ILUMINACION EN LA CARAMBADA

On Saturday we went to our favorite (overpriced) junk/junque/handcraft store to look for our fourth, and final, lamp. The guy broke into an illuminated smile; he remembered us from previous lamp purchases.

They didn't have what we wanted (something to match the other three, sort of) so he said "wait a minute, I'll be right back" and took off down the street. He returned from his lamp cache with just what we were looking for, so we bought it. But it was desenchufado. While waiting for him to attach a plug to the cord (don't ask; I have no idea, but el Sr. J says it's a simple procedure that one learns in jr. high school shop class), I stood looking at this triptych:

Suddenly, instead of seeing the three images as abstract, I saw them as representational, and I knew that the one on the right was upside down (in the store, not here). They were dirt cheap so we bought them and hung them over our bed.

10 puntos if you know what they represent. The people in the store did not, or they wouldn't have hung the right-hand one upside down. 10 puntos because it may be hard and because these images may more likely be rolling around in my head than in yours (that's a hint).

Speaking of puntos, I will give the answers to two previous quizzes:

We got the sauerkraut at Comercial Mexicana, the third largest grocery chain in Mexico, Walmart and Soriana being 1 and 2, respectively.

The black and yellow bird in Zihua is the Cacique Mexicano (Cacicus melanicterus).

Extra credit: 5 puntos to Sue for providing a reference in her comment on the catsup/ketchup controversy. We noticed in the supermarket yesterday that every brand, save one, was labelled "catsup." The one? Heinz. The only one imported from the US.

DONNA AND PETE

Mi querida hermana has had a rough year. But here she is looking like her old self. And Pete has been voted man of the year on this blog. Love you two. Orale. Besos y abrazos.

TEQUILA SUNSET

One fine day when we were walking by the municipal pier, we saw a kiosk advertising cruises. Having read something somewhere about a sunset cruise up the coast to Ixtapa (and back), el sr J walked right up and started asking about tickets. Yes, he had them. No, there was no Sunday cruise, but we could do it Saturday. We signed up. The ticket seller's name was Ishmael. We hoped to avoid large whales, real or symbolic. The boat was a catamaran, thankfully not named The Pequod. It looked serene sitting there in its slip.

We knew there was an open bar, so we chose our seats strategically to avoid having to watch drunk Americans on the open water. There was a short, single row of seats facing the water and that's where we went. Most of the passengers chose to sit on a trampoline which stretched across the bow. They had to take their shoes off to do this. The crew would then take their orders and collect their empty bottles/glasses. Others sat at the bar so they could be served directly and more often.

When "the captain" started talking, he pointed out the bathrooms, men on one side, women

. . . . right in front of us! I saw a small hole there. I got up and looked down, straight down to a small door. There were six steps going straight down the side. If ever there was an incentive not to drink, that was it. Nevertheless, many women did have to go and we became the toilet monitors, informing them when someone was already down there so they wouldn't have to go down and up twice. Also we advised them to go down backwards so they wouldn't fall. One very large woman went four times (in two hours). Another was assisted to the spot by her man, and then she didn't come out. He had to go down and drag her up.

El sr J, a model of sobriety

We cruised across the bay and turned up the coast in the open sea. There were interesting rock formations which spoke silently to the volcanic activity along the fault line.

The sunset cruise lived up to its billing.

When we were almost back at the dock, the capital turned off the engine, turned up the music (Tequila by the Champs, a James Brown tune, and other assorted loudnesses) and the bartenders got out bottles of tequila. Not many people were in any shape to drink shots, but those who did got their heads shaken vigorously after imbibing. Some kind of a ritual. Looked scary to me. As we disembarked, there were many helping hands to assist the revelers onto dry land, and then hotel vans were waiting to take them back to their pleasure domes. We walked back to town.

GILBERTO Y YO

Please skip this post if you want to maintain your respect for me.

A view of the bay at Zihuatanejo. And who is that young gentleman on the left? That's Gilberto (hard "g," a clue in retrospect).

