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... 

Nothing fishy (PT.2)

I ask Pedro how his exhibit was.  He lights up and says, “Fantastic.  It was great.  There were 16 paintings and I only brought two home” Quite a pull.  We are congratulating him and he tells us about who bought what.  Seems that the family that owns the King Ranch outside of Dallas bought up loads.  I was curious about some of the work I had seen before the exhibit, “What about the tomatoes?  Did someone buy the tomatoes?”  He smiles and nods, “Yes, they did” Tonya takes the words out of my mouth when she asks about the bananas.  He turns to her and nods, “Yes, the bananas too…” I am crushed.  We had talked about acquiring this piece.  He looks across the table at me and shrugs his shoulders.

Those bananas we were bananas for.

Carla complains about the lack of sleep from last night.  When asked why, she says she is worn out.  She is one of a panel of judges, who are in the midst of rating poetry books for a national contest.  She points to a big box of books sitting on a table, “There’s more too” she says and rolls her eyes.  “I have so much to read as well as translate a book for someone.  You can’t believe how bad some of the entries are”.  I ask her if she cheats, if she starts to read it and skips around when she realizes it may be boring.  She looks me straight in the face and says, “It is horrible.  I can tell if it is crap from the first few lines.  Some of them are so boring…it is horrible.  If I think it is bad, I go to the middle of the book, and then read the last page.  If it looks as if it never progressed, then I declare it worthless” She is laughing and dropping her shoulders to show despair.  I ask if that is really an option.  She says it is, one can hand out a literary rating of ‘desierto’, a desert, full of nothingness.  Yes, she adds, and she has done it before too.

I turn back to see what I am missing between Pedro and Leonor.  I know it was something good because as soon as she realizes I am back in her audience, she switches to English and tells a great tale.  “There was this very odd man from Chihuahua.  He was illiterate, and could not read.  He did not want people to know, and he would always pick the paper up, and hold it up in front of him like he was reading,” she says starting to laugh. “We would all sit and smile because he would be sitting there acting as if he was reading the paper, not knowing he had the paper upside down.  He was so cute.  One day someone finally went over to him and asked what eh was doing.  When he replied he was reading, they grabbed the paper and turned it around for him, saying ‘If you are going to read, you have to have it right side up’” She says he was old, so it was just accepted as who he was.  Leonor says that he was from Juarez, and would frequently go back and forth into El Paso.  She reminds us that this was a long time ago, and says that he was a simple man.  He would just go across the border whenever he felt like it.  One day, border officials stop the old man and asked him for his papers.  He said he didn’t have any, and didn’t need them.  He was born and raised in Juarez, and has gone over this border all the time, his whole life and never been asked for papers before.  The guard realized that he had nothing to hide, but wanted a few pieces of information before he let him cross into Texas.  “Sir, I understand.  Can you just tell me how long you have been crossing here?  Can you tell me when the first time you crossed was?”  The old man looked at the guard and with utmost pride tells him, “Yes, I can tell you the first time I crossed into Texas.  It was with my general, General Villa…”  This, of course, got a good round of laughs from us all. 

Once again, the world gets really small, as everyone at the table talks about another neighbor, who supposedly is a medium and used to hold séances in a cottage behind their house.  This leads to ghost talk…and Pedro’s new house. “Well, do you have any friends here?” I ask him.  “No, nothing.  In my old house though, there was Juanito” he says as he points over his shoulder in the direction of his old home.  He tells of how there were a few odd instances with other family members, and then one particular instance involving himself.  “Before I had the studio, I was painting in a room at the top of the house.  It was late, and I was alone.  The doors to the room were open.  They were double doors.  I am in my room painting and everyone else is asleep downstairs.  All of a sudden I hear laughing.  I look up, it is coming from the doors…Someone was laughing at me really hard, ‘Ha ha ha ha’  I went to the doors, and no one was there.  No one had gone down the stairs either.  The very next morning, as soon as I woke up, I immediately went to our local priest and told him what had happened.  He came over to the house and did a blessing right away” This gets a chuckle from all of us.  Pedro’s face is so animated as he tells the story.  He gives accounts of the different episodes the maid had with Juanito.  He said that after the priest visited, Juanito had disappeared.  He said he had been told about JuanitoJuanito lived in a certain lamp, like a genie.  Pedro had said they had eventually gotten rid of this certain lamp, and must have thrown Juanito out with the lamp.  The previous owners could not comprehend Juanito not being around anymore.  The fact that he invited the previous owners back into their house to take a look around, and they were only interested in their ghost, seems quite comical to Pedro.

