The Blue Hairs (PT 2)

When we ‘woke up’, I could barely get out of bed.  I stood and thought I would fall right back over, like an old fence post.  Actually, that is what my spine felt like, hinged together with another splintery piece of wood as my hips, held together by a very large, chunky rusty hinge.  I know it took me a while to stand up straight.  Tonya and I laughed at how slow we moved around the room.  After taking showers, we made our way out into the early morning Mexican breeze.  It felt great.  It was crisp and bright outside.

I just liked this building, especially in the morning light.

We walked around the streets, which were much quieter on a Monday morning.  Hellos were exchanged with almost every passing stranger.  The ones in bad shorts, sandals and straw hats would send out a chirpy, “MORNING!” as if it were any suburban neighborhood in any town USA.  Tonya had spotted an ‘Illy’ coffee sign at one of the cafes sitting on the corner of the main square.  “They have to serve good coffee there if it is Illy, don’t you think?” she asks as we approach her intended target. “I guess.  I don’t ant anything crazy…I would like some simple bread and butter with my coffee”, I reply.  We grab a table and sit.  The waiter comes and Tonya asks him if they serve good coffee.  He says he will make it however she wants, “Strong” she says.  He nods, and gets to work.  The menu is full of eggs with salsa, drenched in mole, and all sorts of savory goodies.  I am in the plain white bread mode though, so I frown at my choices.  Just then, another waiter puts a small basket of warm plain white rolls on the table, with two circular containers, one for butter and one for jam. Perfect!

I actually end up ordering eggs and ham, and Tonya asks the waiter what he recommends.  She falls for it.  He brings back a platter of scrambled eggs.  One side of the plates is swimming in green salsa and the other side in smothered under a thick brown goo…but not quite mole.  I look at her plate and then her.  She sits staring at me.  “You sure you wanna do that?”  I ask.  “If you haven’t gone to the restroom yet, I promise you you will be there very soon after that breakfast” She laughs and agrees.  The coffee is OK, and so are my eggs and ham.  The beans are fantastic though!

I liked the cacti on the window.

After breakfast we want to get a look at the life during the week for the normal resident here.  Again, we wonder up and down streets.  I am amazed at how many people just say “Hello” or comment to you in English.  On a side street, I stop to take a photo of something and I hear a voice ask, “Is that a greyhound?”  I hear Tonya talking as I frame up my shot.  When I turn around, she is talking to an older couple.  The guy is from California and has braces.  It takes me a few minutes to get over this…a guy his age with braces.  He is nice though, and we start chatting away when another American stops and chimes in about Winston too.  The conversation turned to the couple we started talking to, and the inevitable question came out, “So what do you do in San Miguel?”  The guy laughed, “Real estate-like everybody else!” he says with his braces gleaming in the morning sun.  Great, now we know all the retirees here are all real estate agents.   We continue standing in the street and talking, and trying to grab as much insight as possible from these brief encounters.  Their number one tip, “Do Not Open A Restaurant”. Got it.

Each time out, we have taken a different route, going down new streets and seeing the place form a different angle.  As we are crossing a street, a voice reaches out, “That is the first time I have seen a dog like that in San Miguel,” it says.  We stop and smile at the grey haired guy walking carefully up the sidewalk.  He’s wearing bad shorts and his t-shirt is tucked perfectly into them. He’s got on some super fancy running shoes and a bruise on his knee.  He walks up and introduces himself.  This is Larry, he’s from Michigan.  Turns out Larry used to work for a Greyhound rescue there, and would shuttle dogs all around the Midwest.  He loves them, but never owned one.  He leans over and pets Winston.  Once more, a new conversation starts up.

A street...where friendly people meet!

Larry moved here in November, with his sister. According to him, she is a new-age freak who vibes off ‘energy’ here in San Miguel.  Larry says he’s not buying it, but his sister seems quite content and happy.  The usual questions are asked; weather, jobs, daily life.  Larry says life is pretty simple here.  You get up, meet friends for breakfast and then wonder around.  You always bump into a friend and while away the day with lunch and bumping into more friends.  During the summer months, you beat the heat by taking a siesta. “Oh man, I love it!  I go home and nap from 1 until 4, then I am ready to go” he states with enthusiasm.  Larry says as the suns starts its retreat; you head to the main square and see whom you see.  There is always something going on there and always familiar faces.  It seems as if you do not have to worry about working, this is a pretty ideal place.  It is also no wonder why we have been told that many of those who live here take up drinking as a hobby. 