As we were waiting for the bus to market on our first morning in Zihua, a white van passed us, screeched to a halt, backed up, and out emerged Gilberto. He told us he was working his way through university, where he was majoring in tourism, by introducing tourists to a new restaurant up the hill. The restaurant was offering free breakfasts that week in order to attract customers. Would we be interested in helping him and having a free breakfast the next day? And listening to a brief presentation? 90 minutes of our time, he said.

I could tell el sr J was sospechoso, as well he should have been. He was studiously looking for the bus in the other direction. I must still have a warm spot in my heart for jóvenes of a certain age, although I thought I was sick to death of them. Gilberto's English interested me. It was perfect student-jargon English, with "you guys" in almost every sentence. When he said, "I'll come wich you," I said "wich you"? Where did you learn English? He grew up in New York.

I said to el sr J, "one breakfast wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

Next morning Gilberto asked if we had ID. As we drove up the hill, we learned that he would get points if we filled certain criteria. Points for flashing a Visa card, points for being from US (we still have a house there), points for making at least $80,000 a year, points for not being retired, points for being under 65. Now we were on the slippery slope of point deception, but I agreed to everything.

When we entered the restaurant we were introduced to Selena (from Acapulco with a 7 year old daughter). Selena had breakfast with us and filled out a questionnaire about how we like to vacation. She asked if she could show us one of their apartments. (We should have left right then, but we didn't). She asked us if we had ever done this kind of thing (listen to a sales pitch for a new vacation development) in the US. We have, we said. In fact, we knew people in graduate school who made money doing it, because it was standard practice for the sales agents to offer you money to come look at their places.

But this place, as it turned out, operated on a different principle. It was a typical in some respects, sterile, faux-elegant with one of those infinity pools that spilled over the cliff. "Looks dangerous," I said, imagining children or drunks falling to their deaths.

Selena asked if we would meet her boss and in walked a big-bellied German named Norbert. (Father, who died last year, was 17 when WW II ended, was tight-fisted, and never bought a house. Mother afraid of flying so never visited her son. Children hardly ever visited him and when they did they cost him a lot of money). Norbert's there to talk money. He scratches out figures on a legal pad. He keeps changing them. "Do you have a brochure?" No, we don't want our competitors to know how good a deal you're getting. How does this sound: $26,000 for a week a year for 25 years? "We'll probably be dead in 25 years," I said. Guess what. You can will it to your children. The deal was, though, we had to decide right then. Pay on the spot. "We'll never do that. We're like your father."

We thought we were done, but just as we're getting up to leave, in walks Tony from Guadalajara. He can put us in a luxury apartment in Ixtapa so we can see how wonderful their resort there is and buy into it, and so we don't have to spend another day in Casa Tucanes, where their help stays. Oooo, the insult. Lots to do in Ixtapa. "We don't like Ixtapa," I said. And then Tony offered us points if we would just do it. Hey, Tony, I'm a point giver, not a point taker. And we left. We walked back down the hill.

Casa Pacífica. 5 stars! Exclusive! No buses allowed up the hill! The resort may be finished in 5 years, according to Gilberto. Only one of the projected 6 units is completed. If you stay there, the only Mexicans you will see are the ones waiting on you. NO BEACHFRONT! Only $26,000 (if you qualify). And it's such a good deal, scribbled on a legal pad, that you have to pay that day or you'll lose it. Go for it!

PLAYA LA ROPA

The beach was filled--no, filled is not the right word . . . sparsely occupied by retired Americans and Canadians staying for months at a time. We watched as pot-bellied old men ("don't ever let me get like that," said el sr J) and 60+ women in bikinis strolled/paraded/waddled/limped by. I was pretty gross myself, having resisted the voice in my head that told me to shave my legs. I even imagined the peddlers on the beach saying to each other, "hey, go take a look at that gringa peluda."

The beach was lined with small hotels and restaurants. We rented 2 lounge chairs for the day from a restaurant (on the near right in the photo just below) and then could people-watch, take a dip, and then order snacks and drinks without bestirring ourselves. I finished my two novels and a lot of my crocheting project.

