. I finally did let him see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Guanajuato</span></span></span>.<br /><br />We were treated like royalty at Hacienda <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">de</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">las</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">Trancas</span></span></span> while Tobin consoled the disappointed bride who'd had to cancel her dream wedding because her friends in the States were told they would face unpaid quarantine days when then returned from Mexico. (This is in a state with not one reported case of the A(H1N1) flu. '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">Splain</span></span></span> that one to me, Lucy.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxuyFl9kSG2ug90bhxCNdOhQESqc3Hj60x5lXrJKpn2YI8Yk5rUuCbE7YbraUitWDVMiNgLqIUU7T1lrhqQlm_uFu_3_yvFlHClO8gLIfe1WnjXKBvuS8Wz_kywgJfg2zip0HS0tTJeeH/s1600-h/tobin.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxuyFl9kSG2ug90bhxCNdOhQESqc3Hj60x5lXrJKpn2YI8Yk5rUuCbE7YbraUitWDVMiNgLqIUU7T1lrhqQlm_uFu_3_yvFlHClO8gLIfe1WnjXKBvuS8Wz_kywgJfg2zip0HS0tTJeeH/s400/tobin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333231127103639106" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Tobin, acting like the royalty he is.</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span>And we spent a fabulous night with my pal Dianne at her <a href="http://www.casaluna.com/rancho.htm"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Rancho</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Casa</span></span> Luna </a>the most elegant "ranch" I've ever seen. Absolutely over-the-top gorgeousness wherever you look. We slept in big iron beds in the outside bedroom, I felt like I was in a set for a Ralph Lauren ad.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzhb7j2_foijhM97xaDBvbZWpV70BmAOdNGA1V5HyTmoJ7SoZM9x5_qbcDuD_QpTRpch1ZNrqaZFNAE8A-a7rhgaSg3GL87-sw2qGrfWOe3tsuXBSI8AkSClno6wT8-4i_dP8PqagBI00/s1600-h/IMG_8393.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 404px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAzhb7j2_foijhM97xaDBvbZWpV70BmAOdNGA1V5HyTmoJ7SoZM9x5_qbcDuD_QpTRpch1ZNrqaZFNAE8A-a7rhgaSg3GL87-sw2qGrfWOe3tsuXBSI8AkSClno6wT8-4i_dP8PqagBI00/s400/IMG_8393.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333234988418437618" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">There's Tobin doing his Royalty thing again, this time at the fabulous <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Rancho</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Casa</span></span> Luna.</span><br /><br /></div>A couple of good articles from the New York Times came my way during the week, one by Julio <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Frenk</span></span>, Mexico’s former minister of health, now dean of the Harvard School of Public Health, entitled <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/01/opinion/01frenk.html">Mexico's Fast Diagnosis</a>, in which he refers to the influenza situation as a "global challenge". That phrase resonates deeply with me. Another on May 1st had the headline "Outbreak in Mexico May Be Smaller Than Feared"; good news at last!<br /><br />Yes, it was becoming clear that this flu, too, shall pass.<br /><br />I have to say, I am grateful to be here during all this. I can't imagine being in California with the 24/7 barrage of "news" in my face everyday. I'd be worried sick (pun intended.) By being here I am able to balance the hysteria building in the media over the imminent pandemic sweeping the country - and then the world! - with the reality I see around me: Mexico City brought to a standstill as people took the warning to stay home seriously now slowly coming back to life, still no flu in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Guanajuato</span>, and the stabilizing of numbers of actual cases and deaths from cases across the country.<br /><br />I think the Mexican government, which had the <span style="font-style: italic;">impossible</span> task of handling this storm, and the Mexican people, who have a healthy distrust of said government, did a brilliant job of keeping this outbreak very much under control. I'm very proud of them. Twenty-nine people dead of anything is tragic, but it could have been so much worse had they not taken the precautionary measures they did. I say, ¡Bravo Mexico!<br /><br />What deeply worries me now that things are back to "normal" is the livelihood of the thousands and thousands of people affected by this latest blow to an already suffering economy, specifically in my world of tourism. Weddings, events, and vacations were canceled throughout Mexico for months to come, even in areas where no flu was present - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Guanajuato</span> is a perfect example. They are predicting (be careful here...who are "they"? and note that I am using the word "predicting") a drop in tourism this year of about 40%. But even if "they" are exaggerating the exact number, it will be <span style="font-style: italic;">huge</span> in a country where tourism is the third most important source of foreign income.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMhUP0xgJbo906gfJe2dR1vWgagvGOBSBg7_AesTnRF8b1HYP2wpu36MA-fNmSKE4QmKpcHNfC9zbNoyE5mS76mCL41Sj7KxYWC3b7i6QQHYRFI6jVi1Hq7q2Hcuh-z-bi8pcPPhP80L3/s1600-h/BilleteBenitoJuarez...jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 165px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVMhUP0xgJbo906gfJe2dR1vWgagvGOBSBg7_AesTnRF8b1HYP2wpu36MA-fNmSKE4QmKpcHNfC9zbNoyE5mS76mCL41Sj7KxYWC3b7i6QQHYRFI6jVi1Hq7q2Hcuh-z-bi8pcPPhP80L3/s320/BilleteBenitoJuarez...jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333256173134845858" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">I don't know who made this so I can't give them the credit they deserve, but I was sent this by several friends this week.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"> I know he's wearing a mask, but did he wash his hands?</span><br /><br /></div>My friends with businesses here are creatively coming up with projects to keep their staff busy and employed, but it's going to take clients to pay those salaries. A waiter in Mexico makes just his tips, so even if he keeps his job he needs diners in the restaurant to make a living. I'm worried about the airlines, sure, but also about the flight attendants, pilots, and the guys who wave the flashlights and move your bags at the airport. Hotel owners are in a pickle, and so are their lovely maids, maintenance staff, and bell boys. Bus drivers are losing shifts, taxi drivers too. Everyone here will feel the effects of this flu for weeks and months to come. I just hope and pray that people won't stay away for long.<br /><br />From my vantage point in Guanajuato, I can tell you <span style="font-style: italic;">wholeheartedly</span> and with no reservations that it's a great time to visit. There are still no cases of the flu in the state, there are no lines at the airport, people in the hospitality business have never been more hospitable, the peso is still hovering around 13 to the dollar, and heck, I've been telling you to wash your hands for years, so there's nothing new there.<br /><br />Again, I am only one voice, but I want to speak up in hopes of balancing a little of the sensationalism and unfortunately, xenophobia, that is out there:<br /><ul><li>This influenza is on the planet, not just in Mexico. We all live in a big soup bowl called Planet Earth and on that planet flu strains are morphing, we keep on reproducing, and our demands on the planet are high.<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Put these numbers you are hearing into perspective. Every year in the US upwards of 50,000 people succumb to the influenza or resulting infections. In contrast, as of May 7 there are 2371 verified cases of the A(H1N1) flu <span style="font-style: italic;">in the world</span>, and 44 of those cases resulted in deaths. Repeat: 50,ooo vs. less than 3,000. *<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Take what you read and hear in the news with a HUGE grain of salt. We cannot simply believe everything we read or hear, that is very clear.<br /></li></ul>I have always told people who travel with My Mexico Tours that you, the travelers, need to trust yourselves in order to stay safe and healthy and I will say that again today. Read the papers, talk to your doctor, do some research on your own, and when you feel confident and safe to travel in Mexico come on down and enjoy. <span style="font-style: italic;">It is as safe here as where you sit right now, reading this.</span><br /><br />And before I step off my soap box, let me say one more thing:<br /><br />I believe there is an opportunity in the midst of this crisis for us to all learn a lesson or two about our world and how we're caring for it...or not. We<span style="font-style: italic;"> must </span>confront the perils of factory farming, we <span style="font-style: italic;">cannot</span> turn our heads from the absolute necessity of health care for all, everywhere, and, most importantly, I truly hope this reminds us that<span style="font-style: italic;"> we are all in this together. </span><span>If we would just remember this, I could consider this nightmare a blessing.</span><br /><br />Now go wash your hands, wherever you are.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">¡Viva Mexico! ¡Viva Madre Tierra!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrdKB9tAY-YoNwQLkozjptEWXAW9yePHMnhWJnw-hsUKMmHFiiyzl6sA204gYzc6DSfTUPfeTMUWA4dYLr-kFImHC0Yr25vEqlEvfBKLQZrD2vjQzkSIRhM3A6Ss7huaL4ZgduAEPZ1zK/s1600-h/Betsychiles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrdKB9tAY-YoNwQLkozjptEWXAW9yePHMnhWJnw-hsUKMmHFiiyzl6sA204gYzc6DSfTUPfeTMUWA4dYLr-kFImHC0Yr25vEqlEvfBKLQZrD2vjQzkSIRhM3A6Ss7huaL4ZgduAEPZ1zK/s400/Betsychiles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333234992021892098" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Killer Chiles Rellenos at La Sierra in Santa Rosa, a little village in the hills above Guanajuato. Let's go!!<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;">*As of May 11, 2009, acording the W.H.O., the number of worldwide cases of this flu is <span>5251 with 61 cases resulting in death.<br /></span></div></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-89509641878922110542009-05-06T09:43:00.013-07:002009-05-11T20:18:26.813-07:00Papaya Lassi, it's what's for breakfast...<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" > PAPAYA LASSI</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawb50JLzlFNva18KvHb0lbVg3vqz-Ixg3_dl-4cEHHSSBRxa0mJ3vaEMWzjQ4O3fw_0SpcmVlJIFiWMGwNH60zjBLoKYfAgCQaSAugWQwjYrd3T0X05Q1aTZYx3Yk-SvNq4FojVy9WQ-f/s1600-h/IMG_8451.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawb50JLzlFNva18KvHb0lbVg3vqz-Ixg3_dl-4cEHHSSBRxa0mJ3vaEMWzjQ4O3fw_0SpcmVlJIFiWMGwNH60zjBLoKYfAgCQaSAugWQwjYrd3T0X05Q1aTZYx3Yk-SvNq4FojVy9WQ-f/s320/IMG_8451.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332768758792406466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >2-3 cardamon pods</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, brought to Mexico years ago by a dear friend visiting from Milwaukee and still flavorful after all these years, lightly toasted and cracked open.<br /></span></div><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >2 cups or so chunks of </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >super ripe </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >papaya, </span><span style="font-size:100%;">peeled and seeded.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >1.5 cups fresh yogurt</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, goat's milk handmade by a friend if possible, or use a good quality unsweetened yogurt if you don't live near Lori and Dan.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >1 TBS or so Rancho San Cayetano's organic honey</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, if you're lucky enough to have some on hand, if not you can substitute your favorite honey for now and make plans to go to Michoacán with me next March to see millions of monarchs and cook with DK.<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >4-5 ice cubes</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Put cardamom in to blender first, then add all other ingredients. Zap until velvety smooth. Pour into tall glass and breathe in the scent of cardamon before you take your first sip.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />Makes enough for 2 if you're feeling generous, or just 1 if it's all about you today.<br /><br />As I wrote this recipe down I realized that it is inspired by both the late great Joan Summers, creator of the Casa de Espiritus Alegres B&B, and her husband, artist Carol Summers. Joan taught me how to pick the sweetest papaya - it should look almost like it's on the way out - and I tasted my first lassi in India with Carol. They were a great combo, those two, and so are the flavors in this flavorful drink.</span>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-14767788131102395302009-05-05T13:34:00.007-07:002009-05-07T06:25:28.934-07:00Road Trip, the photos!!<object name="Slideshow" id="Slideshow" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab" classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" align="middle" width="425" height="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.shutterfly.com/flashapps/flashslideshow/Slideshow.swf"><param name="flashvars" value="configurl=http%3A%2F%2Fws.shutterfly.com%2Fshare%2Fexternal_slideshow_config%3Fsid%3D1Qcs3DRm5Yvsg"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed id="Slideshow" name="Slideshow" quality="high" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="configurl=http%3A%2F%2Fws.shutterfly.com%2Fshare%2Fexternal_slideshow_config%3Fsid%3D1Qcs3DRm5Yvsg" pluginspage="http://www.adobe.com/go/getflashplayer" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" bgcolor="#869ca7" src="http://www.shutterfly.com/flashapps/flashslideshow/Slideshow.swf" align="middle" width="425" height="425"></embed></object><p style="width: 425px; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">DO THIS! <a href="http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=1Qcs3DRm5Yvsg&eid=115">Click here to view these pictures larger.</a> <img src="https://os.shutterfly.com/b/ss/sflyshareprod/1/H.15/111?pageName=sharekey&c1=pictures&c2=blogger" border="0" width="1" height="1" />DO THIS!<br /></p>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-66814865569375992612009-04-30T15:27:00.009-07:002009-06-01T13:38:04.209-07:00At home in Mexico<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">The date is Thursday, April 30, 2009. </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">I am at home in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. I </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">know this because, as cooks the world over know, </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">being "at home" means having rice, beans, </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">pasta, </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">onions, and garlic in the pantry, fresh fruit and </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">vegetables in the </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">refrigerator, some pr</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">otein</span></span></span> in t</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">he freezer, and a pot of chicken stock on the stove. