Happy Hour is Just a LITTLE Happier

The other day I really got a view of one of the cultural differences here. Our landlords invited me up to a Friday happy hour; Iti wasn't around, so it was just me. Now, what does happy hour on a Friday afternoon entail in the States? Some beer, maybe wine, and some munchies, right?

Not so in Mexico.

The drinks of choice were, first off, wine. OK, pretty familiar, no big deal. The other? TEQUILA. They really don't mess around down here. I was offered the choice of wine or a tequila straight up, at about 4:30 in the afternoon. Shhh, don't tell my boss. I thought to myself "There is NO way I'm getting any more work done if I drink tequila!!!". Wine it was.

Some other guests had a "few" glasses of tequila, then went out to "lunch" afterward at like 5:30 in the evening. Lunch?!? Yes, the Mexican lunch, very late, on Fridays apparently just a bit later, after a jigger of tequila to work up an appetite. I'm proud to say I actually got a little more work done, thanks to having one glass of wine rather than three or four tequila shooters! Maybe next time this Gringo will try out Happy Hour, Mexico Style.

My head is hurting just thinking about it...

Day of the Dead

This year I got to experience my first Day of the Dead, a very important day in Mexico where people remember their deceased loved ones, and make offerings for them. It is a huge cultural festival, with lots of traditional decorations, food and candy. My wife is infatuated with Day of the Dead Bread, a roundish loaf of sweet bread with bits of dough shaped like bones on top. She's partial to the standard one covered with sugar, kind of like a gigantic sugar doughnut (grain sugar, not powdered). I personally go for the one cut in half and filled with whipped cream/custardy goodness. Yum! I didn't get to try the one dipped in chocolate; oh well, next year.

The festivities started for us almost a month early. There was a huge market with Day of the Dead stuff in Toluca, a town about an hour outside of the city. Iti wanted to go to check out all the stuff. I really wanted to go to shop for some cool Day of the Dead stuff my friend Dave requested. We went with Iti's parents and spent the day there. After shopping in the market, I found a couple cool little things, but no really great statues. I saw one that I kind of liked, but Iti's mom Miriam convinced us it was WAY too expensive. Her dad suggested we go to this other town, Metepec, about forty minutes away, where they make a lot of the Day of the Dead statues and candies and things. We went, to no avail; there weren't that many really cool things, and they were all more expensive than at the market! We left feeling discouraged.

By luck, about a week later Iti and I were walking to the post office for my first trip there, and we stumble upon a store in our neighborhood that had an AMAZING selection of Day of the Dead stuff, with decent prices! Check out these photos of the store; I was enthralled. We got some stuff for Dave (hope he likes it), and of course Iti needed her own Day of the Dead memorabilia: some skulls, a Catrina (skeleton woman in a formal dress), and of course an alcoholic mariachi for me.

With our important purchases out of the way, we were free to enjoy the actual Day of the Dead festivities without any missions to accomplish. A big place that goes all out for the holiday is Mixquic, a town just southeast of the city. It takes about 45 minutes to drive there from our place with no traffic; websites talking about their Day of the Dead festivities warned of four hour drive times to get there. Yes, it's a little popular and gets a bit crowded.

We waffled a little on whether to go, but finally I decided we really should since it may be my only chance to check this out. We compromised and decided to go on Saturday night for the Day of the Children (or Day of the Dead Children, or something like that), instead of Sunday for the biggest festival. We thought that Saturday would be just about as good, and then I wouldn't have to work Monday on four hours of sleep.

Arturo graciously offered to drive, as always, and we left the parents' apartment at about six in the evening. We hit traffic in about ten minutes of leaving. I innocently asked if it was the start of the Mixqic traffic, to which Arturo replied "No, this is just Mexico City shit". Totally normal (unfortunately).

Miraculously, it only took us three hours of stop and go driving to get there. Mostly because we got there SO early; the party was just starting to hop at about midnight that night. On the way in, Iti and her mom decided after about two and a half hours in the car that they either had to find a bathroom or pee on the car seats. To spare the car, we stopped at someone's house that was offering their bathroom for three pesos a person. Arturo and I waited in the car, but the girls said the experience was pretty, uh, "interesting". The "bathroom" was basically a hole in the floor (we don't need to dwell on it any further). After doing their business, the woman who owned the house gave them tamales for free! Apparently part of the tradition is to cook a bunch of the dead's favorite food, and give offerings to any guests on Day of the Dead. Her husband loved tamales, so we got four for free. They probably could have charged us twenty or thirty for the food, rather than the six they got for two potty breaks.

After getting into town, finding a place to park, and making a pit stop for the boys (we found something more than a hole in the floor, but no light, and still not exactly, um, clean), we were able to kick back and enjoy the evening. There were tons of people crammed into this little town, with all kinds of things going on. The entire "downtown" area had the streets blocked off, people walking around, music, stages with people dressed like skeletons putting on different performances,... it just went on and on. Check out our pictures from the trip. There were hundreds of vendors selling food, beer, and candy. Also they had a huge museum for Day of the Dead, with things like miniature altars made by grade school children on display. Probably the best part was going into peoples' homes and seeing their personal offerings. People erect altars to remember their loved ones. The altars have flowers, pictures, and lots of food, usually favorite dishes of the deceased. It was pretty amazing being welcomed into someone's home to view and share in something that struck me as so personal.

We were a day too early to see people having dinner in the cemetery, but we did hang out in the church that had prehispanic ruins in the courtyard, plus a big altar comprised mostly of human skulls, with a few other bones tossed in for variety.