This elicits a quick eyeing up at everyone at the table, and everyone shaking their heads 'no' when asked if they have any ghost 'problems'.  Pedro is still giggling over Juanito, and says he will have his priest come and bless this house just to be safe.

Leonor is truly enjoying the fish.  Now it is almost completely gone.  In the midst of all the chatting, I have kept an eye on her and lost count at how many servings of the fish she had taken.  Easily a 5:1 ratio compared to everyone else.  She loves it so much as a matter of fact, that she calls the maid in to compliment her.  She then puts the skeleton of the fish on the platter and sets in front of her.  She has to get a final look at the dish she so enjoyed.  She arranges the skeleton exactly how she desires and turns to Pedro, "Perhaps you should paint this fish.  It was so good, it deserves to be painted for a keepsake!"  She is not joking.  She then unwinds a tale about a Picasso painting, in which he enjoyed his fish so much he painted it and made a sculpture of the skeleton.

One of Picasso's ceramic fish plates...obviously before devouring

(One wonders if she knew that Pedro had already painted fish on plates himself, like this one;)

Pedro's own take on fish...and with fruit!

As the maid cleans up the dishes, Pedro asks who is up for coffee.  I chirp up and raise my hand, Tonya too.  Pedro orders coffees for three (himself included).  Carla is talking about a myriad of subjects, then nudges me on the leg.  "I am going to give you a phone number of someone.  I want you to call him.  You and he will get along marvelously" she says.  He's English, supposedly well to do and is a music freak.  She assures me that I will love his home too, a very big nice one in a great part of town.  She follows with how well connected he is, namedropping a certain Mick Jagger as a friend and a dinner guest last time the Stones were in town.  I promise her I will call.  The maid brings in the coffee and a small plate with broken chocolate heaped in a pile.  She sets it down and I see Leonor immediately grab chocolate and dig in.  She is a tricky one.

The room gets darker because of the heavy grey skies hovering above.  We talk a bit more and decide we should head out before the rains come.  Leonor came via cab, and asked if she could hitch a ride home with us. Of course.  We get up and exchange goodbyes, with hugs kisses and handshakes thrown in.  As we open the door, the raindrops are starting to get hefty.  We tell Leonor to wait, and we run to fetch the car.  We pull up and I lean over to push the door open for Leonor.  Pedro walks her to the car and leans in to take a look at our ride. He nods with approval and says we should keep this car.

As we drive away, Leonor asks me if she should help with directions, or if I know my way back.  I smile and tell her it is OK, "Ride with me, and I will show you parts of this city most Mexicans don't even know about".  She laughs and agrees.  We don't get far before we are sitting at a red light.  I recognize a guy, and he is walking up beside the car.  I roll the window down, "Hey, buey..."  He stops suddenly and looks in the car, not recognizing Leonor.  When he sees me he smiles and sticks his hand in, over Leonor.  She is a bit panic stricken, and then starts to laugh when she realizes that the guy sticking his hand in is a friend of ours.  She said she was worried that I yelled at some 'stranger'.  Me...yelling out at guys in the street...in this city.  Imagine.

Driving home we get stuck in rain and drive-time traffic.  It is OK though, Leonor is in the passenger seat and we are chatting away.  She tells some tales of the old days and says she is concerned over people not preserving the past.  She says that she thinks it is a tragedy that really nothing has been historically significant in Mexico for over the last 50 years.  If you sit and think about it, she is right.  Her husband was one of the gang who last did anything significant here...for the people and culture.  She talks about her home in another town.  her husband built the home on some old colonial ruins form the 17th century.  "When I go there, that is where I truly feel at home" she says.  She also tells another story about the old man who she mentioned earlier as well as her travels with her husband and an old hotel they used to like to visit in El Paso.

The drive home is nice, if a bit lengthy.  I check with her periodically to make sure she is OK and comfy.  She smiles and says she is alright.  The closer we are to home, the quieter everyone gets.  I think we are just tired and ready to relax.  Turning on to Leonor's narrow stone street, she starts up, pointing to all the homes and telling us who lives where and what they do.  "The lady on the corner from me is English.  I don't know why, but we never built a friendship" she says. 'It's not from not trying.  We say hello and chat once in a while...but I just think she is one of those people who I just don't care to build anything with..."  As we pull in front of her house, she starts thanking us and telling us what a nice afternoon it has been.  We like Leonor, and this afternoon's surprise lunch visit gave us a glimpse of her we hadn't known.  It definitely strengthened our hunch that we already had.  She's a live wire, fun, and full of stories.