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">But settling into my new beautiful home in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Guanajuato</span></span></span> has also meant coming down off the thrill of The Road Trip.</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> Writing these posts, telling the stories of my adventures, has been helpful in bringing me into the present, allowing me to process </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">all that I saw and smelled and thought of as the road flew beneath me for almost 2,500 miles.</span><br /><br />The stats for the trip:<br /><ul><li>I started the trip on Tuesday, April 7 when I left my home in Happy Valley, Santa Cruz, California at 1pm. I arrived in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Marfil</span></span></span>, a district of the city of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Guanajuato</span></span></span> in the state of the same name seven days later on Monday, April 13, at 4:30pm. Total travel time = 147.5 hours; 95 in the US and 52.5 in Mexico.</li></ul><ul><li>I started out slowly - it took me 4 full days to leave California and head east into Arizona and to the border, about 1000 miles in total, and gained speed in Mexico, where I covered about 1500 miles in 2 days.</li></ul><ul><li>I spent about $140 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">USD</span></span> on gas.</li></ul><ul><li>Tolls in Mexico totaled $109 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">USD</span></span></span>, which works out to about 7 cents per mile. For this nominal fee I had well maintained roads that were patrolled by the <span style="font-style: italic;">Angeles <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Verdes</span></span></span></span> (Green Angels), a fleet of roadside service vehicles that prowl the highways of Mexico 24 hours a day looking for motorists in need. (They're rather like AAA except that they're out there looking for you and it's free.) There were gas <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">stations</span> with clean bathrooms and <span style="font-style: italic;">mini-supers</span> all along the route, and safe and sane fellow drivers.</li></ul>My observations:<br /><ul><li>People throughout the trip were - as I have always found in my travels in Mexico - kind and helpful. This time they were also a little incredulous that I was making this trip <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">solita</span></span></span></span> (alone).<br /></li></ul><ul><li>There were a few times during the trip when I was afraid. They were: 1) when I thought I might have done some damage to the tire by hitting the Invisible Cement Thing, 2) the morning that I was getting dangerously low on gas while counting the kilometers to the next <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Pemex</span></span></span> station, and 3) a couple of times when, while driving, I could feel my eyes drooping from the sameness, not from tiredness. Cranking up the tunes and singing along helped with this one.<br /></li></ul><ul><li>The highlights of the trip inside Mexico were 1) the absolute zaniness at the border and the necessary "logic adjustment" that followed, 2) driving Karina the toll-taker home to Santa Ana, 3) my guardian angels Carmen and Manuel in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Guaymas</span></span></span>, 4) staying in a No Tell Motel, and 5) the delicious <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">barbacoa</span></span></span></span> outside of Guadalajara.</li></ul>For the record: I saw NO <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">narco</span></span></span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">traficante</span></span></span></span> action, no rolling heads, and certainly no police state in Mexico. (I think Anderson Cooper should be made to wear a silly hat and stand in the corner for his shenanigans in the combat suit. Reminds me of a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">presdent</span></span></span> we once had.) I'm not denying that drug-related problems exist, I am saying that crossing the border and then driving 1500 miles in Mexico with my eyes wide open, I saw none of these problems. No kidnappings, no drug cartels, and no police or army personnel. (I take that back. Somewhere around Hermosillo I saw three army jeeps filled with guys in uniform heading north. It looked liked the kind of thing you see in the US - first vehicle said "First in Convoy" and the last vehicle said " End of Convoy." I have no idea where they were going or what they were doing.)<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Let me sum this up: My experience driving alone from </span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">the US border to Central Mexico was absolutely delightful. I felt completely safe. I was </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">looked after and well cared for by everyone with whom I had contact. The coffee in the ubiquitous <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">OXXO</span></span></span> markets was terrible, but that is really my only complaint. I'd do it again in a minute. And I will, in June when it's time to go home.</span><br /><br />Okay, off the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">caja</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">de</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">jabón</span></span></span></span> and on to life in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Guanajuato</span>...<br /><br />Dear Faye was here for the first two days and plenty of time was spent learning all the rules of a new house: when to pay whom, which keys open which locks, where to put the garbage, how to turn the lights on, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">etcetera</span>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mBPq_6RMJrQEMwJzN3vyYHs-k_15VqAS3RjpkbDHbRL5SE_RWzaOaOalZAkJWRPf_FvbccOZD3rD50evZidhAwwLMrz9E9ZtRvxdoyPVKFgSWvxeacGBkkNXIZrhFBOUFBn4u9GRjGvM/s1600-h/IMG_8098.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 151px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mBPq_6RMJrQEMwJzN3vyYHs-k_15VqAS3RjpkbDHbRL5SE_RWzaOaOalZAkJWRPf_FvbccOZD3rD50evZidhAwwLMrz9E9ZtRvxdoyPVKFgSWvxeacGBkkNXIZrhFBOUFBn4u9GRjGvM/s320/IMG_8098.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328865175053857810" border="0" /></a></div>We rested, we read, and on Faye's last day in Mexico we spent a glorious late afternoon in downtown <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Guanajuato</span></span></span> on the rooftop terrace of Alma <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">de</span></span></span> Sol, my pal Hugo's B&B, then had a wonderful dinner overlooking the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Jardín</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Unión</span></span></span>, </span>the main plaza of <a href="http://www.guanajuatocapital.com/ingles/Nminera.htm"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Guanajuato</span></span></span></a>. Over Frito <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Mixto</span></span></span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Osso</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Bucco</span></span></span> at an Italian place called El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Frescatti</span></span></span>, we looked down upon the bustling town as the marvelous cacophony drifted up to us: Mariachi, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Ranchero</span></span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Norteña</span></span></span>, and Spanish-style troubadours in Renaissance garb (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHfnrpYyaIg"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Estudiantinas</span></span></span></a>) all played at once, seemingly oblivious to each other as they belted out everything from <span style="font-style: italic;">De <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Colores</span></span></span></span> in six-part harmony, the crowd swaying and singing along, to <span style="font-style: italic;">El Mariachi Loco</span>, a song that Hugo always rewrites in the moment to tell my story: <span style="font-style: italic;">"Esta <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">gringa</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">loca</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">quiere</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">bailar</span></span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">esta</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">gringa</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">loca</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">quiere</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">cantar</span></span></span>."</span> (This crazy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">gringa</span></span></span> wants to dance, this crazy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">gringa</span></span></span> wants to sing. And he's right!) It was a glorious only-in-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Guanajuato</span></span></span> evening made even more special by sharing it with Her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Fayeness</span></span></span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">Hugito</span></span></span>.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4mBPq_6RMJrQEMwJzN3vyYHs-k_15VqAS3RjpkbDHbRL5SE_RWzaOaOalZAkJWRPf_FvbccOZD3rD50evZidhAwwLMrz9E9ZtRvxdoyPVKFgSWvxeacGBkkNXIZrhFBOUFBn4u9GRjGvM/s1600-h/IMG_8098.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFY6gtC9Vo2iu-GDa5DaTEinCiDVq10pTFFM4Utl7JlNkDo3uVUMjDM6VHZPcD2cm-xc8hpRs2Bmfke0ffNbXCrrj-xnAuNH0GofsX_MQ22J8qpA42Q_0xJEttLI28IDj_x4__a7Ezbqdp/s1600-h/IMG_8118.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZzsKkK4oHAAt5SNtrAUXFuA5T8bkJGwgkxtfn4fulJbke6SERuyh0M_bXH658mL2pHRxxlaARcci0eCj9g9O4dIHI1t_tOaCWdo79TsZ9vfmaKxtc11j4cr6zVeMbpTKguUjs_7Qr3nT/s1600-h/IMG_8121.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZzsKkK4oHAAt5SNtrAUXFuA5T8bkJGwgkxtfn4fulJbke6SERuyh0M_bXH658mL2pHRxxlaARcci0eCj9g9O4dIHI1t_tOaCWdo79TsZ9vfmaKxtc11j4cr6zVeMbpTKguUjs_7Qr3nT/s320/IMG_8121.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328865180180156402" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZzsKkK4oHAAt5SNtrAUXFuA5T8bkJGwgkxtfn4fulJbke6SERuyh0M_bXH658mL2pHRxxlaARcci0eCj9g9O4dIHI1t_tOaCWdo79TsZ9vfmaKxtc11j4cr6zVeMbpTKguUjs_7Qr3nT/s1600-h/IMG_8121.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZZzsKkK4oHAAt5SNtrAUXFuA5T8bkJGwgkxtfn4fulJbke6SERuyh0M_bXH658mL2pHRxxlaARcci0eCj9g9O4dIHI1t_tOaCWdo79TsZ9vfmaKxtc11j4cr6zVeMbpTKguUjs_7Qr3nT/s1600-h/IMG_8121.JPG"> </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">The next day I dropped Faye off at the airport and officially began my two months living in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Guanajuato</span></span></span>. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">As I said, the way I feel at home in a place is to fill the larder, so I went straight to the grocery store. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I figured I'd take the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">toro</span></span></span></span> by the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">cuernos</span></span></span></span>, as it were, so I went to the newish behemoth grocery store that had grown on the hill since I left in 2003 and I perused </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">every single aisle to 1) learn what people eat here (or, at least, what the store owners believe people eat here), and 2) figure out what I and the people I planned to entertain would eat here. One thing that never fails to impress me in Mexico is the enormous variety and quantity of yogurt products available in the markets. This is just a corner of the yogurt department:</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHxTJ5pTqLVWtAj-oWTW6SNYLOpgRjK3MJ3v9BN4S5h_tKOlDo1M8ueOnLzSlpchRZWkGmRpAoJOpw2wfz-OqXXn0eWgZs1rfXNCw0FI94ghBrp-E46UirpbDoRhr3G3oP0Iv49HTiPqY/s1600-h/IMG_8127.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHxTJ5pTqLVWtAj-oWTW6SNYLOpgRjK3MJ3v9BN4S5h_tKOlDo1M8ueOnLzSlpchRZWkGmRpAoJOpw2wfz-OqXXn0eWgZs1rfXNCw0FI94ghBrp-E46UirpbDoRhr3G3oP0Iv49HTiPqY/s320/IMG_8127.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331280024130987394" border="0" /></a></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Over $200 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">USD</span></span></span> later (an enormous sum to spend on food in Mexico) I had </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">jamon</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">serrano</span></span></span></span> (think prosciutto), <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">arrachera</span></span></span> </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">(a thin cut of beef very popular here for grilling) and </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">chorizo</span></span></span> of two types in the </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">freezer; goat cheese, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">Oaxacan</span></span></span> string cheese, and Parmesan cheese in the reefer; papaya, mangoes, bananas, limes, tomatoes, onions, and lettuce soaking in a </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">disinfectant solution in the sink, wine in the rack and sparkling water chilling, and enough </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">nosh-type goodies in the house to handle snacks for drop-in guests. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">My Full Larder = Happy Heart </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">syndrome had been </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">addressed and i</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">ts needs met. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The temperature outside was a dry 90 degrees Fahrenheit and I haven't lived through an East Coast winter since 1989, but it's clear to me that this drive comes from a deep-seated </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">need </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">t</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">o know that if we get snowed in I can feed us all for a week.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjSkwsczBognmTpEBHBZ4mllLfYT7daiIX17cA0iC5RFhltYNfApgNERdJLYIpWR-W8yfM5vDf4Y6FxlqnlNjrjpW1MwOWmLNc98ZfU6RtG4Xoim_FzT71pTx9zT47N90gTRtvZXfnfcc/s1600-h/IMG_8131.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPjSkwsczBognmTpEBHBZ4mllLfYT7daiIX17cA0iC5RFhltYNfApgNERdJLYIpWR-W8yfM5vDf4Y6FxlqnlNjrjpW1MwOWmLNc98ZfU6RtG4Xoim_FzT71pTx9zT47N90gTRtvZXfnfcc/s320/IMG_8131.