For dinner we stopped at a stall selling quesadillas. The choices of drink were: Coke, orange soda, and, um, Coke. No diet, no water, no other choices. I ate a pretty big meal, but then stumbled on a place selling carnitas. By some miracle I hadn't had ANY carnitas yet after getting to Mexico, so I thought "OK, one taco". I went up to order, and the guy asked me something rapid fire that took like five minutes for him to get out. This Gringo was highly confused; I thought my Spanish was progressing better than that. Guess not. The family came over to translate, and I discovered that eating carnitas is infinitely more complicated than I had imagined. You can order specific parts of the pig when you get some meat. I have no idea what they told me to order, but I was assured it was "the best". I can tell you first hand, it was the BIGGEST. This "taco" was served on two large corn tortillas, and had to be a solid half pound of pulled pork or more. Even though I was already stuffed, I ate the whole thing, smothered in lots of yummy salsas. Vomitous.

It was a great evening. The drive back was nice- it only took two hours. There were some very heated arguments about which route to take home, but otherwise the trip back wasn't too eventful. I am glad we decided to go a day early, because on Sunday I was one tired Chicago Gringo.

I'll See Your Speed Bump and Raise You...

I was driving to a Saturday market with my wife, and going down one street I was introduced to the "We Don't Want Large Cars and Trucks on Our Street" device. Instead of just having a wimpy speed bump (there was one also), they had a HUGE concrete wall running across the street, with gaps just barely wide enough for a small car on the right and left lanes. I thought our four-door Chevy was going to need to go on a diet to fit through the teeny tiny gap in the wall (we made it). I don't think there's any way a Suburban or Excursion would make it through, let alone any kind of industrial truck. I guess that's one way to control the traffic through your neighborhood.

Effectively!!!

Steam Bucket

We just got back from our second most excellent Mexican road trip, this time a camping trip- my first camping in Mexico- to Tolantongo, a gorgeous canyon filled with hot springs. Things got hot right away at the start of our trip. We were meeting friends a little ways away from home, working our way through Friday afternoon traffic in the city.

The trip would be about fifteen minutes by foot, but alas, Friday afternoon traffic in Mexico City is like an angry beast. An angry beast with a mean streak, rabies, and a loaded semi-automatic gun.

We're dropping off my mother-in-law before meeting up with our friends for the drive out, and I get in line to make a left turn in one of the few intersections of the city that a) has a left hand turn lane, and b) has a left hand turn arrow. I'm waiting behind about three thousand cars, and Iti tells me "waiting is bunk, go around and take a left from the next lane over". OK, so I follow orders like a good soldier, pull around, and get to the intersection after the left turn arrow goes red (like I thought would happen). I pull out into the intersection to the right of the first car waiting to turn left, and Iti freaks out; "OH MY GOD! DON'T DO THAT!"

Huh?

I remember calmly replying "Honey, I'm doing exactly what you told me to do. What is your concern?" She remembers it more like me screaming "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT? WHAT DO YOU FREAKING WANT ME TO DO?"

Apparently we're both severely allergic to Friday afternoon traffic in the city. Also apparently, I wasn't the worst offender, as a pickup truck pulls up to my right, so we have three cars stacked in the intersection waiting to turn. Gotta love the driving here!

Without further bloodshed we make it to our friend Moy's office, wait for his wife and kids to get there and him to finish up work, and hit the road. It took us about an hour and forty minutes to take the normally half-hour drive to the city limits, this after Moy's poor wife Karen spent like two hours driving over to his office (it's NOT that far). Wow, that really sucked.

We hit the road, thinking we'd stop and eat lunch sometime after getting out of the city. We didn't take off from the office until about 3, and Iti was starving by about 3:30. Fortunately the traffic was so bad we could pull off some emergency munchie passing between the two cars. Moy and Karen were traveling with two small kids, so they had a small convenience store's worth of snacks in the car: chocolate milk, chips, Rice Crispy bars, you know the drill.

After a couple hours, people wanted to keep going and try to get to our destination before dark. This didn't quite work out. By nightfall we were still at least 30-45 minutes away from our eventual campsite. We hit this long stretch of road after the last town before Tolantongo, that had about three thousand small convenience stores, one after another, each with its own unmarked and unpainted speed bump that was impossible to see in the dusk. But oh, we felt them, each and every one. I'll really enjoy having to put a new suspension on a two-month-old car. We made a quick potty break for the kids (and Iti) at one of the first stores.

To get to Tolantongo at the bottom of the canyon, you have to drive about 15 minutes on a dirt road with switch-backs worthy of the drive to the Mount Bierstadt trail head in Colorado. In hind sight it may have been best that we did this drive in the dark; we couldn't see how close we were to flying off the mountain to our deaths in the middle of nowhere.

We get to the one permanent restaurant just above our eventual campsite at about 8:40pm. Tired, hungry, and a little cranky from the long car ride, we go up to the restaurant, knock on the door, and ask for a table. The response: "Sorry, we've been closed since 9". Uh, A. it's not 9pm yet, and B. there was a HUGE sign on the side of the building stating they were open until 10pm. Come ON, people. After much arguing and cajoling, they agreed to let us in and give us a limited menu of quesadillas, sopes, and enchiladas. Lazy bastards. It was still delicious, and surprisingly cheap.

Just down from the restaurant, we parked, and the attendant tells us we can either head up-river to the main part of the park to set up camp, or we can head down-river. Iti made the executive decision to go down-river, which turned out to be the best possible move. We find a great spot with plenty of shade for the day time, reasonably isolated from other tents. When Moy and I went up-river to the main part of the park to buy firewood, we saw about a million tents set up side by side. It was like a KOA campground, but more packed, without little roads or lanes splitting the rows of campsites. Yowza!