And she definitely likes fish.

Nothing fishy (PT.1)

Things have been getting a bit odd around here lately.  The circle of artists, architects and odd historical figures are getting closer and closer.  I do not believe in coincidence, so this is definitely where some odd paths cross…hopefully for a wonderfully weird and fantastic future.

Last time we saw Pedro, it was at his studio.  He and his family were living there temporarily, and he was just prepping for an exhibition of his in the US.  We sat at a small table in the middle of the room, with unfinished works and wrapped pieces waiting to be shipped out all around us.  He had let his bird loose, so while we chatted and ate we got a few loud squawks in our ears…and Tonya got her finger bitten.  I had not talked with Pedro since, but did receive a brief email.

Two days we were out and about and found ourselves talking to an older woman in the street.  She was wondering what we were doing looking lost, and we were wondering who this old lady was eyeing us up.  Stranger still, she just decides to ask us what we are doing.  Next thing you know we find ourselves in her living room.  Tonya looks at the mantle, and there is an old plaque on display.  It has her husband’s name on it, and underneath, in small letters, ‘ARCHITECT’. Tonya gulps; she asks the old lady if that was her husband.  She says yes, and Tonya nearly drops to the floor.  We are talking to Tonya’s favorite architect’s widow, Leonor.  He was a key player in the ‘scene’ of Mexico in its last gasp of history, in the ol’ Frida and Diego days.  She takes us around the house and we end up chatting in her living room for quite a while.  I am fascinated by the house, and in particular the old photos of her husband on the fireplace mantle.  Beside the fireplace, there is a group of Jesuses that have come off of crucifixes.  Old and broken Christs hanging on the white brick wall, a few darkened with time.  The largest of the bunch has a small, beaded metal chain hanging from his hand.  At the bottom of the chain is a thermometer.  I can’t get over this.

Later that day we get a call from Pedro.  He asks us if we bumped into Leonor.  There is some small talk, and then he invites us over for lunch.  He has moved into his new home, and tells us to come and see it.  This is good news to me!

As we drive to Pedro’s house, Tonya and I debate on what to take; a nice bottle of red wine, or a bottle of tequila.  I opt for the wine, because tequila seems like the typical choice.  As we drive to his new home, we debate on what may be served for lunch.  Will it be tacos or meatballs?  Personally, I am curious.  In the few times we have been to his home and dined, I have enjoyed it.  The food and conversation has been entertaining, not to mention his home and studio.  I am sure today will be no different…plus, we get the bonus of a new house to peruse through.

Thankfully, we arrive before the rain does.  He’s got some giant doors now. Impressive.  We ring the bell and stand on the doorstep waiting for them to open.  Someone yells from above.  We look up, and Pedro is leaning out over his balcony.  He waves and flashes his big smile.  He says someone will open the door in a moment.  We stand facing the giant doors and Tonya says, “Is someone behind there…?” and reaches out to try the door knob.  She gently grabs the knob and looks at me.  Just then, the garage doors open and the maids head pops out.  She smiles and tells us to come in that way.

Pedro’s new house is massive.  It is nice and roomy, loads of room.  Pedro meets us in the main hallway and tells us to come on in.  He leads us up the giant stairway into the dining room.  Pleasantries are exchanged and the wine is sat upon the table.  I look around, and everywhere is artwork, paintings, photographs still wrapped and piled in corners, on tables and at the end of the stairs.  They have only been in three weeks, so there is still plenty to be done.  We hear footsteps and a voice says “Hello!”  We turn to the dining room’s main doorway, and Leonor is smiling as she peeps into the room.  Tonya and I are shocked, we can’t believe it.  We turn to Pedro who is laughing.  He invited Leonor to lunch too.  She comes in and we all hug and say hello.  Now that she is here, Pedro thinks it is time to give us the grand tour…and it is grand.

On the top floor, I notice a small framed photograph on the wall.  It is a photo of Pedro from the 80’s.  He’s smiling and obviously clowning around when the picture was taken.  Written along the bottom of the image in ink it says “La Vida Loca. Mexico…” and a date from the 80’s.  It is signed by the photographer.  I like it, and look at it when I pass by it again.  We run in to his son, who is practicing bass in his room.  He comes out and says hello.  He has no shoes on, and some really great striped socks.  I lean over and tell him, “I like your socks” he smiles and shoots back, “Thank you very much!”  He turns and heads back into his room.