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328827238953673922" border="0" /></a>The stock pot simmered away. I started calling people, telling them that I was town, making plans. (If a cook knows she's home when the pantry is stocked, a caterer knows she's arrived when the first dinner party is scheduled.) I met a friend who makes goat's milk yogurt so I bought some and started making myself a papaya <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">lassi</span></span></span> for breakfast every morning. (Absolutely delicious. Just needed a pinch of cardamom and I found some yesterday.)<br /><br />On Saturday I went to a "tea party" where I met at least fifteen new-to-me North American women who moved to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">Guanajuato</span></span></span> since I left in 2003. After lunch I spent a good hour <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">chismear</span></span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">ing</span></span></span> (Spanglish for gossiping) with two older gals whom I met on my second day in Mexico in December 1994. Sunday afternoon I attended an excellent concert at the Gene Byron Museum across the street from my house. Wonderful accessible jazz music played by four darling young men, all students at the University of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59">Guanajuato</span></span>. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60">Cuarteto</span></span></span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61">Obsidiana</span></span></span>, The Obsidian Quartet. Later in the afternoon I visited with the younger crowd in town at a BBQ at El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62">Fusilado</span></span>, a way cool mescal bar in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63">Valenciana</span></span>. A full weekend.<br /><br />That night a cool wind began to blow. And blow. It had been very warm, 90s, so it was a welcome respite. I slept with the bedroom door open to the garden to enjoy the breeze and the view of the mountains. I the morning it was still cool and breezy and the room was littered with bright pink bougainvillea flowers. Gorgeous.<br /><br />Ignacio the gardener came by that afternoon for a couple of hours to pour gallons and gallons of water onto the parched earth. I was sitting at my desk writing and watching him outside when I began to hear...thunder? No way, not in April; this is the dry season before the rains begin in June. But <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64">Guanajuato</span></span> is laced with tunnels (it's a mining town, after all) so I figured they were working on a new tunnel and I was hearing the explosions of dynamite, a common sound in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_66"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65">Guanajuato</span></span>.<br /><br /><a style="font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvtDdxdGv_ZjVYkrB9kO8-jNG4da6G8NAMV1yG2nOeQNauNlQj1xDQv_An7NmqyhfWOMkimTWU7712FH8-7rC7vO1H8l2txvITkvFuoKAKp2VjL2_YUBJMT8g9bPllExPO2ZmYFBqbN5S/s1600-h/IMG_8165.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 223px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvtDdxdGv_ZjVYkrB9kO8-jNG4da6G8NAMV1yG2nOeQNauNlQj1xDQv_An7NmqyhfWOMkimTWU7712FH8-7rC7vO1H8l2txvITkvFuoKAKp2VjL2_YUBJMT8g9bPllExPO2ZmYFBqbN5S/s320/IMG_8165.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331270819528116690" border="0" /></a>But it got louder and the sky turned a steel blue and suddenly it began to pour. Big time. Like run-madly-through-the-house-closing-doors-and-windows pour. By the time I hit the third storey it had changed to hail and I was being pounded with little pellets of ice. I grabbed my camera and tried to catch a few pix of this amazing phenomena. (Note the hose that was dropped mid-watering as Ignacio ran to get out of the storm.)<br /><br />And I'm thinking, Yahoo! If we get "hailed in" I'll be able to feed the neighborhood for three days!<br /><br />Some photos of my lovely <span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_67"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_66">casa</span></span>...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqBtAsYVwH7EH3SbD5AyXZK674LdGBTeXHdE_0ofxtQ8tTHwshou8QlloqPLM8akPIPMFzdx2zvrcI_Br9kgqBKft2K0zq_KOYgTQoinUMFmdYEszIrnP32rMgifLUyEPLe4nu2Fflcpv/s1600-h/IMG_8169.JPG"> </a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37RO7oRuGnUKpNGV5DMWDBdXB8TMv89Mzt-BOw3VYC-7tzG2s61eyqM0JpBNmiJOa222iI56dXcfGUeQnC58MBPY2Oo2UQvSWuLQoYiJpiMFoNiAplUzbDEUdVTPBIyfm2t77mcog9pgx/s1600-h/IMG_8134.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37RO7oRuGnUKpNGV5DMWDBdXB8TMv89Mzt-BOw3VYC-7tzG2s61eyqM0JpBNmiJOa222iI56dXcfGUeQnC58MBPY2Oo2UQvSWuLQoYiJpiMFoNiAplUzbDEUdVTPBIyfm2t77mcog9pgx/s320/IMG_8134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331291949383639634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT98wGYa6UbEJBUMt4j77fj0UmFFyBwa6G8B5NPOtzcWTz39Sa3eT5zhnyoQOBDMYVgrIJfczoFoEwbw6W0CJEbKoDtK8K8Ug8WsqfQZUWbT13IeKxisfSCnScaAzXsf633XGD9XzGCpg/s1600-h/IMG_8177.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaT98wGYa6UbEJBUMt4j77fj0UmFFyBwa6G8B5NPOtzcWTz39Sa3eT5zhnyoQOBDMYVgrIJfczoFoEwbw6W0CJEbKoDtK8K8Ug8WsqfQZUWbT13IeKxisfSCnScaAzXsf633XGD9XzGCpg/s320/IMG_8177.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331662026564610866" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37RO7oRuGnUKpNGV5DMWDBdXB8TMv89Mzt-BOw3VYC-7tzG2s61eyqM0JpBNmiJOa222iI56dXcfGUeQnC58MBPY2Oo2UQvSWuLQoYiJpiMFoNiAplUzbDEUdVTPBIyfm2t77mcog9pgx/s1600-h/IMG_8134.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMiI1Zhk7mA9na26b2QozqCGX3G0rjhx2grwCcdPDZHp1_m_YnjxX2o4UTmGK6GEd3uFblqJrHHi4pNNP02rIGkSPCuX6TuzORh3IPYzf1Qz6wF8alfuo1fb7oJWSuGgWYIb98Na-5d_6/s1600-h/IMG_8181.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinMiI1Zhk7mA9na26b2QozqCGX3G0rjhx2grwCcdPDZHp1_m_YnjxX2o4UTmGK6GEd3uFblqJrHHi4pNNP02rIGkSPCuX6TuzORh3IPYzf1Qz6wF8alfuo1fb7oJWSuGgWYIb98Na-5d_6/s320/IMG_8181.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331296429880058354" border="0" /></a><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"></span><br /></span>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-726774039225322462009-04-21T10:00:00.003-07:002009-04-21T17:42:13.662-07:00Camino de Guanajuato<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Monday, April 13 was Day #7 of the Road Trip of My Dreams and turned out to be the final day as well. Yes, gentle readers, by the time you've finished reading this post I - and therefore you, vicariously - will have arrived at our final destination of </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Guanajuato</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Guanajuato</span></span>. And once I have completed the process of blogging forward through the past I can get to the real reason to have a blog: </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">pontificating on all manner of subjects about which I know a lot or a little. But, first, back to the past...</span><br /><br />Having gone to bed so early last night (I had no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">internet</span></span> connection and one can only watch just so much opera on TV...) I was wide awake at 5am. Well, at least, I thought it was 5am. For all I knew I may have crossed into a new time zone by now and then there was the elusive (to me, anyway - just ask my Monarchs and Diana Kennedy tour group!) Daylight Savings time change that had apparently taken place in Mexico over the weekend. But you know what, who cares about any of that when you're on a road trip? You drive while the sun is up and you hope to be safely holed up in a hotel room by the time it goes down. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ya, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">basta</span></span>, </span>throw the watch away.<br /><br />Based on the maps I was using (which turned out to be terribly out of date) it looked like I had about a 12 hour drive ahead of me to make it from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Mazatlán</span></span> all the way to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Guanajuato</span></span>, and my supposed 8-hour days were already taking me 10, so I figured I'd best get going. Quite honestly, I wondered if it was wise to try to do this entire drive in one day, but I figured I'd give it my best shot and we'd see how far I could go.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSsOx4zpDUt4l0kA9oW6c9gzJrzzGLZcH4qi2L1tid62YUTHbm0kMR81aPnCOlFu1mJEyA0RcGyapGYRiiGFWfGdvM6lFkCuIieZ58J9ZES-6GByAO8Cu0XohT8ZnLZa34dAMMz7pyvsp/s1600-h/IMG_8009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghSsOx4zpDUt4l0kA9oW6c9gzJrzzGLZcH4qi2L1tid62YUTHbm0kMR81aPnCOlFu1mJEyA0RcGyapGYRiiGFWfGdvM6lFkCuIieZ58J9ZES-6GByAO8Cu0XohT8ZnLZa34dAMMz7pyvsp/s400/IMG_8009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327208211311237122" border="0" /></a>I hit the road just about sunrise, this time following the coast southeast toward <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Tepic</span></span>, and from there up into the central highlands of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Jalisco</span></span> (think tequila and mariachi) and then almost directly west to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Guanajuato</span></span>. I called friend Faye in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Guanajuato</span></span> to tell that I hoped to make it today but certainly not until evening.<br /><br />The route from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Mazatlán</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Sinaloa</span></span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Tepic</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Nayarit</span></span>, was a relatively new toll road, so I tooled along nicely. I had filled up the tank the night before, so my only stops were for intake and output of coffee and to pay the tolls. Quite honestly, I don't really remember much about this part of the trip, so I'm guessing that the road signs weren't quite as funny as they had been (or I was getting used to them?) and the scenery was pretty much like it was the day before: dry but with a tropical twist (in that there were bananas and papayas and cars parked under <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">palapas</span></span></span>), fields of corn, mango orchards, and a road that went virtually straight ahead for as far as the eye could see. I was mostly just trying to make good time while driving safely, singing along to old radio shows I'd done that I had loaded on to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">iPod</span></span> (cue up Pink Martini, Holly Cole, Joan Osborne, Dixie Chicks, Dolly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Parton</span></span>, Emmy Lou, Feist, and more...) But oh, that Dixie Chicks song! It was hitting me where I live, quite literally.<br /><br />I made a commitment to myself in 2003 to play the Chicks on every show I ever do after they were nixed from most country stations in response to Natalie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Maines</span></span> saying, upon our invasion in Iraq, that she was ashamed of her fellow Texan then-President Bush. As far as I'm concerned you're welcome to agree or disagree with her <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">hasta</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">las</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">vacas</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">regresan</span> a la <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">casa</span></span>, but for an entire block of radio stations to decide to censor the airwaves like that? No way. So I figured I'd make my own little bit of a difference once a month on <a href="http://kzsc.org/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">KZSC</span></span></a> by making sure they were given airtime.<br /><br />Back to today's soundtrack... the song the Chicks were singing was "Godspeed" from their excellent album entitled "Home". (I wish I knew how to link to it from here, but just go buy the CD if you don't already own it. It's <span style="font-style: italic;">all</span> good.) This one song was written by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Radney</span></span> Foster and is a sweet lullaby to a son. I don't have a son, but I do have a wonderful 5-year old housemate named Jess who is one of the very brightest lights in my well illuminated life. And okay, I admit it, sometimes living with a 5-year old is a challenge, but I adore this little guy and I miss him something wicked when we're apart. I hadn't had much time to think about home and Happy Valley since I'd left, but when this song came and I heard their gorgeous harmonies singing "Godspeed, little man. Sweet dreams, little man. My love will fly to you each night on angel wings. Godspeed. Sweet dreams." it hit me with a wallop just how much I love him and how hard it was going to be to be away from him for <span>two whole</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>months. Made me all teary-eyed I got that "open hearted" feeling in my chest. Here's the reason why:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8C4hva2bl-vejfV-3EqPx5LFHrRw9oXEHP_66in-tSfLu3_jijUrjE656dhjhxXtB19vdRe_69dlIzpVA0cBinpDwU9U76EiGAOSCVsI1bLk0tf6c5LSWukXGZbYUqL37t0bdBk0f7H0W/s1600-h/IMG_0208_3.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8C4hva2bl-vejfV-3EqPx5LFHrRw9oXEHP_66in-tSfLu3_jijUrjE656dhjhxXtB19vdRe_69dlIzpVA0cBinpDwU9U76EiGAOSCVsI1bLk0tf6c5LSWukXGZbYUqL37t0bdBk0f7H0W/s320/IMG_0208_3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326921245303785170" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Jess, a.k.a Jackie Brown, Tooter, and Bug.</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"> Pretty cute, eh?</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Oh, hey, hi, Jess. Howya</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">doin</span>'?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Okay, back to the trip. I was making great time. I hit <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Tepic</span></span> before 9am. Had I more time I would have stopped just to see it. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Nayarit</span> is a state populated by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Huichol</span></span> and Cora indigenous people about whom I know very little and am eager to learn more. Maybe on the way back...there is a Sunday market I'd like to see.<br /></div></div><br />The road from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Tepic</span></span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Guadalajara</span> was epic, as my friend Harlan would say. We climbed and climbed, then dipped and dove, over what looked to be volcanic mountains. Gorgeous! As I reached the central highlands I saw in the distance the purple clouds of jacarandas in bloom - first of the trip - and passed acres and acres of blue agave, the steel-blue spiky type grown for making tequila. A whole new world lay before me.