Turbulence

It is time for another quick trip home, and another chance for me to get all whigged out about flying.  I’ll say it again, I hate having to fly. Oddly enough, I think I flown more since I have been in Mexico than I have in my whole life…at least it feels that way.

The mission this time is simple, to collect a few much needed items which include my new tennis shoes.  Mexicans (as a rule) have little feet.  Trying to find shoes to fit me here has proven to be quite a chore.  I resort to much time wasted on line pouring over assorted shoe sites eyeing up potential perfect matches for my feet.  I regret to say it, but I have passed over the apt Rod Laver Adidas for other less than compatible shoes.  I have learned my lesson.

It is also important to see my dad, as he had just undergone some surgery.  Completing these two tasks will make this a successful trip.

Oh, and I am still gunning for that amazing pizza I had when I was there the time before last (a simple pomodoro job) and a decent burger.  Again, these items are scarce in Mexico.

The airport here still bothers me.  Not only are there no water fountains anywhere, but it always seems a bit stuffy.  Our wait for this flight out proves no exception to the rule.  I do not know why, but I play this game with myself, that if I try different newsstands, I may stumble upon a hidden gem, loaded with all the recent magazines so rife in popular culture. No. The newsstands in Mexico City’s airport are pretty bland.  I brought a left over MOJO I had bought on previous trip and left the main story, about Paul McCartney, for the trip back home.   Tonya picked up a few gossip magazines, so she is thrilled.

Typical of flights out of here, an announcement comes over the PA telling us the gate has been changed.  We grab our bags and head further into the series of hallways to our newly appointed place of departure.  When we get there, I do my typical scan of the other passengers to see who we will be saddled up with.  They all look OK, but I have yet to fly with a plane full of Mexicans without some Indian from some Podunk village getting on, or some lofty uber-rich hag making a scene.  After the amount of flights I have racked up, I think it is safe to say that Mexicans are not good flying partners.  My point will be proven again on this flight out.  No sooner are we on the plane than we get the typical “What am I doing here standing in the aisle and what do I do with this bag and what do those numbers above the seats mean…” type of stuff from some inexperienced flyer.  Everyone in their seats huff and puff, as do the people standing behind the lost soul as they have to get themselves sorted out so everyone else who happens to be flying on this same plane can try to get as comfortable as possible in the crammed cabin in impersonal seats.

I take an aisle seat and stretch my long legs out.  The girl across the aisle from me is a well to do, snobbish-type Mexican.  She’s had her nails done and is chatting constantly on her ‘smart’ phone.   She is with her parents and her husband is somewhere else (she has got a huge stone on her finger that is how I know she’s married).

The plane fills up and the pilot says we are ready to go.  After sitting on the runway a bit, we actually start our taxiing.  Tonya hates taking off and landing.  Me?  I hate leaving the ground period, but upon finally feeling all wheels planted evenly on the runway again, I am always happy.  In actuality, I think I hate sitting in any airplane cabin and having some guy cough or sneeze in close proximity to me.  That bothers me more than taking off or landing.  It really geeks me out when the said offense is followed by the smell of a lozenge or a medicinal scent, then you know it was not a dry cough on a crowded plane, but it really is some germ infested, sicky thing that an idiot is spreading onto all these innocent passengers.

We took a later flight than usual, leaving after 5pm. This will put us on the ground a bit after 7pm, Houston time.  I have my magazine and once we are up and flying high, I read all about McCartney’s dubious ‘McCartney II’ album.  Tonya reads about poor J-Lo’s crumbling marriage to that greasy, slimy looking Marc Anthony.   I randomly look over at the snobby girl across the aisle to see what she is reading, but can never get a good look.  I do know that she did not eat her weird chicken sandwich served on a strange orange bun though.  Didn’t even touch her chips either.  The guy in front of her ate two of the sandwiches though!

Time flew quickly.  It seemed like no sooner had the orange sandwiches been picked up than the announcement comes on that we would be starting our descent into Houston.  It is hot; the pilot says about 100 degrees.  They have had a drought and it is taking its toll.  This is a prime example of one reason I am grateful to be in Mexico City and not suffering at the hands of overbearing heat and humidity. 

