CERDO

Imagine a whole aisle of these. And another of beef. Unrefrigerated. Then there are the smaller carcasses--goat, rabbit, etc. I have to fight waves of nausea every time I go to market. I hope to harden up soon. We bought chorizo for tonight. The sausages look positively beautiful in comparison to these bodies. Even though they are made out of parts of them that I don't want to think about. Fish on a future post.

We took a cab today to one of the two local Home Depots, both located, like others of their ilk, on the outskirts of town. There was a little confusion with the cab driver as el sr. J. and I tried to use Spanish pronunciation: omay daypote. Didn't work--it's just like in English. So is Sears, Costco, Wal-Mart, Office Depot, and Sam's Club. We were looking at refrigerators. Haven't decided on one yet. But it's likely we will buy one from a merchant who hasn't abandoned the downtown area. We're still trying to fight the good fight against Wal-Martization, but it's hard. Fortunately for us and our ideological purity, prices in the downtown stores are competitive.

Daylight saving time ends here tomorrow early a.m. Just one of the ways we here are ahead of the U.S.

MIGRACION

Next week we're going to the Office of Migración to attempt to get our FM3s, or if we're really lucky, our FM2s. These are the renewable documents that allow foreign residents to stay for a year and replace the tourist visa, which is only good for 180 days maximum. I say "attempt" because we all know what bureaucracies are like. In addition to the lovely images below, we need (and have!):

1. Our passports and copies of every page of our passports. If, like me, you never noticed how many pages there are in an American passport, there are 24, most of them blank in our case.

2. A marriage certificate with a raised seal (!).

3. Original bank statements for the last 3 months.

4. Proof of address (our lease).

5. A letter stating why we want to migrate to Mexico.

AND. . . we are persons of the "tercera edad" (over 60), so we don't have to stand in line, except with other persons of "tercera edad." Must be the line with the defibrillator nearby.

EL MOLCAJETE

I've been looking for one of these babies since we arrived here. When I'd ask at the kitchen stores in market, they'd refer me to the ferretería (hardware store). And vice versa. Yesterday we were in a new aisle at the market and I asked a woman who had hand-made pitchers and utensils if she had a "mortero de piedra (stone mortar)." She leaned under the counter and pulled out the pestle.

"Yes," I exclaimed, but what about the mortero part. She leaned over again and . . . there we were! I was so excited. It's called a molcajete--hand-carved from volcanic rock. El sr. Jubilado had to carry it home because it weighs around 20 lbs. He got gray stone stuff all over his hands.

Now we have to cure it. You rinse it with water and dry it. Then you grind up rice in it until the rice is no longer gray and the inside surface is smooth. Then you macerate garlic and whatever your favorite spices are to scent it. So far el sr. J. has ground up 1 batch of rice.

There'll be a demonstration at a future date. For now, we are left with this indigenous artifact dominating our kitchen.

COTO (EL DIAMANTE NEGRO) Y SU ECO DEL CARIBE

Last night we went to the Plaza de Armas (1 block from our new casita, 3 blocks from our current departamento) to see the Cuban group (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MT-iPN8esE4&NR=1) in the title above. Coto is el rey de la tres, which he is playing in the bottom photo.

Giant stage, great sound and lights, and smoke!

These photos don't do them justice. There were 11 musicians and 2 dancing women who changed outfits 3 times.

They all moved around a lot. Rhythmically.

This performance was part of the Festival Internacional Cervantino from 11 October to 19 November. The next performance we'll attend will be the Orquesta de Cámara de Wratislavia in the Teatro de la República. And just where is "Wratislavia," you geography buffs? 5 puntos.

EL DIA DE LOS BANCOS

After a colonoscopy, my next least favorite procedure is talking to bank functionaries. Today we started the process of trying to open a bank account here. When you open an account, you give the bank your money, right? They do things with it to make more money for themselves, right?

Bank #1: We have to show passports, deposit a minimum of $1,000, prove we have a domicile, and produce an FM-3 (visitante rentista document which replaces our visitors' visas). We wanted to open an account before applying for the FM-3, but this bank said no.

Bank #2: Same deal except a $6,000 minimum to avoid fees. As we're getting all the same answers to our questions about how to prove we have a domicile (by showing gas, electric, phone bills, which we won't have for at least a month after we move into our casita), an imposing-looking jefe type comes to the desk at which the young funccionaria is giving us a hard time and announces, "all you need is passports [no FM-3] and proof of domicile." Does our lease, which we have in hand, prove that we have a domicile? Yes, he says. No need for the utility bills. I looked at him, looked at her, and asked, "Cómo se llama Ud.? What is your name?"

"Ivan, Ivan Mesa." I wrote it down. May you all have an Ivan Mesa in your life, and may he still be there when we go back with our passports and rental contract.