<br /><br />By this point I had switched over to listening to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">podcasts</span></span> I'd downloaded to Most Beloved <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">iPod</span></span>. <a href="http://coverville.com/about/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Coverville</span></span></a> for ideas for the radio show, and <a href="http://splendidtable.publicradio.org/">The Splendid Table</a>, which was, in fact, just splendid. I especially loved the <a href="http://splendidtable.publicradio.org/listings/shows09_02_28.html">February 28 show on Mexico</a>, don't miss it! It provides such an informative and happy antidote to the "news" about Mexico you're seeing on TV. And the <a href="http://splendidtable.publicradio.org/listings/shows09_03_28.html">episode with the wonderful Steve <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">Sando</span></span></a>, El <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Señor</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">de</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">los</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38">Frijoles</span></span> of <a href="http://www.ranchogordo.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Rancho</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">Gordo</span></span></a> in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41">Napa</span></span>, CA, on March 28 was great too.<br /><br />The road was flying beneath me, I was almost to Guadalajara and it was only 11am. Those new tolls roads really made a difference. That, and not taking the turn off to the town of Tequila. Yes, I, gentle reader, I took the road less traveled by and that made all the difference...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vO-40ejcOF7wQSFaVddmnX5bEUApW-k8HDiGSTWlDEQA-rnGgjRovtW6PucS7IZ28aFXeQ6nTvPQ32ZhqMdUBVMKFi9fUit7G1XqfM9EpiLZWdByncBaQNTzEznf48xp5QqbKy-eGqz-/s1600-h/IMG_8029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 325px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vO-40ejcOF7wQSFaVddmnX5bEUApW-k8HDiGSTWlDEQA-rnGgjRovtW6PucS7IZ28aFXeQ6nTvPQ32ZhqMdUBVMKFi9fUit7G1XqfM9EpiLZWdByncBaQNTzEznf48xp5QqbKy-eGqz-/s400/IMG_8029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326953795818272866" border="0" /></a>...about lunch, that is. Because I was making such good time I decided to stop at the fabulous little restaurant I had discovered in 2002 while working with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42">Bon</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">Appétit</span></span> on their May 2003 Soul of Mexico issue.<br /><br />Vicente, my dear friend who was our driver for most of that rather grueling 28-days-and-22-shots-in-18-different-locations road trip, had dropped the rest of the team off at the airport in Guadalajara early that morning and now just he and I were going to drive out to the coast and meet them in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44">Puerto</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_45">Vallarta</span></span> in time for the "Shrimp in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_46">Sayulita</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">"</span> shot the next day. It was a sweet day of travel and communion between two good friends - no pressure, no egos, no worrying about the light and shadows - just us pals on a road trip in a country we both love. Vicente, bless his soul, had his priorities in order when he suggested we stop for <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_44"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47">almuerzo</span></span> </span>(late hearty breakfast, more like our lunch) before we set off into the mountains and from there to the coast. It was a very good call.<br /><br />After we left the city but before we hit the mountains we saw this place on the side of the road serving lamb a million different ways in a <span style="font-style: italic;">restaurant</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">familiar</span> (family-friendly, casual restaurant) and we both immediately knew, "This is the place." We stopped, we ate, I had that out-of-my-skin-excited feeling I get when something is so good, so pure, so real. I had dreamed of returning to this nameless house of culinary wonderfulness ever since.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> </div> <div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbfpVEvduUImwM63qQQU7ccXDb-7ohrM7dKekxIollVDBJGr0UyfrQosFHmh-85FijOWN5s9EAqIR0Y8dIW6L_uOXE11eQw5HNIQRuc8KWw0FiXMNi3WKomDqeWjQk_he_XKRgbwi65fP/s1600-h/IMG_8047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqbfpVEvduUImwM63qQQU7ccXDb-7ohrM7dKekxIollVDBJGr0UyfrQosFHmh-85FijOWN5s9EAqIR0Y8dIW6L_uOXE11eQw5HNIQRuc8KWw0FiXMNi3WKomDqeWjQk_he_XKRgbwi65fP/s400/IMG_8047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326971681913318482" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div> <div style="text-align: center;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;">I had a very clear picture in my mind of where it was - just outside of the city in the foothills just before you begin the climb. No name, but hey, who needs a name? I'd know the place from a mile a way, it was that good. As I made my descent and approached the outskirts of the city I started looking on my left...<span style="font-style: italic;">and there it was!</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_47"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48">Fogata</span></span>,</span> The Bonfire! <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_48"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49">Borrego</span></span> Al Pastor, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_49"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50">Birria</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_50"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51">Barbacoa</span></span>...</span>it was all there, just as I'd remembered it.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> </div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGOKiztyVzkZGFdk_JbIHDD2yHRPlAevcBJmPq86R-k5TsTZAm1_kTiQpv1I0Im-nZWVp1_J-tYLHq0tES8v069xVfNBxz7xEiMxKOQWRety_S8DPEozMiZp2oPU-yMR-UotsWLZjbMzhN/s1600-h/IMG_8045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 315px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGOKiztyVzkZGFdk_JbIHDD2yHRPlAevcBJmPq86R-k5TsTZAm1_kTiQpv1I0Im-nZWVp1_J-tYLHq0tES8v069xVfNBxz7xEiMxKOQWRety_S8DPEozMiZp2oPU-yMR-UotsWLZjbMzhN/s400/IMG_8045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327168311732137138" border="0" /></a>And it was just as good as I remembered it. (How often can you say that?) I ordered up a plate of <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_51"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52">barbacoa</span></span></span>, chunks of tender lamb wrapped in <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53">maguey</span></span> leaves and cooked over a wood fire, home made tortillas, a pile of cactus and tomato salad on the side, and served with a steaming cup of the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_52"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54">consomé</span></span></span>, the broth that is created as the meat cooks. Only one thing was missing and that was easily remedied, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Una <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_53"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55">cervesa</span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_54"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56">por</span></span> favor."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div> </div> </div></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZaZl04QtPFmUqyuCUGq2h1kk2mL6PSHpkd9qhKGk7JFISuX1ziRuA9h1z8U0cVTc5TvuRzqIouK2RhoD-CzduFue0C0VuvriHOgMXKlEBlxvoroVz6eaauw5c2ydJLt2SwofxThyqdzAx/s1600-h/IMG_8047.JPG"> </a></div>I did my best to make a dent in the giant plate of tender meaty goodness, then had the rest wrapped up to take to Faye. This was a dining experience that begged to be shared, and I knew she'd appreciate it. One quick cup of <span style="font-style: italic;">cafe <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_55"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57">de</span></span> la <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_56"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58">olla</span></span> </span>(coffee boiled in a pot, usually with a little cinnamon and often with way too much sugar - today's wasn't bad) and I was back on the highway. Not for long, however...but I'm getting ahead of myself.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I remembered from a folk art-buying trip with Joan Summers years ago that there was a <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_57"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59">periférico</span></span></span> (beltway) around Guadalajara and I was quite certain I wanted to take that rather than drive straight through the center of Mexico's second largest city in the middle of a work day. This was my decision even though my memories of the trip with Joan included driving around and around <span style="font-style: italic;">and around</span> the city on said <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_58"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60">periférico</span></span></span> until we all started singing "Oh did they ever return, no they never returned....they will ride forever on the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_59"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61">periférco</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_60"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62">de</span></span> Guadalajara</span>, they're the gringos who never returned." But heck, that was over ten years ago, the roads and signage were clearly better now. It didn't even bother me that on the map I had it looked like the beltway had a piece missing that I was going to need because my own experience this morning had already proved to me that the roads were better than what the maps showed. And hey, I'd driven in Mexico long enough to know that "maps" and "Mexico" only belong in sentences with the words "don't always work in" in them.<br /><br />So on I drove, headed straight to where the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_61"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63">periférico</span></span></span> abruptly ended and the rubber hit the dirt. I am not kidding and I took this picture to prove it. This was taken literally five minutes after I had been barrelling along the big six-lane highway at 65 mph.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rL5HKbt9RCFF0XbzwywQQlq9RJO9SSDN5MxACPqTHxNMWYTEnKn3pWbTNQFiESKvImir-Mob1-UsEssCnQ3_siI0CNHrT5E_L70bznXeB8EZqYHSezu2baid2R186X7CpvgcQC_aHOJ9/s1600-h/IMG_8054.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 423px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rL5HKbt9RCFF0XbzwywQQlq9RJO9SSDN5MxACPqTHxNMWYTEnKn3pWbTNQFiESKvImir-Mob1-UsEssCnQ3_siI0CNHrT5E_L70bznXeB8EZqYHSezu2baid2R186X7CpvgcQC_aHOJ9/s400/IMG_8054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327136117416971826" border="0" /></a></div>So...it really <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> just end just like it showed on the map. Hmmm. I was suddenly on dusty back roads in the southeastern reaches of the city of Guadalajara. I called Hugo in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_62"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64">Guanajuato</span></span>, whose mother is from Guadalajara and I figured would be able to help, I followed my nose and my maps (now trusting them again...big mistake later!), and then I did what I learned to do on that trip with Joan in '96, I hired a cab to lead me out.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;">My hero <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_63"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65">Ramón</span></span> took me the last two miles that I would have <span style="font-style: italic;">never</span> been able to negotiate by myself, during which time we passed this fabulous piece of art painted on a wall. <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I renamed her</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_64"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_66">Nuestra</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_65"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_67">Señora</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_66"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_68">de</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_67"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_69">los</span></span> Gringos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_68">Perdidos</span> </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">(Our Lady of the Lost Gringos) for the day.</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsrU7dSx7ANUaotFliYsBhghusFoU2GkgkGe-0ibE2923Ib5_CTeBfS7Ah7JDDNsvlXytiezhT8ov8Uk23UaNbq0U2t6qPhdt2MhPjlR8lf6uVVT20cePuez0KqwpVW52IATGo1WsArxd/s1600-h/IMG_8057.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsrU7dSx7ANUaotFliYsBhghusFoU2GkgkGe-0ibE2923Ib5_CTeBfS7Ah7JDDNsvlXytiezhT8ov8Uk23UaNbq0U2t6qPhdt2MhPjlR8lf6uVVT20cePuez0KqwpVW52IATGo1WsArxd/s400/IMG_8057.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327208217839626146" border="0" /></a>He stopped the cab just shy of the highway, I gladly paid him the $30 pesos he requested (about $2.30 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_69">USD</span>) plus some extra, and he pointed me toward <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_70">Guanajuato</span>. I was back on track and only a few hours from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_71">Guanajuato</span> - <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_72">yes!</span> Except that there were no signs for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_73">Guanajuato</span>. There were signs for Mexico (the city), Lagos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_74">de</span> Moreno, Aguascalientes, San Juan <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_75">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_76">los</span> Lagos - plenty of options, but none of them <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_77">Guanajuato</span>. I called Hugo again, consulted the map again, then I figured I'd just do the <span style="font-style: italic;">derecho </span>thing and<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>go straight ahead. Sooner or later there would<span style="font-style: italic;"> have</span> to be a sign to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_78">Guanajuato</span>, right? (If anybody is keeping track of how many times my logic had failed me on this trip, now would be a good time to tally things up before the number gets too high.)<br /></div><br />You know how you hear "Most <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_79">automobile</span> accidents happen within 25 miles from your home."? Well, I think we should add to that "On a 2,000 mile trip you get the most <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_80">desperately</span> lost within 25 miles of your destination." Maybe we relax a little too much? Maybe we get cocky? I'm not sure what my was excuse this day, but once I reached the outskirts of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_81">León</span>, which meant I was less than an hour from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_82">Guanajuato</span> (and it was only 3pm<span style="font-style: italic;">! Que <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_83">milagro</span>!