Moy and Karen's youngest Ariela had a nasty infection and was on antibiotics. The poor kid ran a fever, and threw up a few times during the night, giving her parents little rest. In spite of that, they toughed it out for the weekend, and I think they were glad they stayed. She really perked up during the day and after being forced to take her medicine, and we all had an amazing time. Saturday morning Iti and I went swimming along the river with the other daughter, Liat, while mom and dad forced some medicine and a nap on the youngest. After their batteries were recharged, we all met up and went to the Grotto. You have to see this place to believe it! It is this shallow cave that's probably about the size of one and a half tennis courts, with ceilings as high as 12 feet, and hot water springs gushing out of the ceiling at various spots. It was really incredible. One spring was pushing out such a high volume of water you felt like you were getting sprayed with hot water out of a fire hose when you stood under it. If you felt like taking an excellent chance of killing yourself, there were two main attractions. First, they hung a rope off a slick rock face for the bold to climb. It was like trying to climb up a wet eel; the rock and rope were both extremely slimy and slippery, and the rock was there to smack up against when you slipped. Even more dangerous was this side tunnel: it went back probably 30 feet or more, with springs at the back of this cavern. The current was so strong, you couldn't possibly make it up the cavern without having your legs taken out from under you by the strong currents in the knee-to-waist deep water. They slung a couple of (equally slimy) ropes along the side so you could pull yourself against the current. I don't know what was riskier: going in or coming back out. I nearly died both ways. You can tell the underlying sentiment throughout Mexico is "If you want to kill yourself, go right ahead. We don't give a f#@!"

Amen.

Above the Grotto was the Tunnel, another cave, much narrower, with hot spring water coming down literally from all over the ceiling. For the adventurous, you can go to the back, climb up a ledge about as high as my head, then crawl through this small hole on all fours to get to this pool big enough for about three people (zero people if anyone has the slightest claustrophobia). There was absolutely NO light making it back there from the entrance. They had one dude paid to sit in there with a water-proof flashlight, to take tourists back and hopefully keep anyone from dying. The poor guy had to sit in this sauna for 10 hours a day, with only a 30 minute break from the water, heat, steam, and close spaces. I think this is the one place on earth that truly needs a labor union! But he seemed happy enough.

After the tunnel we decided to take a break for "lunch", lunch being the Mexican definition which means it occurs sometime between 3pm and 6pm. On the way to "lunch" we're walking along the more developed part of Tolantongo: basically a lot of stucco buildings with little shops, bathrooms, some man-made swimming pools, etc. We're walking down this narrow dirt lane with shops on one side and a drop-off to a lower level on the other, and some freak decided to pitch his tent up against the wall between two shops. It was one of the most red-neck things this Gringo has ever seen! You have to check out Iti's photos on her blog; I just can't do it justice. What a knuckle-head.

We went to lunch at the same restaurant that tried to deny us the night before, mostly because it was the only real restaurant in the place. It was nice- definitely a step up with the full menu. I had cecina for the first time (a nice cut of salted beef). After we finished lunch we went over to the other side of the park, which was possibly more beautiful than the first. There is this huge section where hot spring water was running down the rock face along the canyon. They augmented the natural rock with cement to form about 40 different little pools, with stone stairs connecting them. The water was coming out towards the top and cascading down the mountain, hitting each pool on its way down. The pools closer to the top were warmer,
since they were closer to the source of the spring, while things got cooler as you moved down. There are gorgeous views across the canyon, and you're surrounded by little cascades and waterfalls. Truly a magnificent place.

For dinner that night rather than going to the fancy "restaurant" (where the six of us could dine nicely for about $50 US), we decided to hit up one of the ladies who ran a little grill along the river. The girls were so wiped we couldn't get them up for dinner, nor even campfires with marshmallows! So we had a nice adult-only evening. We got a homemade FEAST for about ten bucks US, then had a nice evening of beers (everyone but Iti), marshmallows (all), campfires, and star-gazing. What a trip! Sunday we had more fun in the pools before the drive back to Mexico City.

We had a little excitement on the way back. We just got back into the city and we're stopped at a red light, and a sweet black BMW M6 (the expensive one) rolls up on the left. I see that car and say "Now THAT'S a freaking car!" Nice ride. The guy instantly shows his jerk reflexes, totally swerving around the car stopped in front of us, blowing through the red, gunning it and having to swerve around the cross traffic that has a green. Iti calls him some really bad names, and I say "Yeah, with a car like that he's probably a drug dealer". No sooner than I say that, two police cars come up in hot pursuit, one following him and the other going the wrong way down a five lane one way street to try and cut him off. "Wow, I guess he really was a drug dealer". We roll along another block, and as Iti is saying "hmm, a silent chase, they weren't using their sirens", then ANOTHER cop comes up with sirens screaming, hauling ass after the posse. Iti's reaction" I"M glad we didn't get caught up in that mess". True dat.

I certainly hope that's my closest encounter with a drug dealer, or whatever kind of criminal he was. This Gringo wouldn't mind a ride in that sweet Bimmer though...

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

A Wise Hungarian Once Said...

My wife's grandfather Imre, originally from Hungary, had a saying:

"If you take coffee, then add milk, and sugar, what you are doing is taking three good things and making one pile of shit."

Cost Saving Measures, Mexico Style

Ah, peace at last. We just get into our gorgeous new temporary One-Pound Garbanzo Bean apartment (read the last entry if this is confusing), and we’re ready to settle in. Being a new place, we need a few new, well, necessities: soap, paper towels, pillows, something to eat, you know the drill. We decided to run to Costco to look for pillows and anything else on our list that was cheaper and less than a three-year supply, go to a grocery store, and head home to make dinner. To illustrate the convenience of our new abode: Costco was all of ten minutes away, with two different supermarkets right around the corner. We went to Costco and found some awesome memory-foam pillows, for fairly cheap (although they were about twice the cost of the practically free regular pillows there). Iti was a little worried the pillows were too thick, but I was totally sold on them, so we bought them figuring she could sleep on one still in plastic and we could return it if she didn’t like it. When I got into the car to drive to the supermarket, I noticed the gas indicator was on empty.

And I’m not talking “just starting to brush softly against the E, a gentle caress in the morning”.

I’m talking “if it leans any further to the left the needle will snap and explode out of the dashboard”.