MENONITAS EN MEXICO

A couple of months ago we watched a film called Luz silenciosa (Silent Light), directed by Carlos Reygadas. It was set in the Mennonite community in the state of Chihuahua. Numbering today around 80,000, they migrated from Canada in the early 20th century so that their children wouldn't have to attend public schools. They still speak a dialect of German and resist integrating into the Spanish-speaking culture.

When we were in Walmart Friday (Yes, I know, after all these years of boycotting Walmart we've capitulated. Who would spend $40 for a toaster when you can get one at Walmart for $15), we saw their cheese. Here is a big hunk of it. As people of German heritage with a taste for strong cheese, we thought the Mennonites might produce a cheese more to our liking than the typically bland Mexican varieties.

It's tasteless.

CONTRATO DE ARRENDAMIENTO

This morning we walked the mile to our new dueña's house to sign the papers for rental of our new casita. 4 pages of rules and regulations, including what color paint the place has to be restored to if we change the color (with prior permission).

El sr. Jubilado also signed us up for unlimited calls to US landlines on Skype for a year for $70. So now we can call our madres who may not be comfortable with the computer/video version of Skype.

Chorizo, green beans and rice for dinner.

LA CENA CHEZ SHELLEY

Our landlady, Shelley, invited us to a dinner party to introduce us to some of her friends. There were about 12 people there, Americans and Mexicans. The dinner was delicious. Shelley was a chef in a previous life.

This is my plate. I should have moved the balled up napkin on the left. I didn't have the nerve to take photos of the other guests.

After dinner we played. . . . .CHARADES! Shelly had put quotations, book titles, etc. in a bowl. Each of us picked one out and acted it out. Guess who were the best at charades--the Mexicans!

Thank you, Shelley, for a lovely evening.

¿QUE ES ESO?

What is that? There's a store close to the market that sells cheese, chips, cold cuts, etc. It looks a little like a deli and it's always very busy, so I figured there are some good things there. I looked in from the outside and saw products listed on the wall. On the left, cheese. I knew what a lot of them were. On the right, a lot of different kinds of jamón (ham). I didn't know what any of them were.

I love porky products, so I told el sr. Jubilado that I was just going to order each one, at different times, of course. So I ordered 200 gramos of queso de Oaxaca (cheese from Oaxaca) and 200 gramos of jamón de pierna (ham from the leg). For those of you unfamiliar with using the metric system to buy stuff, there are 2.2 lbs. to the kilo (1000 gramos). So 200 gramos is a little less than 1/2 lb. We also got the totopos (chips made from thick corn tortillas) there.

The ham looks like pressed ham, but it tastes good. The cheese is only good for melting--it's pretty tasteless. The totopos will be good with guacamole and pico de gallo.

Onward and upward.

LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION

I just noticed this view while sitting in the computer chair in our departamento. There's a cross on a steeple top left that you may not be able to see. We bought the little albahaca (basil) plant at the organic fair last Saturday.

DINERO, DINERO, DINERO

I'm counting out the money for our new casita. We were walking around, having looked at 2 horrible places for rent on Saturday, when we came across this sign.

I called the number on the sign and the couple inside opened the door and invited us in. Mario(Mexican) and María (American) are a young couple moving to Mexico City at the end of the month. They showed around the place and called the landlady and let me talk to her. Today we took her a big pile of pesos (the house rents for $520 US per month) to pay for 3 months rent in advance.

It's on the Andador Venustiano Carranza (a mouthful, but his parents must have known what they were naming him because he's a hero of the Mexican revolution). We take possession on Nov. 1.

Notice that it's on an andador, a pedestrian walkway. It's also in the centro of the centro histórico, close to everything.

This is the other end. The Plaza de Armas, one of the prime locations for outdoor concerts, festivals, and good restaurants, is just behind this view. But the walls are thick.

Interior pictures to come.

¿QUE DIA ES?

Yesterday was domingo and it must have been a día festivo because the whole center of the city was filled with loudspeakers, singers, dancers, and other sorts of entertainers. My cuñada is going to be very disappointed in me because I have no idea what the big deal was.

Our plan was to go to part 1 in a French film series.

We had an early dinner because the film started at 6:30.

On the way there we passed at least 3 groups of dancing people dressed up like "indios":

They seemed to be imitating this guy:

But best of all, on the way home from the movie, we watched the Sunday evening dancing in the Jardin Zenea.

A live band. Older couples, some dressed up, some not, tripping the light fantastic. The caballeros, especially, are displaying their dignidad and ritmo. What more could a woman want?

¡Dios mío! As I write this, I hear drum beats. I look out the window and the faux "indios" are passing by our window. I guess there will be more celebrating tonight.

¡SI, SE PUEDE!

The water pressure in our apartment is so low that it would take me an hour to wash and rinse my (previously) longish hair. I decided I'd either have to get it cut or go to a hair salon twice a week for a wash. What would you do?