</span><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span>, and therefore officially in territory I "knew", I became so completely lost that I thought I might never find my way out. Bonnie Raitt singing Blind Faith's "Can't Find My Way Home" instantly came to mind and stayed there.<br /><br />In hindsight, I realize that I probably wasn't lost at all, just taking a ridiculous route right through the center of this big city at rush hour. The sign had said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_85">León</span> so I followed it. But I didn't really want to <span style="font-style: italic;">go</span> to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_86">León</span>, I wanted to go around it and on to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_87">Guanajuato</span>. Well, that was not to be, so I took the "scenic route" through every stoplight, past every strip mall, and past at least one example of all of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_88">USA's</span> worst "restaurants": <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_89">McD's</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_90">BQ</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_91">KFC</span> - you name it and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_92">León</span> has at least one.<br /><br />The irony here is that the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HB1F6ZX-2WI"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_93">Camino</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_94">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_95">Guanajuato</span></span></a> (The Road to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_96">Guanajuato</span>, by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_97">José</span> Alfredo Jimenez) is one of my all time favorite Mexican ballads and one that has worked like a charm to make me friends all over Mexico. Everybody loves to hear <span style="font-style: italic;">la </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_99">gringa loca</span> belt out <span style="font-style: italic;">"No vale <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_100">nada</span> la <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_101">vida</span>, la <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_102">vida</span> no vale <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_103">naaadaaaaa</span>..."</span> (Yes, that really does mean "Life is worth nothing." Think of it as the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_104">ultimate</span> existentialist bar song). It also touts in the second verse, <span style="font-style: italic;">"bonito Leon, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_105">Guanajuato</span>"</span> (beautiful <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_106">León,</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_107">Guanajuato</span>). Well, I am here to tell you, gentle readers, if there is a part of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_108">León</span> that is <span style="font-style: italic;">bonito</span>, it was not evident to me today.<br /><br />Somehow I finally emerged on the east side of town, closer to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_109">Guanajuato</span>, and began to recognize where I was. On my left was the gas station where Carlene and I had gone for help the day we bought the purple plastic dragon see-saw for the twins and got two flat tires in one day. Over there was the Costco where I spent so many days loading carts with <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_110">frijoles</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_111">charros</span> </span>(cowboy-style beans, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_112">mmm</span>!), turkey bacon, milk, beer, and endless rolls of TP during my tenure at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_114">Casa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_115">de</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_116">Espíritus</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_117">Alegres B&B</span>. Yes, the worst was over and I was almost home.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">But not until I took one more wrong turn. What is it with road signs in the state of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_118">Guanajuato</span>? I swear, I just followed the signs to Guanajuato and the next thing I knew I was headed back into the nightmare I had only minutes ago gladly left behind. No way. I circled back and soon was on the last stretch to home. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY12yWQParxTvYDMKVaExE00e2gZEoCH025odXt21qK2fgZOP_6zVGrIN5EJpMnVyw5Lo70llEtlW88qL_GW1zeAkXsKRx_mbASbO74IfSV4_v5ECN84m4xBkXUkgk9J74y98-H3yrVBGW/s1600-h/IMG_8081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 316px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY12yWQParxTvYDMKVaExE00e2gZEoCH025odXt21qK2fgZOP_6zVGrIN5EJpMnVyw5Lo70llEtlW88qL_GW1zeAkXsKRx_mbASbO74IfSV4_v5ECN84m4xBkXUkgk9J74y98-H3yrVBGW/s400/IMG_8081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327214119332589666" border="0" /></a>I pulled up to the house I'd be sitting for the next two months in Marfil, a district of the city of Guanajuato in the state of Guanajuato, right about in the geographical center of Mexico. The house is just across the street from the B&B where I'd spent so many years and it definitely felt like coming home. I'd made great time, arriving at about 4:30pm - hours before I'd expected to, and hours before Faye expected me! Luckily Nacho the gardener was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_122">working</span> and he opened the big wooden door into the garden for me. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE0Wy9EAbRup-8jvj_4hR3D_CMok7auuwg1yjTBCsO_VbgVADI5y-NlunyCJqFrS17yFci01VKuzXh1hT-JwIiegJkvuocuAGcaUygyb9WoG8Y8-Utkb9Tv4FwKEAtygj4HLwrtBRflcD/s1600-h/IMG_8085.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 187px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIE0Wy9EAbRup-8jvj_4hR3D_CMok7auuwg1yjTBCsO_VbgVADI5y-NlunyCJqFrS17yFci01VKuzXh1hT-JwIiegJkvuocuAGcaUygyb9WoG8Y8-Utkb9Tv4FwKEAtygj4HLwrtBRflcD/s400/IMG_8085.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327208231503197314" border="0" /></a>And oh, what a garden! The house was locked up, but I cared not, I was happy to be right where I was. I sat on the patio in the shade of the tiled roof, popped myself a <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_123">cervesa</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_124">bien</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_125">fria</span></span> (ice cold <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_126">brewski</span>) and sat back to soak it all in. A 10-foot tall white <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_127">plumeria</span> in full bloom. The brightest-ever red-headed bird, which I later discovered was a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_128">vermillion</span> flycatcher. The pealing of the bells from the red church steeple up the way.<br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0h_nAWRqy0Etq3iFAZGIyCdBMCZ2Rch4JDZZKhqWv_0gblyt93zuZcDCynR_-_ILPCpOtOMUlDfvLoHNZ-Sd4F2zZ43itaBSjzHZW0zWuxuZKmR_XZIkDyFieiN6jVMSefT36hYS3j7I/s1600-h/IMG_8088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 405px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG0h_nAWRqy0Etq3iFAZGIyCdBMCZ2Rch4JDZZKhqWv_0gblyt93zuZcDCynR_-_ILPCpOtOMUlDfvLoHNZ-Sd4F2zZ43itaBSjzHZW0zWuxuZKmR_XZIkDyFieiN6jVMSefT36hYS3j7I/s320/IMG_8088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327221142514277922" border="0" /></a>What a day. Up at 5am, beautiful toll roads where I didn't expect them, and dirt roads where I was sure they'd be highway, I'd revisited the site of one of my fondest Mexican culinary memories and not been disappointed, I'd been lost but now was found, the 12 hour trip had taken only 10, and now I was home. Bed or no bed, it was time for a <span style="font-style: italic;">siesta</span>. I lay down on the grass in the garden was out in a minute.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">At last, we're back to the present! Well, at least we're off the road and in Guanajuato. From here on out I plan to post to this blog on a more regular basis, like once or twice a week. (Insiders in Bloglandia tell me that this is how it's done, and intend to follow their lead...if I can.) If you've made it this far with me I invite you to subscribe to this blog so that you'll be notified when I post something new.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Welcome, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">bienvenidos,</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> to My Mexico.</span><br /></div></div></div>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-9004317665592023082009-04-18T18:01:00.005-07:002013-03-05T09:28:54.056-08:00Destination Mazatlán<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #6600cc;">April 12, 2009, Day #6 of My Fabulous Road Trip. Up and at 'em early today. I had what looked to be at least an eight hour drive ahead of me and I was eager to arrive in Mazatlan in time to find the sweet hotel on the beach before dark - sand, sunset, cold beer, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">uke</span> - you know the routine by now. Yeah, well, I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">shoulda</span> known the routine by now too, because it was still Easter Week (Easter Sunday, in fact) and I was once again heading to a beach town. But we'll get to that....</span><br />
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What I remember most about this day are the following things. 1. Jorge, the tire guy who was working on Easter Sunday, 2. the crash at the tollbooth, 3. entertaining road signs, and 4. my first stay in one of "those" hotels.<br />
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I'll begin with Jorge. As I mentioned in my last post, I had a run in with an invisible cement thing en route to a hotel the night before. It didn't look serious, and Ruby was handling beautifully, but there was a slight ding to the wheel's rim so I thought it wise to have it checked out at one of the<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">llanteras</span></span> (tire repair places) that lined the highway. Jorge was about 24, cute, with pants <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">saggin</span>', and he'd probably had been out late the night before celebrating the last night of his spring vacation. But there he was on Easter morning looking at my tire, agreeing with me that the rim had a slight ding. I certainly didn't want to drive with an unsafe tire (I still had at least two longs days ahead of me before I would arrive in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Guanajuato</span>) but I also felt pretty strongly that a tap or two with a hammer could put the rim back where it belonged and not compromise the safety of the car. Jorge agreed. I smiled. (I love it when they agree with me...doctors, tire repair people, it doesn't matter, I just like that they agree with my assessment of the situation.) I found some shade to stand in while he did the deed with the hammer. He suggested that we switch the tire with the back one (something about having the best tires in front, I think?) but didn't have another <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">gato</span> </span>(jack) with which to lift up the back of my car because they were all in use jacking up the other two or three cars and trucks that were there. Only then did I realize that he had been working on someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">else's</span> car when I drove up and had left that to tend to me. The used-to-be-first, now-waiting-for-my-car-to-be-fixed guy was very sweet when I acknowledged this, <span style="font-style: italic;">"No <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">problema</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Señora</span>, no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">tengo</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">prisa</span>."</span> (No worries, lady, I'm in no rush.)<br />
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So we put the tire back on the front and decided that I would have it switched out and balanced at a real tire store the following day. How much? <span style="font-style: italic;">"Como <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">usted</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">quiere</span>."</span> Whatever you want. I love and hate when people do this. I love it because it really does feel like he did it to be nice and helpful and if I bought him a Coke for his trouble that would be enough. But I hate it because, of course, I wanted to pay him a fair wage and I have no clue what that is so I feel lost. Jorge was moving on, so I looked at the used-to-be-first-now-waiting guy and made the universal gesture for "Can you help me out here, pal?" I held up a $50 peso note and a $100 peso note and he pointed to the 50 and gave me the thumbs up. Jorge paid, the waiting guy now back in first place, I wished them all well and drove off.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6VSnvKbZg4QlH_zMvjAy-Vz1uNzzX2KcP9eTHFw6W4lyWlzERqxudP_Wtju6XJhuRqgSKcbpJ4sI28gYXWTIShP2O-NuzkgO4cQ4PNf1QK3KLsw2AfdxZGYPv7g_UzpPiGMMZZDZtLt-/s1600-h/IMG_7962.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326246081724398642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx6VSnvKbZg4QlH_zMvjAy-Vz1uNzzX2KcP9eTHFw6W4lyWlzERqxudP_Wtju6XJhuRqgSKcbpJ4sI28gYXWTIShP2O-NuzkgO4cQ4PNf1QK3KLsw2AfdxZGYPv7g_UzpPiGMMZZDZtLt-/s320/IMG_7962.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 229px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 337px;" /></a></div>
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The tunes were on and I was singing along, I had just passed a Mexican crop circle declaring that Jesus was the way, which I thought appropriate for Easter Sunday, and all was right with the world.<br />
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I pulled up to the toll booth, noting the heavy traffic going the opposite direction and feeling grateful for the light traffic on my side. That gratefulness lasted about two seconds before I was hit from behind. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">BAM</span>! Not seriously smashed, not whiplash material, but enough to scare the heck out of me, invoke a swear word in English that I bet most of the Mexicans around me understood, and stop traffic while I and the driver of the BIG truck that had hit me got out to assess the damage. <span style="font-style: italic;">Nada</span>, nothing, not a scratch. You know, there is a lot to be said for a 1990 Toyota, and one of those is this: In 1990 they made bumpers that worked as bumpers, not the touch-me-and-I'll-shatter-into-pieces-and-cost-you-$400-to-replace plastic junk they put on cars nowadays. They guy clearly knew how lucky he was, and I was relieved beyond words. He apologized, we shook hands and drove off. I took a picture of the truck just in case...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKygcbJDhGv9bXf7Q-F1y2jPdT1iYZOcIMFAneJ4dA9PrIC_LqqNcKijC9NrdY9J-3EexZRsTS0h3bRRchF3Ed25oReh3uzvaAlYuShP1u02NWpmmlyR0Dcirr5pT5yh0sZuTYHfXe23z/s1600-h/IMG_7973.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326242738220547730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKygcbJDhGv9bXf7Q-F1y2jPdT1iYZOcIMFAneJ4dA9PrIC_LqqNcKijC9NrdY9J-3EexZRsTS0h3bRRchF3Ed25oReh3uzvaAlYuShP1u02NWpmmlyR0Dcirr5pT5yh0sZuTYHfXe23z/s320/IMG_7973.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 248px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: left; width: 332px;" /></a></div>