So I’m like “Whoa, we are WAY low on gas, we need to stop”. Iti deftly replies “Don’t worry, I have it all planned out: we’ll hit this grocery store on our way home, then there’s a gas station right around the corner, and then it’s a block back to our place”. I persist that we should stop sooner because it looks really REALLY low, to which she replies “the gas light hasn’t even come on yet”.

True dat.

It’s getting close to dusk, and we’re on this winding three-lane one-way street heading to the grocery store. We get around a blind curve (the buildings are all at least 3-4 stories and right up on the sidewalk here) and JUST get in sight of the grocery store, when the car dies. Violently, bloodily keels over. Well, not really; it just dies, with every warning light on the dash coming immediately to life. Except, of course, a low gas light. There was even one light that I have NO idea what it’s supposed to mean: it kind of looks like a car getting blasted by Electro or some other Marvel comic evil super-villain. Pretty cool, huh? That must be the Mexican “Whoa dude, your car is REALLY messed up now” indicator.

Fortunately we were just around a blind curve, so all the cars speeding like mad couldn’t see us until it was way too late to brake. (Somehow, the car didn’t get hit). And fortunately, when I jump out to push it, I notice that we’re pointing slightly uphill, and of course in the left-most lane. (Somehow, I didn’t get hit). Now for the real fortune: there were about four diagonal parking places in front of a shop about two car lengths ahead. To ruin my delight, there was a curb. I strained and groaned and couldn’t get the car nudged uphill over that damn curb, so Iti had to get out and help push from the door while steering. I damn near ruptured something, but we got over the curb and into a parking space, and nobody even died this time.

One nice thing is that road-side assistance came included with our brand-new, one-month-old, 2008 Chevy 4-door sedan. So, naturally, Iti calls the road-side assistance for, well, assistance. After a few seconds she’s talking rapid-fire in Spanish, I’m totally lost, so I’m only getting the story every few minutes when she’s on hold with the wench. But, this is roughly how the conversation went:

Iti: “Hi, our car broke down and we need help”.
Wench: “What seems to be the problem?”
Iti: “We were driving along and the car stalled, every light on the dash came on. We were low on gas, but the low gas light didn’t come on, the car just stalled.”
Wench: “OK, what’s wrong with the car?”
Iti (fuming): “Uh, what?!? YOU’RE THE ROAD SIDE ASSISTANCE! YOU TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH THE !#@! CAR!!!”
Wench: “What would you like me to do?”
Iti: “HELP US!!!!”
Me (thinking, to the Wench): “If you died and ate a big steamy pile of &^$%, I’m pretty sure that would help my outlook on life right about now.”
Wench: “Well, if you need gas, I can send out someone with a gas can to sell you gas.”
Iti: “I don’t know if we need gas.”
Wench: “I could send somebody out to tow the car to a dealer, but they won’t have a gas can.”
Iti: “I don’t know if it needs a mechanic to fix it!?!?!!!”
Wench: “OK, I’ll send someone out to jump the car. What kind of a car is it?”

It went on and on and on like this for literally like an hour. The wench would start to take the information on the car: 4-door silver Chevy, 2008, 2000km, license blah blah blah, filling out a form to send out a tow truck or something. But, the tow truck doesn’t have gas or jumper cables; the guy to jump the car doesn’t have a gas can; and the guy with the gas can doesn’t carry jumper cables and can’t tow. They send out one of three different guys depending on what you need; we don’t know what we need so we have no way of knowing if something will in fact help us. The worse part is, if she sends someone out say to jump the car, we wait 45 minutes. If that doesn’t work, we have to call back, and it takes ANOTHER 45 minutes to get someone else out to us. The WORST part is, each one is a different form in the wench’s computer system, and the start of each form is information on the car. So the dumb @!## is going back and forth between the forms, and like eight times she asks us ‘What kind of car?”. By about the forth time Iti was screaming into the cell phone “IT’S A FREAKING FOUR-DOOR SILVER CHEVY, 2008!!!!”.

Wow.

About the third time she put us on hold to order a tow we weren’t sure we needed, Iti turns to me in a panic: “My phone is pre-pay, and I’m almost out of credit! I think it might die before I’m done with her!” I cleverly reply “Let’s call your dad and have him call us back.” “I can’t! I’m on the phone with this stupid wench you FREAKING MORON!!!” Or something like that.

So, we’re sitting there outside the car, the sun is going down, and finally we agree to have the wench send out someone with gas. Iti had this vague recollection that when her mom had the older version of our car, it broke down when it was low on gas but not out. They had to fill it up and reset something in the computer to get the car to work again, so she thinks. So, fine, let’s try the gas. It then, of course, begins to rain.

We get in the car and call Iti’s dad. She has him call us back (you can receive calls with no credit, the caller gets charged), and explains the situation. We’re worried that if we need a tow, a). we have a trunk full of stuff from Costco we need, like the pillows b). it’s raining c). I have to get taken to the airport the next morning to go back to Raleigh for work. She asks him to come get us and help us take our crap home. His reasonable response is “What if they fill you up with gas and it starts? Then I’m wasting like 45 minutes to get out there”. This of course upset Iti slightly, but we agreed that if the gas didn’t work, we’d call him to come get us, and he could call for the tow if her phone ran out of credit.

Iti figured that the person with gas would probably be some kid on a moped, and it’s raining, so who knows HOW long this could take. And then it starts raining harder.

And harder.

And HARDER.

I’m talking like Noah and the Ark, wrath of God, the world is gonna end RAINING outside. We’re huddled in the car, and the BRIGHEST flash of lightning I’ve ever seen lights up the sky, with a crack of thunder like a gas tanker exploding. All the lights in the block go out. So then I get the fun for the next 20 minutes of explaining to Iti that you’re actually very safe in a car during a lightning storm, while she’s, uh, “slightly upset”.