We soon stopped eating on the beach because the portions were huge, often included bake (sic) potatoes, and a lot of stuff made with catsup (ceviche in catsup, yuck!). This was probably the influence of the people staying there. So we went to the municipal market and ate there. Pozole. Fish. I ate two whole fish during the week (whole meaning with tails and heads). The one that came in my chowder along with unpeeled shrimp with heads on was particularly tricky to eat. But tasty. I needed a shower afterwards.

The sunsets were beautiful.

CASA TUCANES, ZIHUATANEJO

This is where we stayed. We had a "bungalow," one of many on (or near) this beach, Playa la Ropa.

It had an alberca, or pool, which we didn't use too much because we like the ocean.

This is the garage and guest entryway.

Do you think the owners are Zetas? Is the ceramic figure La Calavera Catrina or Santa Muerte, the patron saint of los Zetas? You decide.

But back to the vacation.

Where we ate.

5 puntos for identifying the yellow (and black) bird "up high in banana tree." (Have at it, Mimi.)

We will give this place a bad rating on Trip Advisor. Hot water was sporadic. We had to ask the maid for ice cube trays and a knife! The kitchen had no microwave, toaster, strainer, corkscrew, etc. But we're used to adapting to circumstances and had some wonderful meals anyway.

Over the weekend a "RENTAME" bus rolled in with about 20 students from Mexico City. Like their American counterparts, they drank a lot of beer (Indio), stayed up late, and were loud. The dueña of the place said the next day, "hay mucho movimiento," a euphemism I thought was interesting. We tried to be as tolerant as the non-complaining Canadians, whose room was much closer to the hubbub, but we did decide to produce some "movimiento" ourselves as we walked by their windows at 9 a.m.

A LA PLAYA

We're going to the beach for a week. Zihuatanejo, near the resort "town" Ixtapa on the Pacific coast north of Acapulco, if you want to consult a map. We got our bus tickets half-price with our old age cards. The bus leaves at 11:30 tonight and we arrive at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Think I'll make it?

The BreatheRight strips are to keep us from embarrassing ourselves by snoring on the bus in case we're able to fall asleep, which we both hope to do. The books were bought to keep us from fighting over the Kindle on the bus and at the beach. The return trip is during daylight hours, so el sr. J will be able to amuse himself by narrating the trip while I try to crochet.

The blog will be on vacation, too, for a week. We will be checking e-mail if you want to communicate with us.

OPERA

Last night we went to see/hear Carmen, or parts thereof. It was good enough to provide us with a pleasant evening. We sat on the second balcony, so we could see when the conductor lost his place and was paging back and forth in the score while everyone on the stage was very quiet. Then he found his place and carried on, and so did the musicians, all together at the right spot.

The libretto is, of course, in French, and there were Spanish surtitles, an experience analogous to the French films with Spanish subtitles we saw a few months ago (except one had to look up instead of down). Not that the story is unfamiliar to anyone who knows anything about opera and needs translating. The soloists were Mexican nationals, largely trained here, and were very competent. Special mention must be made of the baritone soloist, who not only eschewed the written score (which the others seemed tied to) but also acted out his part (which the others did not do, really) to thunderous applause. The orchestra continues to impress.

¡MIREN LO QUE ENCONTRAMOS!

5 puntos if you can guess where we found this sauerkraut. Clues: not in Walmart, Sam's Club, Costco, Mega, Soriana, Super Q, Oxxo, Piggly Wiggly (oops, we don't have that one here).

Now we need to get some chuletas de cerdo. And rewind the calendar to January 1, so we can eat the annual good luck meal on the proper day.

ARRACHERA

Remember the calendario we got from the butcher? We decided to try some of the cuts we were unfamiliar with in the US (although we will never try the viceras or the pata de res). Here is the arrachera, or flank steak.

It looked like it had been been pounded to tenderize it, but just to be sure it was tender el sr J marinated it overnight in recado rojo. First we had it stir fried:

And then in Philly-style cheese steak sandwiches (although the recado rojo made them taste more like Yucatecan cheese steaks):

There's another 1/2 kilo in the freezer. What will we do with it next? Whatever we decide, it will be one tasty dish. Or two.