Once I stopped shaking and settled back down I spent the rest of the day driving south on 15, past <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Cuidad</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Obregón</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Navojoa</span>, Los <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Mochis</span> (last stop on the Copper Canyon train trip I intend to take someday), even a turn off to Rick <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Bayless</span>' restaurant's namesake, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Topolobambo</span>. Sugar cane and corn fields lined the roadway. I began to notice the signs along the road. I started jotting them down and trying to photograph them as well, but the pencil won out over the camera pretty quickly since I was <span style="font-style: italic;">driving</span>, after all.<br />
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Do we name our bridges in the US? I mean, other than the big ones like the Golden Gate and the George Washington? These were little bridges that went over - for the most part - gullies where water ran for a few months each year during the rainy season. But they all had the most interesting names: Banana Tree Bridge, Little Boy Bridge, Beekeeper Bridge, Ocelot, Tiger, Turkey, and Parrot Bridges, Big, Little and Hidden River Bridges.<br />
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Other signs amused me too: <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Salsipuedes</span>, "</span>Leave if you can", which is chuckle-producing enough, but if you're a cook it reads "Salt if you can", even funnier. One that really got me was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Relleno</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Sanitario</span>, which I have since discovered means "landfill" but sure looked like "Stuffed Bathroom" to me. I passed a turnoff for a town called <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Carbo</span>, which I knew I would enjoy and wondered if Dr. Atkins had avoided. Then there was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Querobebi</span>, which one could almost construe to be a misspelling of "I want a baby."<br />
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Yes, folks this is what one does to stay awake and alert and smiling on a long straight drive of about 500 miles. Well, it's what <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>one does, anyway.<br />
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By about 5:30 I was nearing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Mazatlán</span>, a town I'd heard good reports about. It wasn't supposed the be the prettiest beach town in Mexico, in fact it is a bustling port city, but I'd heard that the<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">malecón</span></span> (pedestrian walkway along the ocean) was pleasant and I - ever the hopeful one - expected that the Spring Break crowds would have thinned out by now and I'd be in my motel on the beach soon. Just how wrong can one gal be?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOjkGxcATlv0JZuBES2CdVhHpticgf0pyllfTjaYQhYh0NaSgonGwpeZN4Laa35oPzrfQ8_wD3DwMXNNxxe-iGIidyWxY_fwdP4nv_nIlsscCP70ZUfLuZkoVVvFv4u4ws-Ey4J6XQ6hM/s1600-h/IMG_7983.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326264375733009874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCOjkGxcATlv0JZuBES2CdVhHpticgf0pyllfTjaYQhYh0NaSgonGwpeZN4Laa35oPzrfQ8_wD3DwMXNNxxe-iGIidyWxY_fwdP4nv_nIlsscCP70ZUfLuZkoVVvFv4u4ws-Ey4J6XQ6hM/s320/IMG_7983.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 197px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 276px;" /></a>I followed the signs and found the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">malecón</span></span> without a hitch, where I found a MOB SCENE! Loud music pounding out of speakers from all directions. No way I'd stay there even if I could find a room, I'd never get a minute of sleep. Traffic was bumper to bumper, creeping along, and there was nowhere to turn off. I was on a two-lane barely-moving road headed straight into Spring Break hell. I watched the sun sink behind the palm trees into what I presumed was the Pacific Ocean that lay just beyond the sea of cars in which I was trapped.<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-style: italic;">See the ocean in that picture? Neither did I, and I was there.</span><br />
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Okay, that was it for me, no beach needed, no <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">malecón</span></span>, no people even, and please, no ear-popping music. I'd just head out of town and find a hotel on the outskirts where I could make an easy getaway tomorrow. I saw a likely spot and pulled in, looking for the office. Office? Oh no, Bets, this wasn't <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> kind of motel. Yes, gentle readers, I found myself in Mexico's own fabulous version of the No Tell Motel. I'd heard about these for years, their reputation is the stuff of legends. Some charge by the hour and some, like the one I had chosen, actually rented for 12 hour shifts. They have curtains in front of the parking places to assure privacy for their guests, and serve whatever you might order up via Lazy Susan-type contraptions in the wall, again, offering complete <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">anonymity</span> for those inside. That part reminded me of convents I'd seen in Puebla where the nuns passed their exquisite confections out and the people put the money in via these revolving doors; perhaps an odd connection to make at a place like this, but hey, my mind is <span style="font-style: italic;">known</span> for the odd connections it makes.<br />
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$190 pesos for 12 hours, that's about $15 US dollars. A steal. My faceless voice spoke to the other faceless voice on the speaker (like ordering at the drive-through window at Burger King...not that <span style="font-style: italic;">I've </span>ever done that) and told her I wanted a room, she told me to pull into unit 35, so I did. "How do you pay? How do you check in? How does this work?", I wondered. With that a lovely maid walked up to me and welcomed me, asked me for $190 pesos in cash (wouldn't want a paper trail leading to stays at places like this, would you?) and gave me a receipt. Did I need anything? If so just call the office and she'd bring it to me via the revolving door.<br />
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Now get this. After paying almost $50 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">USD</span> last night for one of the baddest hotel rooms ever, today for $15 US dollars I opened the door to a spotlessly clean <span style="font-style: italic;">huge</span> suite with a vaulted brick ceiling, king sized bed, giant bathroom with toiletries in a cute little lace-lined basket, and a sitting area with the weirdest iron, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Naugahyde</span>, and tile table and chair set I've ever laid eyes on. There was a room service menu, a dessert menu, and a menu of what might be called "marital aids", except I don't think the people purchasing them were necessarily married...at least not to each other. And my parking spot had not just a curtain but an automatic door, which, while I know was there to ensure my privacy also provided me with a completely secure place to leave my full-to-overflowing car. It was perfect. It was 8pm. I was whupped. I considered TV and discovered the other interesting part about the hotel: three channels - opera, cartoons, and porn. Good thing I like opera, mom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuG4WDpUlhLsaf-02BPPzuVcdt5eJSjFXoUPiDjJpZscpP8qktRsou1Xy9UsnbTHxirvHIgdq7zktv3LGLeQkZE6Gz_Fcx_YN8Z_OJPBIEWeQ7lySGF7gi_fQh7l0bhR6UuEs8q2V2HNi/s1600-h/IMG_7995.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5326280084496036722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzuG4WDpUlhLsaf-02BPPzuVcdt5eJSjFXoUPiDjJpZscpP8qktRsou1Xy9UsnbTHxirvHIgdq7zktv3LGLeQkZE6Gz_Fcx_YN8Z_OJPBIEWeQ7lySGF7gi_fQh7l0bhR6UuEs8q2V2HNi/s320/IMG_7995.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 223px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 381px;" /></a>Hotel Real, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Mazatlán</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Sinaloa</span><br />
Ask for Unit 35 and tell them Pepsi sent you.</div>
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casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-57828675835322811552009-04-16T19:34:00.003-07:002010-03-04T14:29:38.543-08:00Onward to Guaymas<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">T</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">oday's post will take the gentle reader from my laughingly easy border crossing onward to the port</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> city of Guaymas on the west coast of Mexico's mainland.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">We begin in the afternoon of April 11, Day #5 of the Road Trip of My Dreams.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-5RbQefURT1Dqtjh39vneJOdFbZMQ-mJwHcODqN19Trt7Y86k_vDVCL2usCpDucqOjDUufqr0z4639u908OvoXgjnU9fgIJ2WFIyS4FcD9mraoWTs2fdLHbCu7ivglyPa9PwFEWNB_mf/s1600-h/IMG_7872.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-5RbQefURT1Dqtjh39vneJOdFbZMQ-mJwHcODqN19Trt7Y86k_vDVCL2usCpDucqOjDUufqr0z4639u908OvoXgjnU9fgIJ2WFIyS4FcD9mraoWTs2fdLHbCu7ivglyPa9PwFEWNB_mf/s320/IMG_7872.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325503579763836898" border="0" /></a>The road from the border to the main north-south highway that would lead me to Hermosillo and on to Guaymas was for the most part in great condition and a breeze to drive. There were several sections under construction where we were detoured onto dirt roads running parallel to the parts being repaved and that slowed things down a bit, but the surroundings were so different from what I am used to that I found it all just wonderfully interesting and beautiful. Rolling hills lined with great rock formations, lots of cactus and scrub, and every once in a while a small town with something interesting to look at. My heart was full and my mind was pretty much empty - a good combination for me.<br /><br />Ruby was in fine form. So fine, in fact, that I looked down to see the speedometer reading 80mph. I backed off and slowed down to a more sane 65mph just as I rounded the hill and saw the blinking lights ahead. Damn. I pulled over, looked sheepishly at the officer, and said, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Demasiado velocidad, ¿verdad?"</span> (A little too fast, eh?) He nodded in agreement and suggested that I relax and enjoy my trip in order to arrive safely in Guanajuato. All good advice and I agreed wholeheartedly. With that he waved me on. I gave thanks to to Our Lady of Kind Policemen.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I came to my first toll booth of the trip about 15 miles outside of Santa Ana, a fairly good sized town where I would pick up the main highway. There I had yet another only-in-Mexico moment. I greeted the lady toll collector, handed her my pesos and she my receipt, and as I was putting my change away she said something that sounded like "Could you give my coworker a ride to Santa Ana?" Obviously I had misunderstood, so I asked her to repeat herself. I was right the first time, she pointed to a lovely young gal at the next booth over and asked again if I would be so kind as to give her a ride to Santa Ana where she lived, since she needed a ride and I was headed that way.<br /><br />Would I ever even <span style="font-style: italic;">consider</span> this in the US? No. Would anyone ever <span style="font-style: italic;">ask </span>me this in the US? Not where I've lived...at least, not someone I would be willing to roll my window down and talk to. Would my friends and family shake their heads that I would even <span style="font-style: italic;">consider</span> this? Yes. Would I of course say yes? <span style="font-style: italic;">Absolutely.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixtjMeAlubmSeaFRIUnQRkR5G0sgbBpxdiqg9mBvcQ3mdWDs4b0JVeUFZG8PYogpgJ_DxTjfVbzOLYv6MaL4Nqw86oihXx86I_2HpgkHPd88gk8x4KqliUYFQDLwBs8h6pIbJfakgITqSN/s1600-h/IMG_7898.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixtjMeAlubmSeaFRIUnQRkR5G0sgbBpxdiqg9mBvcQ3mdWDs4b0JVeUFZG8PYogpgJ_DxTjfVbzOLYv6MaL4Nqw86oihXx86I_2HpgkHPd88gk8x4KqliUYFQDLwBs8h6pIbJfakgITqSN/s320/IMG_7898.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325496338690909970" border="0" /></a>Karina moved my maps and papers to the backseat and got in beside me. We chatted. She was lovely, 26 years old with a 5 year old son waiting at home for her. No husband. She lives with her parents, her mom helps care for her son so that she can work. They have transportation for the many toll collectors who live in Santa Ana, but her shift ended early and she didn't want to wait another hour for the bus to take her home if she could find a ride. How kind of me to say yes. And how odd that I found the countryside and Santa Ana so interesting, she found it boring. I told her I was going to Guanajuato, which she knew of but had never been to. She only knew Santa Ana. And Hermosillo, she had been there a couple of times too. We arrived a little too soon for my liking, I was enjoying the interchange. I dropped her off my on the main road a few blocks from her house. I hope she and her son get to visit Guanajuato one day.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">The rest of the day was all about a big road heading directly south, two lanes in either direction, some traffic but not much. As I reached Hermosillo it got crowded and smelly, but the thing that struck me was that on every single telephone pole, and I really do mean <span style="font-style: italic;">every single pole</span>, there was a plastic banner advertising one of the two candidates for governor of the state of Sonora. Sometimes there was one for each of them on the same pole. On bridges there where ten for each of them. There must have been 2,000 that I saw, and I was on only one road for only about twenty minutes as I passed through town. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for a two (or more) party system, but I lived in Mexico long enough to know that gazillions of these plastic banners go up for every election and every event and <span style="font-style: italic;">are never taken down</span>. They fly in the wind until they shake loose and eventually end up littering the roadsides and spending the next million years waiting to break down. It makes me crazy. I decided that if I was a Sonorense I would vote for the guy who promised to take all his banners down, no matter what his other policies were.