We sit there, and an hour later, before the car floats away on the new river which formed in the street, the gas person comes. Fortunately the poor bastard had a car, not a moped, with a nice heavy rain poncho to boot. He comes up, we roll down the window and explain our story; car just dies suddenly, low on gas, not sure if that’s the problem, gas light didn’t come on when everything else on the dashboard lit up.

The dude nonchalantly says to us “Didn’t you know? This model car doesn’t have a low-gas light”.

Really? REALLY?!?

Come ON people! You gotta be freakin’ KIDDING me, right? How could you not splurge on the extra dime to put in a stupid freaking “Hey moron, put gas in your car, you’re running on fumes and the car’s about to die” low gas light in the car????? This car kills me. Like, they couldn’t spend the mega-bucks to put in a left turn and right turn light on the dash. There’s one light, with an arrow on both ends, that flashes for left turn signal, right turn signal, and hazard lights. Did that REALLY improve your profit margins that MUCH on the stupid f#@!&!# car? Was it cheaper than paying some dude to drive out in an epic natural disaster to give us some gas? Well done people!!! Well done.

Of course he fills us up and the car starts like a champ, we’re on our way. Uh, babe? Next time, let’s fill up when the gauge reads a quarter tank, OK?

We go to the grocery store, and of course it’s a cluster $!@!. The parking is covered, with an opening for two-way traffic that’s wide enough for one motor scooter to pass through (carefully). We had to wait like half an hour to park, and it took me a 27-point turn to get into the incredibly tight parking spot. Going to the airport the next morning was fun too; with all the rain, we had to cross three flooded intersections that resembled rivers more than major city streets. I’m just glad the car didn’t float away.

Or run out of gas.

Until next time,
A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

Nirvana!!!! A One Pound Garbanzo

When I moved to Mexico, Iti and I moved in with her parents, Miriam and Arturo. Money was put down on a new-construction apartment that was SUPPOSED to be ready when Iti got here a month before me. It wasn’t ready, and wasn’t ready, and wasn’t ready, due to more tangled Mexican bureaucracy and inefficiency. It’s a bunch of long stories that I won’t get into here; we’ve spent enough time and grief on this stupid freaking apartment.

After a month of imposing on our family, we totally lucked out. Iti’s aunt Maggie’s boss is a woman who lives with her husband in a fantastic neighborhood in Mexico City. They own a duplex (two-flat in Chicago-speak), and they didn’t currently have renters for the ground-floor apartment. Maggie told us about the place, and told her boss Ellen about us, and so…

We get a GORGEOUS one bedroom apartment!!! Yay! The place is really breathtaking. It’s a block away from Chapultepec, the biggest park in Mexico City. You go the other direction, and there are literally TONS of great cafes, restaurants, and stores within walking distance. It takes me less time to walk to a café from my bedroom than it took us to take the elevator down to the garage at Iti’s parents’ place. The place itself is beautiful- very cool rustic Mexican décor: nice tiles on the floors and in the kitchen and bathroom, cool rustic wooden desks and chests everywhere, great patios with awesome plants and flowers. This place has it all! It’s fully furnished, the kitchen is stocked with great dishes, it has secure parking for us, and to top it all off the rent is unbelievably low for the city, and they let us rent month to month! They told us we could stay for as little as one month and as long as we want, whatever we need. Amazing. The only down side is we needed to put my desk in the dining room, which for me is a small price to pay.

Iti, not so much…

Arturo took one look at the place and said it is “un garbanzo de a libra” which is an old saying that roughly translates to “it’s like finding a one-pound garbanzo bean”. It really is that amazing we found such a great place at such a great price! Welcome to the One-Pound Garbanzo! Click on the photo at the top to see an album of our sweet new pad in the city.

It’s only one bedroom, but if you don’t mind a couch and want to see a truly amazing neighborhood in the city, you should visit while we still have the One-Pound Garbanzo!

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

Statue of Timidity Shots

Many people have requested more pictures on this blog. Here's some of the climb up the statue of Morelos (it was forbidden to take pictures inside the statue so we only have ones from the very top where it was ok).

Sex Shop Bell Hop

OK, my nerves are almost settled down after climbing the statue of Morelos. After a quick stop in a teeny tiny town to see a cool old church, look for a bathroom, and watch some complete moron take off his radiator cap too soon when his car overheated (it was like watching Old Faithful go off; I’m amazed we didn’t get to see anyone get cooked), I learned an important lesson. I found my Spanish still isn't quite up to snuff; for the life of me I couldn't understand the woman asking "should I serve the hot chocolate now, or do you want to wait for the red-head?" Sigh.

After I found the red head/universal translator and we got the hot chocolate to go (actually really bad atole, a traditional hot drink), we took off and twenty minutes later rolled into Morelia. It’s a city of just over half a million, but the downtown area is a Unesco World Heritage Site: tons of old colonial buildings, the governor’s palace, a great many churches and a huge cathedral, plus the old Roman-style aqueduct that used to supply all the water to the city. Sadly, we came here a few days after a terrorist attack, where seven people were killed and many others were injured. Lots of friends and family expressed concern over us going to Morelia right after this incident.

Iti’s dad’s take: “Now is the best time to go there. It won’t be so crowded!”

I gotta say, I’m with Arturo on this one.