That is all about to change though.  As I near Houston, so does the freakish thunderstorm out of the north.  It seems both of us are due to be in Houston at the same time.  I would much prefer the crazy winds and lightning lord over Conroe where the pilot said it was, but God sees it different.  For whatever reason, we are honing in on our target, moving in fast.  A flight attendant comes on the PA and starts an announcement about buckling your seatbelts because of turbulence and coming in for the landing.  He suddenly stops and says he will return shortly.  I gaze out of our window and see darkness out there somewhere…hopefully not over Houston.  We are supposed to be making our descent into Houston, but I feel the plane rise.  My brain opens the doors to the safe which tries to keep all my rampant, paranoid thoughts at bay.  I think things may get hairy, but try lying to myself anyway.

A few minutes had passed and the attendant comes back on the PA, “Ladies and gentlemen, as I was saying previously, we had been re-routed to San Antonio…” No!  He had not said anything about San Antonio.  I tell Tonya what is happening and I don’t like it.  On a trip back from Philadelphia a while back my brother and I were coming into Houston when a major storm hit, and we were diverted.  Now the scenario is playing out from the other direction.  My palms start to get sweaty and I feel emptiness in my stomach.  Tonya tries to dispel the thought, saying “Maybe we won’t have to.  The pilot said something about the storm in Conroe, not Houston” I know, but we are about to run head on into one another.  I fear the worse, “No, it’s gonna happen.”

The voice continues to crackle out over the speakers, “…we were re-routed to San Antonio, but now the air traffic controllers say they have a space for us.  We will begin heading back to Houston.  Please stay in your seats and keep your seatbelts on.  We should be landing in about 20 minutes”

The closer we get, the darker it gets.  Looking out my window, it looks as if there is a bright orange sunset.  When I look towards the snobbish girl with the fancy nails, it is solid black.  Everyone on that side of the plane is sitting quietly looking out their windows.  I do not like this, but there is nothing I can do.  I have already finished reading my McCartney piece and now I have to face the reality of the situation.  Another attendant is making the final trip down the aisle to pick up trash.  I hear her tell a passenger it is going to be rough, it is a big storm.  I relay this to Tonya, but she thinks I am hearing it wrong.  By the time the attendant had passed my seat, the plane starts bouncing.  I look at Tonya and say nothing, hoping that my face in glaring bright white and cold sweat speaks volumes instead.

The plane gets rough very quickly.  Tonya gets extremely nervous, grabs my hand and puts her head down.  I try to calm her and myself by talking to her.  She barks back, “Don’t talk to me!”  As the bumpy ride is immediately amplified, some passengers start letting out small yelps and screams.  The plane does a sudden drop, and more than one loud “OOOOOOHHHHHH” is uttered from up and down the aisle.  Out our window, it looks peaceful, but looking out the other windows we see the truth.  It is black and menacing, and now we are getting buffeted to and fro and getting brilliant flashes of lightning thrown in just to keep us more disoriented.  It I so bad that the snobby girl has put her book down and looks me straight in the eye and grimaces.  I flash a nervous smile back across to her.  She holds her hand up over her face to cover her view of the lightning and eternal black void that is just outside her window.  I am transfixed, and wonder if we will know when the lightning pegs us.  The novelty has worn off, as several passengers on the other side of the plane pull their visors down and stare blankly at the bounding seats in front of them.  This is definitely one of the scariest moments I have had flying. I dread the thought, but I wonder if my trip “home” has a double meaning.

We break through the clouds and as we toss from side to side, I really believe that we will make it out of the mess, but the pilot will let slip as we are coming in, the wing will clip and that will be it.  I don’t know how this guy will get us to land evenly and squarely on the runway.  I am not a pilot, but I am betting we will bounce down the runway.

I hold my breath as the landing lights draw nearer.  The plane is still going right to left, up and down.  The ground is right below and he has not evened out yet.  Had I placed bets, I would about to be collecting my booty.  One wheel touches, then the other, then back to the previous.  We wobble as he tries to bring the front down.  When it does, it hits hard and the rushing sound is incredible as he fires up the afterburners to slow us down.  This brings another round of yelps from the passengers, not of relief, but fear.  When the rushing noise stops, and the plane slows down it is obvious that we made it through the storm.  Tonya raises her head and says, ‘That was horrible…”.  The Mexican guy who has been sitting next to her is relieved to, and bows his head and does the sign of the cross, then kisses the charm on his necklace.  I know what he is feeling, and Tonya says the same.

I look at the snobby girl.  She smiles to me.  We made it ok.