<div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKr2ED2ERXU9IX-9B_O0P1NXdkG1drYT-xdIsnRCTrCY5RFoU27LyX6NbP-mmveDFPVYl1M6oZnviozkwM9nt9zg5o4o7OWmqzWEx8mAIazNAaht0qcJnYE4p9nm9ShyKNlluECFsCgIG/s1600-h/IMG_7910.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicKr2ED2ERXU9IX-9B_O0P1NXdkG1drYT-xdIsnRCTrCY5RFoU27LyX6NbP-mmveDFPVYl1M6oZnviozkwM9nt9zg5o4o7OWmqzWEx8mAIazNAaht0qcJnYE4p9nm9ShyKNlluECFsCgIG/s320/IMG_7910.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325517545760154050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU7Nuis809p3bhv2LQNGuDNcAulSfmKabLtbMfF51WCu1tJDduHjwT630aT2WV5c2SoKqM2oxfQEECe-qFRNXDc6VvcDRoc_bvne2wM7NuFhaELr7IAnrBZFhR-H0D6M4dZgGxpatZ_ze/s1600-h/IMG_7913.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJU7Nuis809p3bhv2LQNGuDNcAulSfmKabLtbMfF51WCu1tJDduHjwT630aT2WV5c2SoKqM2oxfQEECe-qFRNXDc6VvcDRoc_bvne2wM7NuFhaELr7IAnrBZFhR-H0D6M4dZgGxpatZ_ze/s320/IMG_7913.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325518046531269794" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Alonso Elias will take Sonora to the next level! Guillermo Padres promises a new Sonora! </span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">But will either of them recycle their five gazillion plastic banners? I doubt it.</span><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"> But at least they're smiling. It wasn't long ago that formal portraits in Mexico looked like mug shots and all candidates looked like criminals. Hmm, maybe there was something to that, now that I think about it...</span><br /></div></div><br /></div> I made it to Guaymas about 5:30pm, plenty of time, I thought, to find a sweet little hotel on the beach. Now if only I could find the beach, much less the sweet hotel. I swear, in Guaymas the mountains tumble right down to the water in a most dramatic way, but I'll be darned if I could get out of those mountains and to the water. I passed the same freakin' McDonald's about fifteen times as I followed the signs, followed the map, finally gave up and followed my nose (more about that later...) which got me a glimpse of ocean (with the sun quickly setting upon it, so much for my cold beer and ukelele sunset) but not much more.<br /><br />I gave in and pulled up next to a parked cab. I asked if I could hire him to take me to a hotel on the beach and from the passenger side his wife answered, "Of course!" We talked about something mid-priced, on the water...she knew just the spot. We took off (and passed the g.d. McDonald's again) and ended up at a hotel on the water. Hooray. Except for two things: they had no rooms and when did a U-turn to exit I dinged the right front tire on an invisible cement thing. Not good. Daylight was quickly disappearing, I was tired, I had no hotel room, and now I had popped the hubcab off dear Ruby and wasn't exactly sure what other damage I might have done. Ayyy.<br /><br />Carmen and Manuel, waiting in the taxi outside the gate, suggested another place...not on the beach, but I cared little about that at this point, I just wanted a room. First hotel was full. Second hotel was full. It began to dawn on me that it was Semana Santa (Easter Week, but read: Spring Break!) and I was in a beach town, even if I couldn't find the darned beach. But my guardian angel Carmen was not about to give up, and her tenacity paid off. The next place, Hotel Santa Rita, had one room...maybe. The guys who had just checked in had a problem and might need to leave...we waited expectantly at the front desk until they appeared and said that yes, they would need to leave. I had a room! Carmen and I hugged.<br /><br />The next step is so only-in-Mexico and I just love it. The cost was $600 pesos (about $45 USD, kinda steep but I was fine with it, I just wanted a room!) I pulled out my credit card to pay but Ernesto at the front desk said, "They already paid for the room so you need to pay them, not me. This will be the easiest, okay?" I cracked up and handed the $600 pesos to the departing guests, me in my faulty Spanish saying, "I'm sorry for you but this is good for me!" and they, in their equally faulty English saying, "Here are the keys, everything is so easy in Mexico, no?"<br /><br />I walked Carmen back to the taxi, thanked her and Manuel for all their help, and asked how much I owed them for their time (it had been at least an hour by then). "No, no, we just wanted to help and be sure that you were safe and had a place to stay, you don't need to pay us." Carmen told me. I wasn't taking no for an answer, so I folded up a $100 peso note and put it in Manuel's hand before I hugged Carmen and waved goodbye to my guardian angels of Guaymas.<br /><br />A room, at last! It was now about 8pm, I was toast. Since this morning I had crossed the border, driven Karina the toll taker to Santa Ana, made it though stinky Hermosillo all the way to Guaymas on the it's-there-somewhere coast, dinged my car, found my angels, and at last, had a place to stay. No time for ukelele, no feet in the sand, and no cold beer, but I had a room. And oh, what a room!!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2_YTTlzlsj0BFg9X8gSVZRDQoIkHnGSoQR6kBCoBD8uL_xoPaJBtHnBdk-vDsG5Tqq-OCGJcVEKJyI0RUcPT7fcu35hEHHDb96OOXkzfrzjum_NN6S1GJr3cQJK-FqqHfiVZDkDVhXM8/s1600-h/IMG_7935.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 261px; height: 351px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_2_YTTlzlsj0BFg9X8gSVZRDQoIkHnGSoQR6kBCoBD8uL_xoPaJBtHnBdk-vDsG5Tqq-OCGJcVEKJyI0RUcPT7fcu35hEHHDb96OOXkzfrzjum_NN6S1GJr3cQJK-FqqHfiVZDkDVhXM8/s320/IMG_7935.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325531698825159794" border="0" /></a>Where do I start? The white tiled walls? "Tiled walls," you say, "that that sounds pretty." Well, we're not talking Moorish tiles here, folks, we're talking wash-em-down-with-a-hose institutional tiles. The black and gold "embroidered" bedspreads? OMG, they were so bad they were good. The dusty pink plastic window shades that didn't quite close? Let's just say that I don't mean "Dusty Pink" as a color tone, I mean that were as dusty as they were pink. The air conditioner had two speeds: Noise or Freezing, so I opted for Noise...at least it masked the street sounds. The shower had a shower head...which sat on the windowsill about eight inches away from the shower. But I think my favorite thing about this room was the sign in the bathroom warning me that I would be charged for anything that I stole. For the life of me I couldn't think of a <span style="font-style: italic;">single thing</span> to steal. The towels were see-through, the chair was plastic, heck, even the ashtray was from another hotel. But, I thought, bless them for their pride.</div><br />And you know what? I was content. Very content. Happy even. I had made it across the border and all the way to the Guaymas on my first day in Mexico. The ding on the tire rim didn't seem too serious. I had internet connection if I sat just outside my room. Ernesto at the front desk was darling. Juan, the night guard, promised to watch my vehicle like a hawk and I believed him. I finally found a cold beer and a "burro" to go with it, my first Mexican food experience since I arrived, and it was tasty. With the AC on Noise and the bathroom window open, the sounds and smells that initially assaulted me mellowed out to nothing, and hey, I <span style="font-style: italic;">like </span>a hard bed.<br /><br />Ahhhh, my first night in Mexico.casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-80578925254761417882009-04-15T11:00:00.006-07:002010-03-04T14:22:45.095-08:00Crossing the Border<span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">April 11, 2009, Road Trip Day #5</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);"> ...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I packed up my cute little 1990 red Toyota (henceforth known as Ruby) this morning <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKsEu-aJbFooqBo4gIg0xOBq_QDF6oVZteuIbXw1AASN-QZaN8EPuuxuuD1BoYuztpVt3snIFEgxkrRTjKNur8Xy653F9eKiayvdWEFMTc4iHNgGtoZ-x9OpCIfOyEWUkElBqzPIrKwoE/s1600-h/IMG_7814.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuKsEu-aJbFooqBo4gIg0xOBq_QDF6oVZteuIbXw1AASN-QZaN8EPuuxuuD1BoYuztpVt3snIFEgxkrRTjKNur8Xy653F9eKiayvdWEFMTc4iHNgGtoZ-x9OpCIfOyEWUkElBqzPIrKwoE/s320/IMG_7814.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325031743463539570" border="0" /></a>and handed my key in to the nice guy from Poland working at the desk of the hotel. I asked him his name, which was Waldo, and I just had to do it: I took his picture so that perplexed children everywhere - and the adults who read to them - will know once and for all the answer to the question, "Where's Waldo?" Waldo works at the Marine Hotel in Garlic, Arizona and here is his picture to prove it. Who knew?<br /></div><br />I headed out about 10am. But before I could leave town, I just had to see if I could track down Mimi, a great gal I had met in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Guanajuato</span></span></span> years ago but lost touch with and who I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOn4GEH6hY7afOYW5ZpLXe2CKkCxXJyPXyDneN9zkMnvkjjt5vSDSri56yQSfw4o8eKg5Quvdylxte-Lp5By5uV-PhhT3PBnIt11VWse7yTc2kNq54E9RTaI-Dg5ifjhAIMXsQR9zQQAFP/s1600-h/IMG_7817.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOn4GEH6hY7afOYW5ZpLXe2CKkCxXJyPXyDneN9zkMnvkjjt5vSDSri56yQSfw4o8eKg5Quvdylxte-Lp5By5uV-PhhT3PBnIt11VWse7yTc2kNq54E9RTaI-Dg5ifjhAIMXsQR9zQQAFP/s200/IMG_7817.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324929623368146738" border="0" /></a>remembered had relocated to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ajo</span></span></span>. It wasn't difficult. I'm not sure how many people live in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Ajo</span></span></span> but lets just say "not a lot". A quick inquiry at the one and only wine shop in town last night had quickly yielded Mimi's address and phone number. My cell wouldn't work, but Mimi's street appeared before I even had time to look for it, and there was her cute little house, complete with purple cactus with brilliant yellow flowers. Alas, there was no Mimi to be found, but I took some shots of the amazing purple cactus and left a note. <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 153, 153);"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hola</span></span>, Mimi, wherever you are!</span><br /><br />First stop was about 11 miles away in Why, Arizona. Why "Why", you ask? I asked the same thing. "Because it is where there is a Y in the road" was the answer. Unwilling to go down Abbot and Costello's Who's on first? path, I grabbed a weak cup of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">joe</span></span></span> from the ersatz "breakfast buffet", and set off.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVtDDya9exd16d57fr4rXu3vegecPQjgg0HFlf-AcbkBiz6choUDxATvIW0eDw1VDSLRV-r5nNkr3wrkpoIxFnq0LnpsUrwXK6Lbn99jYRFf_vvbAHvIDwb6srRY05oA3zj4OuHXEll0K/s1600-h/IMG_7828.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVtDDya9exd16d57fr4rXu3vegecPQjgg0HFlf-AcbkBiz6choUDxATvIW0eDw1VDSLRV-r5nNkr3wrkpoIxFnq0LnpsUrwXK6Lbn99jYRFf_vvbAHvIDwb6srRY05oA3zj4OuHXEll0K/s320/IMG_7828.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324933270377074226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic;">Yes, those are pickled pig's feet, pickled pork jowls, and pickled Polish sausages all available for breakfast in Gringo Pass. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Señor</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bourdain</span></span></span> and all pork lovers everywhere, forgive me, but I opted for coffee.</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4eexwXE-Mr9ZFi0bTgyFCXDEMI28vr0dVjWaWL8gCt0EpPFZr_BxA2bluxPTFYwbXshliVlokYjJInUmECrF2sW0iFH_cGpM3GTjMr7pQGyYe7jJOKwmxsuTIffoqpkYeobNHU3JnCoJ/s1600-h/IMG_7854.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 263px; height: 338px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4eexwXE-Mr9ZFi0bTgyFCXDEMI28vr0dVjWaWL8gCt0EpPFZr_BxA2bluxPTFYwbXshliVlokYjJInUmECrF2sW0iFH_cGpM3GTjMr7pQGyYe7jJOKwmxsuTIffoqpkYeobNHU3JnCoJ/s320/IMG_7854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325027032253016738" border="0" /></a>Onward to the border! During the 4o-minute drive I passed through Organ Pipe Natural Monument, which was pretty, though no prettier than what I'd been driving through and would continue to drive though for hours. But I do believe that National Monuments are good for us to have, and public bathrooms on long stretches of deserted highway are <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> good, so all in all I enjoyed it.<br /><br />All the while my mind was going over and over everything I'd ever read or heard about the US-Mexico border. I didn't picture a wall, or Anderson Cooper and a CNN film crew, nor did I expect any problems. Running through my mind were visions of something like a toll booth manned by stern-faced border patrol guards, a German Shepherd or two sniffing about, possibly a detained car or two with some handcuffs involved, and definitely a big pile of red tape to wind my way through. I had checked and rechecked a million times to be sure that I had the correct paperwork to legally bring the car in, but I still worried a bit about that - "Will the registration be enough or will they demand the title? If so, with the fact that I have a photo-copy and not the original title be enough?" I am oh-so well aware that everywhere in life - from the grocery store to the electric company and <span style="font-style: italic;">most certainly</span> with government agencies - rules are not so much about the rules as they are about the person who is enforcing them. So with my cheery can-do attitude tempered by a healthy dose of yea-but-what-if? anxiety, I arrived at the border crossing in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Sonoyta</span></span></span> hoping for a rule enforcer who had woken up on the right side of the <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">cama</span></span></span></span> that morning.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>There was no red tape in sight. A big sign announced the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Sonoyta</span></span></span> crossing, but other than that there was little in the way of signage, no officious guards warning me what I could or couldn't do, and no obvious toll booth-looking place to ask immigration for a tourist visa or to get the papers for the car. There were just smiling people pointing ahead and saying "<span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Derecho</span></span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">derecho</span></span></span></span>", straight ahead. It was SO Mexico, where everyone is smiling and everything is straight ahead.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAUtAYnEoCoSD6qVZasG0wFsYKsFrtEqvUHZtHn6Ua13Rys59RaEpDX75Mp5ovPJauIlXNRyfeimONI4XaxdwjByFOUt_j64pufWhjVqmeuZIeG-wyXvD-nC3u09Vx2KHPLCSrgxiY4cH/s1600-h/IMG_7859.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFAUtAYnEoCoSD6qVZasG0wFsYKsFrtEqvUHZtHn6Ua13Rys59RaEpDX75Mp5ovPJauIlXNRyfeimONI4XaxdwjByFOUt_j64pufWhjVqmeuZIeG-wyXvD-nC3u09Vx2KHPLCSrgxiY4cH/s320/IMG_7859.