SEGURO SOCIAL

Look what we got today! Health insurance.

Early this morning (a lesson learned from our last bureaucratic escapade) we took a taxi (another lesson) to a huge hospital complex where we were hoping/planning to get our "credential" for health insurance. After wending our way through various walkways and asking for directions several times, we came to a building (hidden in the shade of a soccer stadium) labeled IMSS. We went to the reception desk and were given ticket #559. Inside there were hundreds of people and tv screens flashing ticket numbers and service windows from #1 to who knows what the last one was. My heart sank. I thought, "we're going to be here all day." But no, in less than five minutes our number was called.

The woman behind the desk started to tell us what documents we needed. But we were prepared. Oh, were we prepared. Originals plus copies of every document we brought to this country with us plus every document we've gotten since. Not to mention three tiny photos of each of us. We filled out a (self-reported) medical form: do you drink? yes. do you smoke? no. Etc. Then ka-chunk, ka-chunk. A wonderful sound. We got forms to take to a different window. Again, we were taken almost immediately. Then, off to the bank to pay the fee ($548 for both of us for a year) and back again with the proof of said payment. We are now medically insured--no co-pay, no deductible, no Republicans coming here to take it away from us. ¡Viva Mexico!

LA VIDA ES MEJOR CON MUSICA

We were Skyping with our family in IL recently and I complained about the offensive (in English), loud rap music (a redundancy?) we hear at the gimnasio. Our nuera said, "you need a Shuffle." You all probably know what that is, but I did not. When she described it and said it only costs $50, I knew I wanted one.

There is an Apple store at the shopping center where we got the sillón (see below) so we stopped in and I chose a verde. It's so tiny, I hope I don't lose it. It was $60, but still worth it.

Last Friday when I had to stay home all day waiting for the sillón, el sr J took it to the gimnasio. He came home with buds in his ears and a grin on his face. We may have to get another one.

Thanks, Donna!

EL SILLON DE LIVERPOOL

I was going to post this yesterday, but it seemed trivial and insensitive given the unfolding tragedy in Arizona. It's still trivial, but I hope not too insensitive.

Several expats here have expressed the opinion that Mexican furniture is either cheap and ugly or exorbitantly expensive and ugly. We don't mind the cheap and the ugly. We've already bought a lot of that from "The Cowboy from Hell," as his pickup truck announces. But we had a corner that needed a chair and everything we looked at came in juegos of sofa/2 chairs, was clunky and overstuffed, and was made of vinyl or fake suede. And they were expensive.

In what we hoped would be a successful attempt to find something less ugly and only a little more expensive, we went to the shopping center with the two high-end stores: Liverpool and Sears (!!!!!). Sears had some Ikea-looking chairs for over $1,000. Then, mirabile dictu, we found one we liked in Liverpool. Yes, it cost more than we've ever paid for a piece of furniture, but then we've never paid much for a piece of furniture. It says it's made of Italian leather.

I will never buy anything else there, however. We bought it on Monday. They said someone would call us Thursday to tell us when it would be delivered on Friday. A woman called us on Thursday and said they would deliver it between 10 and 7 on Friday. I asked, "you mean we have to wait all day for it?" "Correcto," she said. So one of us had to stay home all day Friday.

I crocheted, I checked the news every hour on 4 different on-line newspapers, I read "Best European Fiction from 2011." Believe me, there's a reason you don't know any authors from Moldova or Montenegro. By 6:00 smoke was coming out of my ears and I was trying to call Liverpool, unsuccessfully. Then, at 6:30 a guy knocks on the door, points out the Liverpool emblem on his shirt, and turns around and runs away. I wait, and back he comes WITH THE CHAIR ON HIS BACK and he's running. A little guy.

So here it is with the lamp and hassock we bought the next day. It smells good.

LA REBELION DE LAS MASAS

El sr J had planned the day. It's possible I wasn't listening. This sometimes happens in a long marriage.