We had the plan of driving into town and cruising or walking around to find a hotel. We get into the main square with the big cathedral (our Nuvi GPS had a hard time understanding what streets we were on, but all in all was more helpful than annoying), and OH MY GREAT FLIPPING GOODNESS the traffic was bad. Yeah, clearly there were no tourists because everyone was too afraid to come here. I was lucky enough to be driving; it was REALLY lucky that I don’t have any hair left, otherwise it would have all fallen out. I don’t know why it’s so hard in Mexico to a). put up traffic lights at busy intersections, and b). for people to OBEY traffic lights when they exist. Also, the whole way streets morph from one way to two way to one way… I need a drink just thinking about it…

We stop off at the first hotel we see, right across from the cathedral. Yeah, should have been a warning sign, but we’re not that smart apparently. I somehow manage to find a spot on the street right in front that’s not in the valet area, to wait while Iti checks it out. Well, since there was the attack a few days ago, this hotel had a “special”- you could stay there for the bargain basement price of $1300 pesos (about a hundred and thirty bucks US). The normal rate was three thousand pesos!! A little out of our price range. We drove around for a while with similar results (not even bothering to go into the hotel advertising five stars on it’s sign on the other side of the cathedral, but I’m totally staying there after I win big in the lottery).

Frustrated and sick of traffic, we by some miracle find a free, legal parking spot (last one in the city) a couple blocks from the cathedral, and start walking to find a hotel. We really didn’t want to pay a hundred bucks or more, after paying about $45 US the night before in Patzcuraro. How hard can it be to find a decent hotel in Mexico that isn’t expensive? We go into the first place; very nice, great courtyard, cool vibe, almost a hundred for a crappy room off the courtyard as their “special” rate. Guess business isn’t so bad this weekend, huh boys? We go to the next hotel, and the concierge/desk jockey was snobbish and condescending as we tried to bargain. Seriously, isn’t it better to give us a room for 600 or 700 pesos rather than have it go empty? Apparently not.

We walked around for like an hour and a half, not finding that many places and striking out on the ones we did find. The cream of the crop was about ten minutes by foot away from the cathedral and Café Row. We walk by this hotel that looked pretty decent on the outside- nothing special but respectable and clean. For the convenience of the guests, there was a XXX adult video store across the street on the corner. Even more convenient were the two “working girls” on the corner outside the vid store, in case someone needed a more personal touch.

I don’t know what possessed us to look in the place, but we checked out a room for the heck of it. The good news was the rooms were only thirty-five bucks a night. The bad news is I needed penicillin after just looking at the place- I still have nightmares about the bathroom. OK, it wasn’t that bad, but “sketchy” is the most polite way to describe the joint. You couldn’t pay me enough to sit on the top of the bed let alone climb under the covers and sleep on it. Yuck.

A few more strike-outs later, after consulting the local tourist information booth, we find a brand-new hotel for I think 600 pesos or so a night, including parking and a pretty nice breakfast to boot. It was a little farther walk to the cathedral, but probably only about twelve minutes by foot. We headed out to enjoy the afternoon, walk around the town, and check out some of the sights. OF COURSE, we pass maybe thirty five THOUSAND hotels that we didn’t notice when we were tired and cranky and looking for a room. I didn’t have the heart to go into any of them and ask about rates…

We did go to an amazing restaurant that night for dinner. For people who came to our wedding, it reminded me of a smaller version of El Candelero in Mexico City, the restaurant we went to the Thursday before I got hitched. Amazing decor, great fountain, very nice menu… the only negative was when they started blasting weird techno music that didn’t fit the scene at all. Still, it was a great restaurant experience. I’d highly recommend visiting Morelia if you ever want to get off the beaten tourist path in Mexico.

Just stay away from the seedy hotel right by the porn shop.

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

Statue of Timidity

We get to Patzcuaro, a cool little colonial town with roughly 27 churches per resident, and for the first time in awhile my laziness/impatience pays off. We grab basically the first hotel we find in “Plaza Chica” (the town has two main squares, the Big Square and the Little Square; how original), and the place is very nice. We bummed around that night, hitting places like the House with 11 Patios (very sweet), some cool churches, and a pretty swank restaurant where we were the only patrons. The big event was the next day: a trip out to the island of Janitzio. It’s about a thirty minute boat ride out to the island, where roughly every square millimeter is absolutely COVERED with buildings. It’s kind of crazy how steep the island is, and people decided “Hmm, pretty small island out in the middle of a big lake, steep as hell, hard to build… LET’S LIVE THERE!!!”

Rock on.

The highlight is the Statue of Morelos, a TOTAL rip-off of the Statue of Liberty. It’s on top of the island, with the right hand overhead holding a torch, the left crooked holding some kind of book or tablet. Yeah, REAL original people.

We go in and pay our two bucks (equivalent) to climb up the thing. Walking inside and looking up, my knees already start to shake. It’s made out of concrete and steel and other substantial-looking building materials, but for some reason gave me the impression it was ready to come down like a house of cards. It just seemed inherently unsafe. I don’t think that the architect actually thought it important the structure shouldn’t collapse on top of all the visitors. I think he secretly hated tourists and wanted to take us all out. The inside was basically 4-5 levels of murals with steep, narrow stairs going up to each one. There was BARELY a waist-high guard rail around each circular level, and the stairs were steep, slippery, barely wide enough for two people side by side, and had a hand rail on only one side.

This was a CAKE WALK compared to climbing up the torch though. It consisted of a spiral stair that wasn’t wide enough for ONE WAY traffic, but you had people going up and down. No hand rail of course, just a metal pole running from top to bottom with just enough room for you to take a one-way trip down the Fireman’s Pole of Death; Tarzan would have been afraid of this stairwell. After a ridiculously steep climb, wondering if you were going to die every time someone passed you, you get up to this small round chamber. You climb basically through a big hole in the floor of this room, with barely enough room to stand before you fall through the hole where the stairs start, getting a super wedgie from the Fireman’s Pole of Death on your way down. You have to carefully nudge your way around the forty people (and their unsupervised five year old kids) in a space big enough for two. Oh yeah, and the architect must have thought Napoleon was a giant; I damn near concussed myself on the very solid concrete ceiling. Then you can climb up on a knee-high ledge and stick your head and shoulders out of an opening to catch the view. The view was almost cool enough to make up for the three years of my life I lost from the terror of the experience. Amazingly, no one died while we were there, although I had to change my shorts after the climb back down… Maybe this is why they don’t let you take pictures inside: even in Mexico this would lead to law suits galore.