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325039579031189554" border="0" /></a>A friendly guy in a guard outfit said hello, asked me where I was going, looked briefly in the back seat and trunk, and waved me on. I went ahead a few yards but I just couldn't imagine I should just<span style="font-style: italic;"> leave</span> without filling out some sort of paperwork, so I stopped and asked someone (a guard? a fellow traveler?) "But what about the car?" "Straight ahead on your left." So <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">derecho</span></span></span></span> I went, looking on my left but seeing only stands selling <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Pollos</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Estilo</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Sinaloa</span></span></span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Carnitas</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Michoacán</span></span></span>, Burritos <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Sonorense</span></span></span>, Tacos "La Capital"</span> - a veritable <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">smorgasbord</span></span> of economical eateries featuring food from most every state of Mexico. I was tempted to stop - the aromas were tantalizing and all I'd had so far that morning was a cup of warm brown water with instant creamer back at the Why Not Y?-Who's On First?-Pickled Everything Cafe - but I really felt that I should focus on getting myself and Ruby across the border legally before stopping to eat.<br /><br />I drove on. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Derecho</span></span></span>.</span> But I worried about what I had missed and how I has missed it, why it hadn't been more obvious what to do. I spent a good ten minutes redesigning border crossings with lots of clear signage about automobiles (cue the orchestra: If I Ruled the World).<br /><br />I remembered hearing, reading, <span style="font-style: italic;">knowing</span> that there was a second checkpoint further in, but I had also be warned by a friend that when she arrived at the second stop they sent her all the way back to the first to get the proper papers for her car. I really didn't want to lose time backtracking (I had a long day ahead of my to reach <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Guaymas</span></span></span> and find a room before nightfall) so I was preoccupied with that worry, but I did what I often do when I don't know what to do, I kept going. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Derecho</span></span></span>.</span><br /><br />The road was beautiful, the sky was blue, so I cranked up Linda Ronstadt and <a href="http://www.perla.com/">Perla <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Batalla</span></span></span></a> on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">iPod</span></span></span> (oh, most heavenly Pod, how did I ever live without you?), noted that the scenery around me looked pretty much exactly like it did before I crossed into Mexico but the food smelled better and spent a few long moments pondering the arbitrary nature yet powerful reality of man-made borders (Julie Gold's <a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Cdiv%20style=%27padding:3px;%20border:1px%20solid%20#FF6600;%20border-bottom:0px;%20width:310px%27%3E%3Cobject%20width=%27310%27%20height=%27259%27%3E%3Cparam%20name=%27movie%27%20value=%27http://www.youtube.com/v/nKpBU6H1k-Y&rel=1%27%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cparam%20name=%27wmode%27%20value=%27transparent%27%3E%3C/param%3E%3Cembed%20src=%27http://www.youtube.com/v/nKpBU6H1k-Y&rel=1%27%20type=%27application/x-shockwave-flash%27%20wmode=%27transparent%27%20width=%27310%27%20height=%27259%27%3E%3C/embed%3E%3C/object%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cobject%20width=%27300%27%20height=%27180%27%3E%3Cembed%20src=%27http://widget.lyricsmode.com/i/scroll2.swf?lid=611686&speed=4%27%20width=%27318%27%20height=%27181%27%20type=%27application/x-shockwave-flash%27/%3E%3C/embed%3E%3C/object%3E%3Cbr%3E%3Ca%20href=%27http://www.lyricsmode.com%27%20target=%27_blank%27%3ELyrics%3C/a%3E%20%7C%20%3Ca%20href=%27http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/n/nanci_griffith/%27%20target=%27_blank%27%3ENanci%20Griffith%20lyrics%3C/a%3E%20-%20%3Ca%20href=%27http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/n/nanci_griffith/from_a_distance.html%27%20target=%27_blank%27%3EFrom%20A%20Distance%20lyrics%3C/a%3E">"From a Distance"</a> came to mind). The irony of my <span>struggle</span> to find someone to take my money and review my papers so that I could legally enter Mexico made me laugh. And cry. I am torn up inside about the US-Mexico immigration/visitation issue. But we'll save that subject for another day...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd74e8d-jSmCp1YbUQxaoHdxWOA2p34d0cBmY2tsNWJuJtveT46-x_ehhE3kMlCIpiR8-QkkOrGdpByYLMl1HXjv-3592Sc-r9DMcdee1NVN7C6EC0LoUczfBaYSAgV8Rp6q42j9pPWuLR/s1600-h/IMG_7876.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd74e8d-jSmCp1YbUQxaoHdxWOA2p34d0cBmY2tsNWJuJtveT46-x_ehhE3kMlCIpiR8-QkkOrGdpByYLMl1HXjv-3592Sc-r9DMcdee1NVN7C6EC0LoUczfBaYSAgV8Rp6q42j9pPWuLR/s320/IMG_7876.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325054511160582194" border="0" /></a>A few buildings appeared at last; this had to be the <span style="font-style: italic;">official</span> border crossing, right? Now it would get organized and all would be clear, right? One lane was marked AUTOMOBILES so I headed that way, only to find a gigantic truck parked in it, apparently for the afternoon. A bunch of guys in yellow vests were sitting around in the shade, clearly waiting for someone other than me. I drove on, almost back onto the main road, when a lovely young Mexican gal in uniform stepped up to greet me. In my impeccable (not) Spanish, I asked, "Car? Into Mexico?" and she pointed to a little house behind me. Okay, we were getting somewhere!<br /><br />I went to said house only to find it empty and locked up. A fellow traveler stood outside, trying to turn in his papers so that he could return in his car to the USA. We laughed, we waited, and finally I did what any red-blooded American would do...I took things into my own hands. I gave up waiting for the guy in the little house to return, said goodbye to the laughing patient Mexican traveler waiting to turn in his papers so he could legally go back to the U.S., I parked Ruby in the shade, and I started asking the guys in yellow vests <span style="font-style: italic;">"Hombres, ¿<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">qué</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">necesito</span></span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">hacer</span></span></span> para <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">traer</span></span></span> mi <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">coche</span></span></span> a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">México</span></span></span>?"</span> (Dudes, what the heck do I do to bring this car into Mexico?)<br /><br />Pretty quickly it all fell into place. I found the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Migración</span></span></span> (Immigration) office and ten minutes and less than $20 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">USD</span></span></span> later I had my tourist visa that allows me to stay in Mexico for 180 days. From there I found the bank and within another ten or fifteen minutes I had the sticker for the car that allows Ruby to stay here for six months (cost: about $36<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">USD</span></span></span>). From there I headed back to the highway and after a wonderful spirited discussion with the exit guard about immigration, <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">narcotraficantes</span></span></span></span> - and the lack thereof - and the US media, both Ruby and I were legally on the road in Mexico.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFts2oxxaoXIkCUK8O4JZXmZzsgOPnLaR6KTVru19UKQqIBoVnBN0BwL1uo5HThO2p4V73AmyR96jdBcz0NVjiZbnss7DLxUGUE8tomar_cvNw51R3LxNQ5yNQvxQ1VwzWI9tOCE7hsAcj/s1600-h/IMG_7875.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 399px; height: 304px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFts2oxxaoXIkCUK8O4JZXmZzsgOPnLaR6KTVru19UKQqIBoVnBN0BwL1uo5HThO2p4V73AmyR96jdBcz0NVjiZbnss7DLxUGUE8tomar_cvNw51R3LxNQ5yNQvxQ1VwzWI9tOCE7hsAcj/s320/IMG_7875.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325062984414930914" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153); font-style: italic;">Note the Hassle Free Zone for US cars in the picture. Do we have that for foreign drivers? I doubt it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Hollering a hoot of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">exaltation </span>and belting out a few Mexican classics at the top of my lungs with Linda and Perla providing back up, Ruby and I rolled along through the desert landscape of northern Sonora heading southeast toward Santa Ana where we'd pick up Highway 15 and then drive almost directly south through Hermosillo (named by someone who'd obviously never been there or worked in real estate) toward the seaside town of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Guaymas</span></span></span>, where I intended to find a cute little cheap motel and plant my feet in the sand before the sun went down. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_38"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">Ukelele</span></span></span> and cold beer in hand (well, not at the same time...or at least not with the same hand), I envisioned watching the sun set over the Pacific and celebrating the completion of the 5<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">th</span></span></span> day of the trip and the 1st night in Mexico. Silly me.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">Tomorrow on to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_41"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_39">Guaymas</span></span></span> and Mazatlan...you can join me in trying to find <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_42"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_40">freakin</span></span></span>' hotel room in a beach town in Mexico during <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_43">Semana</span></span> Santa, aka: Spring Break. What was I thinking? Stay tuned to find out.</span>casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7882889117335302680.post-88325288820606101462009-04-11T08:12:00.005-07:002010-03-04T13:45:19.513-08:00Hello World!My first post as a blogger. Mark the date: midnight, Saturday, April 11, 2009.<br /><br />I’m writing from a funky little motel in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ajo</span></span>, Arizona, where I am spending the night before crossing the border tomorrow morning on my first ever <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Mexican Road Trip</span>. I am stoked beyond belief, as they say (or used to say, anyway, in my surfer-friendly hometown of Santa Cruz) to be making this trip. It was most definitely a Good Friday.<br /><br />I am also very, <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> interested to blog out loud about the whole process of the trip for many reasons, not the least of which is wanting to be yet another voice telling the story of what is is REALLY like to be in Mexico right now. The BS spewed out <span class="transl_class" title="Click to correct" id="0">by the US </span>media 24/7 is insane and unconscionable and I want to be a voice - albeit a small, single voice - representing the other 90% of the reality of daily life in Mexico. We shall see how it goes together, eh? As always, you have my word that I will report to you the truth of what I see and experience.<br /><br />As Julie Andrews used to say, let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start...<br /><br />I am on my way to Mexico. I am driving. I have never done this before and I am pretty much outta-my-skin excited about doing it now. So far it’s been great - dear friends in Santa Barbara, LA, La <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Jolla</span></span>, and San Diego all treated me like a QUEEN and I loved every regal moment of it. Today I finally started to drive in earnest - from SD to Arizona - and I plan to do this from now on, as I move into areas where I don’t know people and will want to cover as many miles as possible each day during daylight hours. My final <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">destination</span></span> is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Guanajuato</span></span>, where I am going to house-sit just across the street from my old haunt, the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Casa</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">de</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Espíritus</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Alegres</span></span> B&B. My friend Faye is at the house now and I am eager to join her there there but also trying very hard to remember to Be Here Now and enjoy the journey, which so far has been absolutely stellar. This girl was made to ramble and The Road is most definitely my middle name.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Number crunching: I left Santa Cruz at about 12 noon on Tuesday, April 7, and turned off the car at about 9pm tonight in </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Ajo</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">, Arizona, I just worked the numbers and found that I am moving at a pace of approximately 12.5 miles an hour. </span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Hmmm</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">…just my speed.</span><br /><br />Tomorrow morning, thanks to a tip from friend Sparks (how can you not trust a man named Sparks?) I will cross the border into Mexico at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Lukesville</span></span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Sonoyta</span></span> instead of my original plan of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Nogales</span></span>. This change in route is what put me in the town of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Ajo</span></span> tonight, which I think was a good move. The town is small and I think it may even be quaint in the light of day (I arrived after dark), my motel room cost $44, and I even have an old friend from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Guanajuato</span></span> who lives here now whom I hope to track down tomorrow. It’s all good and it’s all heading me in the right direction: forward.<br /><br />Wow, my first post as a blogger. I feel a little exposed, and definitely empowered. Now let's just hope someone reads the darned <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">thang</span></span>.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Saludos</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">desde</span></span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Ajo</span></span>, Arizona.casabetsyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14692181032682955304noreply@blogger.com13