“Gross!” Tonya says in a low grumble, and she nudges my side. “Did you just see that?”  I look at her and ask, “See what?”.  She nudges me again and casts her eyes over the aisle, “That girl.  She is flossing her teeth with her hair.  Disgusting!”  I turn to look at the snobby girl, who is now fusing with her hair.  Obviously, she is getting ready for whoever she is about to see.  It may have been a hair-raising flight, but she does not want weird stuff in her teeth when she steps off the plane.  Every single passenger on this plane could not wait to grab their bags and get off.  Thankfully, we had only brought two small carry-ons, so I reached up, pulled the bags down and hurried off.

As we get into the car for the ride home, we are told, “Man.  You guys picked a bad time to land.  The radio said the winds were hitting over 60mph.  The emergency alarm was even sounded on the radio…”  You’re telling me?  We just lived it dude.  We clear out of the passenger pick up area and make our way towards the freeway.  Once we are in the clearing, we see the dark clouds already drifting further away from us.  Why couldn’t the storm have waited…or better yet, sped up so we did not meet at this point at the same time?  “Oh well, you can’t even imagine how much we needed the rain” a voice says.  Maybe so, but it doesn’t make our flight into hell any better. 

I was extremely thrilled at the surprise encounter at The Gap.  Tonya was trying on jeans and asked me to fetch another size.  Like a good boy, I head straight back out to the shelves ot get her another size.  There was a woman standing in front of the place I needed to get to.  She is in my way, and I am in a hurry.  I stand for a moment looking at the woman form behind and think, "I hope this lady doesn't think I am freak, I'm going for it...", and I step beside her, then lean forward and start rummaging.  I am a bit self conscious about my abrupt invasion of her personal browsing space, but I have a job to do.  While hunched over I hear what I think is my name.  A brief second of rationale tells me Tonya is away in a dressing room, no one else knows I am here therefor I must be hearing things.  I hear it again.  I realize I am not hearing things, but someone is actually saying my name.  I stand and turn around.  It was the lady I had worried about thinking I was being intrusive by squeezing her out of the way so I could find jeans.  Turns out, this 'lady' was an old friend from high school.  I don't really care about my high school 'friends' but she is one of the few I have actually thought about over the years. Now, after almost 30 years   We are standing face to face.  I have no idea how long we stood and chatted, all I know is that it was rapid fire. There is so much I would like to know and no time to be able to.

After our 30 years of catching up in a flash, she said she had to go, and Tonya was finished too.  I said goodbye to Kirsten, gave her a hug and told her to come visit.  She smiled and started her way out, flashing that wonderful smile of hers.  As we walked up to our car, I notice that the car pulling out that was beside us was Kirsten.  I motion to the two cars being parked beside one another.  She rolls down her window and says, "Weird, this is really weird"   It was, but it was great. I was truly thrilled to see her.

Regarding the trip back; perhaps it is an unknown phenomenon, but on the way back, as I sat in my aisle seat again, I look to the guy across the aisle from me.  He has his Blackberry or some other modern, square shaped phone out and he’s typing away like a mad man.  The, he takes his tiny typing tool used for his virtual keyboard, and he starts picking his teeth.  Is this a previously unnoticed trend among Mexican flyers?

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.

The Blue Hairs (Our trip to San Miguel) PT.1

After being here over a year, we finally managed to go to the most recommended place that we have come across, San Miguel De Allende.  It is the one place that natives and transplants have told us is a ‘must’.  It is also the place with a strong ‘hate it’ or ‘love it’ attitude.  Tonya’s best friend constantly tells her to go there, even prods her to move there.  “It’s bohemian, like you” is a common statement…whatever that means.

I had already started to develop my own opinions about the place even though I had never been.  Based on what I had heard and the most common feedback, I had a picture painted on that giant canvas in my head, of what to expect and what not to expect.  The most common thing heard about the joint is ‘gringos’.  Lots of retirees, and quite a magnet for Americans.  I grimace at the thought.  Just like an old timer, I look up what the average temperatures are there, because I am tired of living in the heat.  I feel I am at odds already, because old people like to live in the sun and warmth.  It is a few degrees warmer than Mexico City; so I am already building myself up to not like it.  I can manage old folks, but not heat and old folks.