Earlier, while having breakfast, Tonya overheard the table behind her.  They were a group of Mexicans and they said amongst themselves that a good bar or wine bar would be key here.  According to their conversation, the gringos here like to eat well and drink well.

We stand on the corner and let Larry entertain us for quite a while.  He is a likeable guy, and seems quite genuine and warm.  I ask him the obvious question about feeling comfortable and safe.  At first, his reply is the typical one, “Oh-the press blows everything out of proportion.  It is great here…”, then I get specific.  What about those three murders last fall that all happened within a few months of one another.  “Oh yeah, those.  Let me tell you about those” he says.  He states the same thing again, about the press not getting things right or knowing what is really going on.  “You know, there is quite a large community of those who live alternative lifestyles here.  I don’t mind, they can do what they want and I do what I want,” he says. “The Mexicans are OK with it too, as long as they keep it among themselves.  You don’t take those things into the Mexican community if you are an outsider.  The guy found with the bag over his head and stabbed 30 something times in his living room?  He was a pedophile.  It was well known around here that that was what he was in to.  Obviously, he messed with someone he shouldn’t have.  That is the thing, you don’t mess with the Mexicans…especially with their kids” Good point Larry.  What about the 41 year old found shot 9 times and dumped on the side of the road? “Oh, him?  I forgot his name…” he stands quietly for a moment trying to recall the guys name, “Well, he had a drug record in the US.  Not sure if he was running from the law, but he had a rap sheet for drug offenses.  He was tied up in some drug stuff.”  Then Larry dispels the rumor of the other ‘murder’.  “He was an older guy.  He had heart problems.  He had a heart attack and in the process, stumbled over and grappled with furniture.  I don’t know if you know this, but sometimes when this happens you kind of convulse.  He did this and in the process they found bruising on his chest and over turned furniture.  It was no foul play, just an old guy having a rough heart attack”.

Larry seems to be keyed in on the goings on here.  It makes sense that the underlying gringo community is well aware of what fellow gringos are doing.  Then Larry tells us of the lady who was stabbed repeatedly. “I thought when you asked initially, that was what you meant,” he said.  I was shocked.  I had not heard about the lady stabbed crazy style.  “Oh, I heard about that one” Tonya says, and she looks at me as if Mr. Paranoia forgot to read the latest in the bizarre happenings in Mexico news. “Wha…?”, I don’t even get to finish before Larry lets it roll.

“Oh Yeah, that was big news.  Actually, we had invited our nephew to come and visit.  We set him up in a house to house sit for a well to do woman here who was gone for a few months.  He loved it!  He said he wanted to come back and stay.  Anyway, the lady came back and he went home.  Two days later, she was found stabbed to death in the house.  My nephew was a bit shook up by the whole thing…”  I completely understand why. “Good timing for him” I say.

“Well, what it was was this.  The woman was a real bitch.   She treated her help, who were Mexican, like crap.  She had just accused a former housekeeper of stealing form her and fired her without any compensation” he says. Tonya chimes in, “Oh no, you can’t do that.  Those maids and house workers take that stuff seriously”  “Right” Larry says, “You know how it is with the law here.  Anyway, the housekeeper wanted revenge.  She watched the house for a few months and when the lady returned, went in and took revenge.  Like I said, it is not wise to cross the Mexicans.  If you gotta do something like that, do it the legal way, don’t just throw them out and be mean.”

Wow.  The knowledge learned from standing on a street corner talking to a guy named Larry with a bruise on his knee.  He is wound up now and is ready to lure us into the typical day in San Miguel, talking, coffee and chatting away the day.  I would love to listen to this guy give us the low down, but check out time is in 45 minutes.  I discreetly tap Tonya and point to my wrist.  We tell Larry how nice it was to meet him, and thank him for all the tips. He smiles and says how nice it was to meet us and to see Winston.  We exchange goodbyes and start on our way, he yells out across the street “Hey!  Maybe we’ll bump into each other later in the week…OK?”  I raise my hand and wave and give him a big smile.

We walk back to the hotel and both comment on the folks we met this morning. “I Liked Larry” I said.  “Me too” Tonya says. Back at the hotel, we start to quickly put our things together for trip home.  I laugh and ask Tonya, “Hey…by the way.  We have been out walking the whole time since breakfast.  How are you holding up?  I know those eggs have got to be working some magic on you…” She starts laughing and cuts me off. “I know, I am going now” the bathroom door shuts firm and I pack up things in a flash. Our brief time here has given us plenty to think about and to talk over on the drive home.