Until next time,
A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

Road Trippin’ Baby!!!

Nice, we’re done with not taking Iti’s ID picture at her university, and hitting the road for our first road trip since I got here. On deck: a weekend in Patzcuaro and Morelia, a town and a city (respectively) in Michoacan which is a state I haven’t yet visited. We get out on the road a little before lunch, with plans to stop for food in this one smaller city on the way. When we get there we called Iti’s dad for recommendations. He tries to hook us up with the best tortas in the whole wide world. Tortas are a particular type of Mexican sandwich; the type of bread is mostly what makes it a torta. They’re very yummy, you should definitely try one.

Well, when we called him we had passed the torta joint already, so settled for a nice restaurant downtown. But, we missed the exit so screwed that up nicely. We get out of town and Iti asks the toll collector where to go to eat: “My dad says always ask the toll people, they know the best restaurants”. Well they’re both right: the lady sends us to a taco restaurant just down the road.

I was stunned at how nice the place was. We’re literally out in the middle of NOWHERE, and there’s a row of little places for travelers. We get to this place, and it’s HUGE, and totally awesome! Very cool brick building, huge dining room inside, great rustic tile work, fancy wood chairs and tables, a fountain and sweet plants by the bathrooms, VERY nice bathrooms (a rarity out in the middle of nowhere in Mexico, let me tell you).

We sit down to get a menu and order, and the waitress brings out a couple barbacoa tacos as a little appetizer. Barbacoa is a traditional type of meat, usually goat meat, cooked a certain way with particular spices and such. We wind up in a barbacoa restaurant, in a region specializing in barbacoa. The menu was:

Barbacoa tacos
Barbacoa quesadillas
Alambre of barbacoa (basically a big pile of the meat with tortillas on the side)
Goat soup

A little tough to find fare for our resident vegetarian, my lovely wife. They did have quesadillas with rajas (mild chili pepper). We each got one (mine with cheese), and I got the soup and ate the “appetizer”. I discovered that I’m not a huge fan of barbacoa. But whatever, the place totally rocked! We ate our lunch then had some tunas (prickly pear cactus fruit) for dessert sitting under a tree outside on an absolutely gorgeous, sunny day.

The drive was just spectacular, and I mean SPECTACULAR. The mountains in that region are just breathtaking. Much larger, craggier, and more dramatic than the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina, but much greener and lusher than the Colorado Rockies. The drive reminded me of the trip from Fort Collins to Steamboat in the summer, between Cameron Pass and Rabbit Ears Pass, but much nicer plants. And the FLOWERS! Oh my God. Brilliant wild flowers were growing everywhere along the side of the road. Corn fields had wild flowers springing up in their midst; the farmers probably hate the flowers, but I couldn’t get over how unbelievably pretty they made a corn field. There were stretches with really interesting trees, cool cacti in tons of varieties, gorgeous red cliffs (not sure if it was sandstone or what), and other cool rock formations: I’m telling you, just the drive would have made for a great trip. Between the views and the many cool tunes inspired by the scenery, not to mention that there’s rarely that much traffic on the toll roads, it was just the perfect road trip.

On to Patzcuaro!

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

The Wonders of Mexican Bureaucracy

As we were heading out of town for our first road trip since arriving, Iti wanted to stop by the institute she works at, to get her ID photo taken; they had called her earlier in the week to say she needed to go to their office for her ID. Seems reasonable: it's September 19, she started work on Sept. 1, she got her acceptance letter like in June sometime. WELL, we stop off there for a "quick" photo, and things go to hell.

Fast.

She goes to the place (the place that called her, mind you) asking to get her ID picture taken. They were like "We never called you, we have no idea who you are, you can't get an ID photo because you don't work here". We spent about three hours at the Institute, most of them talking to the head of the math department, to figure out that:

1. Things are screwed up because she got offered first a lower-tiered job, then a higher position.
2. She accepted the higher position, but started out in their "system" (if you can credit anything this disorganized with that term) with the first, lower-paying job.
3. They called her to get an ID for the lower-paying job.
4. The math department head has counseled her to not officially turn down the first job until the second job is totally secured; i.e. she's signed a contract, has her ID, etc.
5. Until she turns down the first job (or at this point probably even if she does) it screws up getting the better job because she already has a job.

Grrr.

At least they let us into the parking lot without a hassle. Apparently, this is a rare occurrence; there is a gate with a guard that you have to get through to park, and since she doesn't have an ID or card access she has to show them her permission slip (an official looking piece of paper saying she does in fact work here, so let her in stupid). Sometimes they see the paper and let her in, sometimes they hassle her like it's a fake. Keep in mind it's usually one of TWO FREAKING GUYS who have seen her every morning for like three weeks at this point.

How hard is it to remember the one woman in all of Mexico City with bright red, curly hair???

Civic Responsibility Strikes Again

I was totally appalled last night. So, today is the Mexican Independence Day, which is an even bigger holiday here than July 4 in the US. People take this date really seriously, in the partying sense. We went to dinner last night, and as we were leaving the restaurant at 9 there was a line wrapped around the block of people waiting to get in and enjoy the festivities. Every restaurant, bar, and club in the city seemed to have a special party planned, with employees in costume, party favors, the whole works.

Well, great, all well and good. People want to party and have a good time, they should. As you can imagine, this is a pretty big drinking holiday. Now here is where the real genius comes in. The city police decided that this would be a "free" night: i.e. they would NOT put up road blocks and randomly test people for drunken driving. It's like they're saying "Look, driving drunk is wrong, but we know on this night people REALLY want to drink and drive, so we won't try too hard to discourage it, just this once".