In my research, I had taken an interest in smaller cities and safety amidst all the drug-crazed murders happening on a daily basis in this country.  True, most are in the north and tourist places, but I am a paranoid guy, so I looked into it.  As it happens, San Miguel is no stranger to crime.  There were 4 ‘odd’ murders there last year, and three of the four happened around the same time.  This made me a bit concerned, because the reported murders were all Americans.  The ‘unexplained’ ones worried me most.  The ex-marine found with a bag over his head and stabbed over 30 times in his own home.  The 41 year old shot 9 times and thrown out on the highway, and then the other ‘older’ man found dead in his living room thought to be the result to foul play. 

The equation gets longer, and more worrisome.  Retirees + heat + ‘odd’ murders aimed at ‘gringos’.  The natural sum of all of this is “no fun”.

Still, the dogs have been sent to the dog sitter, and Winston is along for the ride as we finally make our trek to what Conde Nast had stated as one of the 10 best places to live in the world. San Miguel, here we come.

It only takes about 3 hours to drive from Mexico City northwards, to San Miguel.  We roll in around 2pm.  It is quaint.  The streets are stone and the buildings old.  I like the looks of it as we are driving down the main road into the heart of the town.  “It’s hotter here,” Tonya says, and my frail attempt at viewing this through of veil of denial is shattered into millions of little pieces.  As we get to the bottom of the hill, the whole view changes.  It is now hard to see what the town looks like because of all the people. Lots of noticeably white people, wearing horrid ‘nature’ sandals with craggy bare feet, their toes overhanging the front of the soles, gently kissing the stone streets.  If that is not a giveaway of tourist or retiree, the bad denim shorts are…as well as the awful straw hats they are all wearing.  Tonya and I look at one another and remain silent.  The only words spoken are that of asking directions.

We arrive at the hotel recommended by Tonya’s friend.  They allow dogs, so that is where we stay.  Her friend warned us, “It’s not nice, but its Ok”.  Yes, as we park the car, it looks “OK”.  Tonya checks in and I haul the bags to the room.  As we open the door, we are very pleasantly surprised.  It is very OK.  We are happy with the room!  I plop down on the bed.  It looks like a bed, but feels more like a few layers of flatten cardboard boxes on an old plank of wood.  I tell Tonya to sit.  She does, and stares at me like I just played a bad joke on her.  The consensus is: the beds are less than desirable.  Rather than worry about how the beds will suit us, we are more concerned with getting food.

Typical street in the town.

The closest place to eat is the hotel restaurant.  It is an extensive menu for such a small place, and there is no doubt who the food is aimed at either.  We settle for the simple quesadillas and some guacamole.  The old couple a few tables down are eating and talking to almost every other couple that walks by.  This is obviously a place older folks from the States like to eat, and obviously it is already apparent that everyone here knows everyone here.  The old guy gets up to give a personal tip to his waitress and is sporting some classic fashion items, like the blue striped seersucker trousers and white collared short sleeve shirt.  Next thing you know, he is standing next to our table and chatting up a storm.  His wife walks over and starts in on the fun too.  This is our first introduction to life in San Miguel.

After eating we go back to rest a bit, and then head out for some exploring.  We don’t say much as we stroll through the narrow streets.  We just turn and look at one another as the obvious outsiders stroll past and the typical behavior is on parade.  Things are a bit different up close.  We have no idea where to go or what to see.  When Tonya asked her best friend what to do there, she simply replied, “Go to the main square, and just walk around”.  We can see the church steeple from way down the narrow streets, so we just make our way towards that landmark.

We walk around the square and look at all the gringos and Mexican tourists alike.  We look inside the cathedral, then make our way down some side streets gazing at this and that.  It seems like 8 out of every day of the shops sells almost the same things.  We keep going and do a giant loop around the main points.  As we decide to call it an afternoon and go back and relax a bit, we see the obvious sign of gentrification, Starbucks!  We laugh, but still go towards the eyesore and get a much needed boost of caffeine.  We sit outside on a lovely patio and the sun beats down on us.  We try not to whine too much about the difference in our expectations and the reality of the real world.  As we finish up and walk back to our hotel, we walk down the standard issue ‘Insurgentes’ and I see a great old bar with actual worn out, beat up swinging doors.  The way the sun is hitting it and the color of the building make for a great picture.  Then I notice a pigeon walking on the pavement, zigzagging around the doorway as if he is stumbling out after too many tequilas.  Nice.

Tonya & Winston at the hotel.