First thing in the morning we went to market. We lugged home two big bags of fruit and vegetables; el sr J carried the heavier bag. Then we lugged two bigger bags of laundry to the lavandera. From there we caught a bus to a shopping center to pay our Cablecom bill. El sr J loves riding the city buses with our new status of half-price (3.50 pesos) oldsters. The closest bus stop is a few blocks away from the shopping center and it was getting hot outside. I was supposed to dispute the Cablecom bill, which I did, to no avail.

Then, el sr J points to a long highway overpass outside the shopping center. Somewhere over there is the place we can get our Social Security health care cards. We climb up two levels. All you can see on the other side is an endless strip of banks, KFCs, car dealerships, you get the picture. I'm hot, the sun is beating down on me, and, suddenly, I'm exhausted. "That's it for me," I said and turned around and went down the steps to find some shade. He stayed up there, still surveying the cityscape, trying to find the building he was sure was there.

Let's see now. The only money I have is a couple of 50 centavo pieces for beggars. I can't go home by myself. But I know he's not going anywhere without me because I've got the idioma he may need. I hear him calling, "Barbara." I ignore him. A couple of women come down the steps and tell me there's a man up there calling me. I said I know, but I'm not going up there.

Then I see him talking and gesticulating with a couple of old men. The old men come down to me and start telling me the place is right over there, just a couple of blocks down the highway. El sr J comes down and the old men start talking about the last time they were there and what ailments they had. "OK, ok," I said, "I'll go." And I did.

When we arrived (it was more like four blocks away), there were lines of people everywhere. I, very grouchy now, sat down with a bunch of (other) old ladies in the last seat available. El sr J stood in a long line of people who kept questioning each other about whether they were in the right line. A woman beside me was crocheting. When her husband got to the front of the line and wanted her to join him, she refused and instead yelled out her information, which he then had to repeat. That cheered me up a little.

El sr J got to the front of the line 30 minutes later (at which time I joined him); it was the wrong line. We went to two more lines and finally got this piece of paper which directs us to take a bunch of documents to another hospital for the required medical examination, after which we will get our cards (we hope).

Not the end. We then had to cross the highway and walk to a supermarket, stock up on wine, etc. and take a taxi home. In the taxi, el sr J says, "I guess you don't want to work out today."

New Year's resolution: always carry taxi money with me.

TEJER/HACER PUNTO/CROCHETE

This place is so subtly signed that I didn't see it for a long time. It's a block from our place. There are also two other yarn stores within walking distance. Yes, I'm in crocheting heaven (my knitting needles are still in AL).

I've made two pillow covers. Yes, I know the yarn in the purple one is kind of ugly. The problem is that all the yarn is behind the counter and I can't pick it up, feel the fiber, read the label. I have to ask the clerk to show me stuff. So then I end up buy something I don't really want. (I'll get better at this).

This is for a project I'm working on now and will display when it's finished.

It's all cotton.

LAS LAVANDERIAS

We were on speaker phone with our family in Sacramento on New Year's Day. (They were eating pork and sauerkraut; we were not). Somehow, the topic turned to our laundry, which, after rent, is our biggest expense ($40 per month). Michael asked, "don't you have coin-operated laundromats?"

Well, no, we don't, and I remembered that I had asked the same question 25 or so years ago in Seville, Spain. In fact, we have never seen a self-service laundromat in any Spanish-speaking country we've visited or lived in. We have seen them in France.

Why is this? Why hasn't some entrepreneur started a chain of laundromats? With so many tourists and people living in apartments, you'd think it would be a no-brainer.

This answer could be worth muchos puntos. It would require some research. First, is it true that there aren't any? Second, what could prevent someone from opening one? A union of lavenderas?

2011

Los Jubilados wish everyone a Happy New Year. We didn't manage to stay up until midnight, but we did enjoy some Mexican champaña.

Cheers!

If you need a calendar for the new year, check these out: http://alphadesigner.com/project-mapping-stereotypes.html?ref=nf