I mean, come ON, does ANYONE think this is a good idea? Besides all you alcoholics out there. The police clarified that if you got in an accident or something and it turns out you were drinking you'd still get in trouble, but PLEASE! Why would you relax your drunk driving prevention on the ONE FREAKING NIGHT that it's going to be the biggest problem ever? Can someone please explain the logic to me, because I sure don't get it!

I'm sure my mother would be completely horrified reading this blog. Fortunately, she doesn't know how to work her cellphone, much less a computer... I just hope my sisters and brother have the good sense not to share if they happen to read this. (I know I know: I'm screwed if I rely on others to have good sense...)

That stupid FREAKIN' cable company...

Oh yeah, I totally forgot, but I need to get this off my chest. I don't want to sound totally negative about this experience so far, but I'm completely pissed and need to rant. So two weeks ago was the opening weekend of the NFL 2008 season. And my beloved Bears were playing on Sunday Night Football. AND we got the right cable channel! I could watch my Bears their first week in action, even though I moved to Mexico!

WRONG!!!

Hella-wrong. They postponed the game to show the end of a stupid freakin' soccer game that went into overtime (it ended 1-0; I wanted to cry), and then the bastards showed TENNIS!!! The cable guide even ADVERTISED American Football NFL, Colts vs. Bears! SUCK! Of course I can't watch the game, and of course I was too miserable with my bronchitis to even suggest going somewhere to try and watch the game, and so of course I missed a great Bears win over the Colts, plus a studly debut by our rookie running back. To add insult to injury, the Bears weren't on TV yesterday, but they lost to a crappy Carolina team, a game I could have gone to and been miserable at in person if we hadn't picked the ONE year the Bears were traveling to North Carolina to move out of the country. My wife owes me a Bears game. Preferably a win.

On a positive note: my in-laws get, would you believe it, the NFL Network!!! Sweet baby hallelujiah, now we're talkin'. I can watch replays from all the Sunday games like 24-7. It has got to be the worst excuse for a cable channel ever, but I totally LOVE IT!

Alright, gotta go. Until next time,

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico

Am I really a blogger? REALLY?!?

Well, here we are: just moved to Mexico City, largest city in the world. We'll be here for two years; so I've got two weeks down, 102 weeks to go :) Iti kept telling me "you should write a blog" so what the heck, let's see how long my attention span will keep up with this one.

Let's see, some general impressions from the city: the chaos is absolutely thrilling. And I'm not kidding one bit. Driving in Mexico is an exercise in aggression. Whoever doesn't give a !#@$ the most (least?) wins. Some maneuvers you'll see regularly in the city: turning right from the left-most lane, preferably turning right in front of one or more cars going straight as fast as they can. Always exhilarating to witness, even more fun if you're in one of the cars involved in the imminent collision. It's amazing that I've witnessed zero car accidents to date, since in two weeks I've seen 314,877 near misses (being somehow involved as driver/passenger/pedestrian for 314,876 of them). I would have seen more near accidents, but I've learned the most enjoyable way to ride in a car is with your eyes closed.

Or completely drunk out of your mind.

The enterprising nature of the chilango (slang for a Mexico City native/dweller) never ceases to amaze. Just down the street from Iti's parents' apartment is a car wash. And I don't mean "an actual building or traditional place of business where someone has made an investment in real estate and equipment to wash automobiles in return for payment". I mean during the day there are a bunch of dudes hanging out on a normal street block, and they'll wash your car on the side of the street.

It's amazing the semi-permanence of these totally illegal operations (well, illegal a). in the US or b) in Mexico if anyone gave a crap). Along the block, on both sides, they have like a hundred old 50 gallon metal drums, filled with water (probably rain water), and some type of soap-like substance in a few. A bunch of dudes run around in coveralls and big rubber boots, and you can parallel park your car and get it "washed" for a few cents. I say "washed" because, really, how clean will your car be after being washed with rainwater from a rusty old oil drum? Exactly.

For convenience, there's also a mechanic next door: just down from the car wash two dudes hang out with a small tool box and fix cars on the side of the road. They usually have 2-3 cars they're working on, and seem to spend most of their time trying not to get hit by moving vehicles as they're laying under the cars they're fixing... all on the side of the road. It's totally amazing, you have to see this for yourself sometime.

Another great example is parking. People hang out in the street and decide they own certain city blocks. The parking is totally free from the city, but these enterprising souls decided that you should give them money for the privilege of parking for free. You pull up, they "help" you to park (waving their arms and screaming in an unnecessary fashion), and then "watch" your car for you while you're gone (meaning they won't personally vandalize your car or steal it). (Probably). They only charge about 50 cents US for as long as you want to leave your car there, but seriously people, IT'S THE $#(%!#@&*^@! STREET!!! I can't wait to see my first parking meter. I'll bet there's a bum who sticks you with a surcharge for using the meter. It's his street, after all.

Tonight and tomorrow should be totally sweet. It's Mexico's Independence Day; Sept. 16 for all you stupid gringos who think anyone outside of the US actually celebrates Cinco de Mayo (they don't). Anyway, they don't mess around down here. We were sitting around the house yesterday watching TV, and I swear it sounded like a car exploding in the apartment across the hall, or maybe a cannon being shot off. A big-ass howitzer, not some wimpy small-bore cannon, but real field artillery, strike-the-fear-of-God-in-their-hearts stuff.

This wasn't someone shooting the next Die Hard film in our living room, but rather someone playing with what they like to call "fireworks" down here. I like to call it three pounds of C4. And this was like many MANY blocks away. Can't wait until everybody and their unsupervised four year old kid start shooting these off en masse tonight and tomorrow. Good times!

Don't get me wrong; I'm having a total blast so far. It's refreshing living in an actual city for a change (unlike say Raleigh). The food has been awesome, and if it weren't for battling some nasty bronchitis we would have been paralyzed with too many choices of awesome things to do over the weekend. Next week should be great: Friday we leave for our first road trip! Can't wait. Until then...

A Chicago Gringo in Mexico