Back at the hotel the shoes come off and we plop down onto the stiff, hard bed.  I remind Tonya about the commercial we had just seen, about how your mattress gains an excess of pounds over the years from dead skin, mites, dust and all sorts of stuff.  This thing is ancient, so the weight has surely doubled!  The TV comes on and we flip through channels as we lay back and relax. 

As dusk is fully upon us, we decide we should make it out again and do another stroll, and find somewhere to eat.  Again, Tonya’s friend told us where not to eat, but only said mentioned one restaurant to eat at.  Obviously there are tons more, but we set out to check out the place we were told of, Mamma Mia’s.  I grimace at the name.  It doesn’t sound very Mexican and the one who recommended it to us is a vegetarian.  I am highly skeptical of what lies ahead.  It turns out that the place is on a side street not far from the main cathedral.  Through a doorway and into a very nice patio…it sure looks OK.  I am happy to see the menus, they serve meat!  We both order the same cut of meat (arrachera) and anxiously await our dinner. 

The meal was actually quite good, and the salsa served with it was a nice touch too.

The cathedral at dusk...nice.

When we leave the restaurant, we wonder aimlessly down the street.  The sun is setting and everything is washed in pink and orange hues.  A nice breeze has kicked up and it is noticeably cooler.  This immediately puts us in a much better mood.  We mingle amongst those in the square and watch a group of street performers in black knickers with ribbons draped off their shoulders, as they dance and sing whatever regional stuff they are from.  They are really good, and I really enjoy watching them.  It is obvious this place takes on a whole other charm when the sun begins to sink.  Now, we walk with smiles on our faces.  Tonya comments how this simple change in temperature and the sun setting has her thinking differently of the town.  We wonder through more streets and it gets darker.  The darker it gets, the more tiny fairy lights began to twinkle.  Street vendors are out setting up their stalls for the night and the place is buzzing with just as much energy as it was during the day, albeit a different kind of energy.  We are full now and satisfied.  It is nice walking around and seeing the town’s personality after dark.  This is definitely a clincher form this angle. 

Back at the hotel, we let Winston out, kick our shoes off and switch to full on relax mode.  We’re beat from the drive and wondering around in the heat…plus, we are just happy to be away, to be somewhere different.  It is nice to just relax. 

In actuality, it is a bit difficult to relax when your pillow is limp and paper thin, and serves as no cushioning from the garish wrought iron sculpted headboard.  I steal the pillow form the other bed and try to make it serve as an extra cushion for both Tonya and I.  A bit of traversing through the channels and we come to a film just starting up. ‘Leave it here.  Let’s see what it is”, says Tonya.  ‘Midnight Express’. Awesome.  The perfect film to see when you are a stranger in a strange land.  Very comforting indeed.  We prop ourselves up and grab a few assorted bags of potato chips and get into it!

It is a decent length film, and after a few hours of watching guys sweat, get beat up and get their heart broken, it is nice to finally shut off the TV and hope for a nice rejuvenating nights sleep on a hard bed with wafer thin pillows.  The ceiling fan control has a controller with the numbers 1-5 on it.  However, no matter which one you select, it is churning at full speed and wobbling because of the force.  It will have to do.  I pull the curtains closed and carefully get myself into bed.

There was no clock handy, so I had no idea what time it was when the fireworks started going off.  There were a few instances prior, when Winston had heard a noise outside and would sit upright in full alert mode.  After a few moments, he would loosen up and cuddle back up with us.  It wasn’t easy for him or myself to relax with the booms going off.  It just makes me very nervous to be in Mexico in a small town, on a hard bed, trying to relax and then hearing any sort of explosive sound echoing from outside.  Certain sounds can make for a very nerve racking experience.

I guess the fireworks were the last grand hurrah of the local kids before school started, either that or some serious weekend warriors.  This was not the typical ‘firecrackers in the street’ shenanigans either. No, these were Mexican style mini bombs set off in numbers on narrow, tiny Mexican streets surrounded by age-old crumby Mexican buildings.  This is a Mexican echo-chamber.  The fun was to last at least 45 minutes and could have easily been spread out intermittently over an hour.  I just lay there, and waited for the explosions to stop, lying to myself that that was the last batch.  Another round of explosions would begin; Winston would jerk upright and begin to shake…kind of like the ceiling fan running full force in the center of the room.  I just lay still, and tried the new theory of the harder I pressed my eyes shut, the quieter it would get.

To be continued...