So, off to Gutiérrez Nájera street (I wrote a paper on him at UNC), the street of hair salons. I entered the first one and told the woman I wanted a wash and cut. She looked concerned and then explained to me that she had no warm water in the place. Taken aback at the concept of a hair salon with no warm water, I looked around, and, indeed, there were 3 "stations," but no sinks.

Suddenly she brightened up and said, "¡siéntate, preciosa!" (I would be "preciosa" for the rest of the encounter.) I sat, she handed me a book of hairdos and disappeared out onto the street. In a minute she was back with an electric hotplate and a small saucepan filled with water. She put the hotplate on a pile of magazines in the corner, plugged it in and put the pan on top. Then she sat down next to me and we conversed for the next 10 minutes until the water was heated.

Then she took me behind a door, had me bend over a sink, and washed my hair--don't ask me how she mixed the hot and cold water--I couldn't see a thing. Then she gave me a pretty good cut. Oh yeah, and we also joined a gym.

EL TAXISTA

Today we decided to try to take a bus to a shopping mall to buy some small appliances: una liquadora y una tostadora.

To take a bus (6.5 pesos), you have to go to the corner by the market and ask a guy with a clipboard which bus to take to where you want to go. He told us there was no direct bus to the mall, so we decided on a taxi (35 pesos) instead. The taxi driver chatted us up. Yes we're a married couple. How many years? 48. Then he started reciting a love poem. Oh, you're a poet, we said. The next red light he got out of the taxi, opened his trunk, and returned with his book, Moments of Love.

A taxi driver who publishes his poetry. And recites it to passengers. And markets the book to them. Gotta love it.

RUIDOS NOCTURNALES

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and listened. Not a sound! Because we're living on an andador, there are no traffic sounds. (The downside of this location is that the taxi drivers have to drop us off a block from our place and we lug our purchases home. Or, if we have too many, el señor Jubilado lugs some while I guard the rest, and then he comes back and we both lug the rest).

Anyway, I was thinking about night sounds in places we've lived. In the country in NC the nights were full of cricket and bullfrog sounds--not quiet at all. El señor Jubilado's father actually taped the "night sounds of Creedmoor." I guess he had trouble sleeping.

In WV we lived on a busy street and there were traffic sounds at night. But we got used to them and had no trouble sleeping through them.

Here the kids play on the andador after school, hooting at each other. I like that sound. Sometimes, in the middle of the night we hear a cat, but mostly, it's really quiet. Then, about 7 or 7:30 in the morning, our neighbors in the building are off to work (or somewhere) and the front (metal) door slams shut, which is necessary for it to lock. That wakes us up, but, thankfully, we're ready to get up at that time.

In other news, we bought this today:

Now when we go to market we will know what to ask for (maybe).

LA NUERA

We learned a lot about the French horn in Alabama.

EL MERCADO EN QUERETARO

Look what we bought this morning. The market is exciting, intimidating and fun. What is that meat hanging there? What are those green sausages? What is that funny money in my pocket? I know it will get easier every day, but I'm still trying to think in gramos and kilos and pesos. The people are very nice and patient, however.

TAILGATING EN CASA

Alabama vs South Carolina.

Recipe dedicated to mi querida hermana. Yes, she thought it was funny.

El hijo menor and his grill.

Ribs

Alabama lost.

DEPARTAMENTO

This is our apartment in Mexico. It is on a pedestrian walkway. No cars, no noise.

ALABAMA

In the grocery store. We're checking out. An old (white) man stands in the aisle next to us which does not have an "open" light on, and says to the young black woman bagging us,"get over here girl." And she does.

I say to the (black) woman checking us out, "so he calls her 'girl.'"

"That's what he said."

"We're not from here, but we're old enough to remember how things were here."

"Yep," she smiles.

THE STATE, NOT THE BAND

On the way to Mexico, we're going to Alabama with. . . .

Which one of these do you think he'll use first? We've got Obama and ACLU stickers on the Volvo, NPR on the radio, and we're ready to sass any sheriff who stops us. Hope we don't end up as jubilados desaparecidos.

MAS Y MAS AMIGOS

Los jubilados think of themselves as anti-social. But it's just not true at all. We will miss all these amigos. Yesterday we had lunch with Mimi, Alain and Joan and then dinner with Sue and Ralph.

Ralph es de NYC. Sue es de WV. I forgot to ask her "de dónde eres," so I don't know exactly where in WV. Here they are, in a post-modern moment, looking at this blog.
Thanks for dinner and great company.

MAS AMIGOS

Does it look like we have new amigos in Mexico already? Nope, that's just Alain and Mimi getting in the mood. . . . Oops, I forgot Lucy, la perra.

Alain es de Lyon, France, y es pintor.

Mimi es de "outside" D.C. y es panadera. We'll miss her and her pan.

Joan es de Baltimore y es artista. But that's Alain's art behind her.

We've had many wonderful meals with Mimi and Alain. Look at those bloody Marys with homemade tomato juice. Yum. . . .