We get downstairs and are winding through the main floor.  He leads us into the kitchen where the maid and her daughter are preparing lunch.  It looks great, and smells great.  The maid grabs a hot pad and opens the over.  She pulls out a huge clay dish; you can hear the main course bubbling up with heat.  She sets it on the counter.  Pedro, Leonor and Tonya gasp with delight.  I reel in horror.  It is a huge fish, drowned in some sort of tomato sauce.  It looks amazing on that dish, and even more so when surrounded by a roomful of smiles.  I don’t like seafood.  I immediately reassure myself that I can fill up on rice and beans.  I am keeping it all to myself though, as I smile too, trying to fake excitement for the dish.  Pedro asks what we all would like to drink.  I just tell him I will have what everyone else is having, “What are you gonna have?” I ask.  He looks at me like it may be a tough decision, then he says quite assured, “I Think I am having a beer”, and he nods his head. “Ok, I’ll have a beer too”.

This is NOT the actual fish, but you get the idea...

Everyone goes to the dining room and Pedro tells each of us where we should sit.  Leonor laughs when she is told to sit at the head of the table.  I sit opposite of Pedro and Tonya.  Pedro’s son will end up sitting beside me, shortly after we begin lunch.  The maid wheels out the fantastically giant clay platter with the giant fish.  The others are thrilled beyond belief.  In no time at all, Leonor has grabbed the big fork and spoon, and started dismantling the fish.  She serves herself a big chunk, and asks for my plate.  Before I can say anything, she gives me a quite sizeable chunk from right behind the head.  As I am pulling my plate back, she tells me to wait, and then ladles on a heaping giant spoonful of the sauce.  I smile, and withdraw my plate.  I immediately pile on the beans and rice to serve as my main choices for lunch.  Leonor has already started eating. “Oh my, this is fabulous…” she said, or something close to it.  Pedro digs in and moans, Tonya follows.  I grab my fork and poke at the fish.  I pull a few pieces off my chunk, and insert it into my mouth.  To my surprise, it is ok.  It is not fishy.  I think I will be able to manage my fish.  I must say, the sauce is quite tasty.  On the other hand, the beans are cold…and that is a bummer.

Pedro tells us of some gala a museum had the night before last.  He met a very famous conductor at the gala.  He says he chatted with the conductor a while, then was introduced to his wife. “I could not stop looking at her” he says somewhat exasperated. “Seriously, she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen” he knows it sounds odd, and he laughs at his confession.  He tells of how charming she is and that she is truly incredibly magnetic.  (Later, when we are at home and walking the dogs, Tonya says that she thinks this woman Pedro was going on about is the very same one who told Tonya to clean up dog pee off the sidewalk.  They are our neighbors).  Pedro moves on from the confessions of being stupefied by this guy’s wife, to a story about this guy’s granddad.  He used to live around the corner from Diego Rivera.  One day while taking the baby out for a stroll, he bumped into Diego. “You have such a lovely child” Diego told the man.  “Can I paint a portrait of your son?”  Pedro tells us that Diego hated painting kids.  The man agreed, and Diego did the painting.  He did a portrait of both children from this man.  Pedro starts to laugh as he continues.  He presented the portraits to the parents, who, of course, were thrilled to have portraits done by Diego.  “The funny thing is…” he says laughing, “When you look at the portrait of the boy, he has Diego’s eyes, Diego’s nose….” And we all start laughing. Pedro is acting it out as it unravels. 

I am constantly amazed at how small the world is.  I am sitting here at Pedro’s house learning about one of Mexico’s biggest treasures, and about our own neighbors.  I had no idea that I was in such close proximity to the prima ballerina of Mexico’s ballet.  It is truly astounding at the daily knowledge of how much history has taken place around me.  Lunch would be a volley of stories coming from Pedro and Leonor.

I keep looking to my left, to Leonor.  She is going crazy on this fish.  Every time I look her way, she is serving herself another portion, and complimenting the maid on what a great job she has done on the fish.  Each time she confesses, Pedro echoes her sentiment.

Leonor’s eyes light up, not from another helping of fish, but from the news she is about to tell.  She is aghast at one of Mexico’s most prominent Notaries (similar to a lawyer).  “Oh, he was a truly elegant and sophisticated man.  He was well travelled, superbly styled and knows everything there is to know about music and literature” she says.  He is well travelled, studied abroad and is the epitome of refinement. The problem is, he is now in the headlines for pulling a massive scam on Mexico City’s elite, pilfering millions of dollars from them and a legal scam.  Just as Leonor is in full swing, Pedro’s wife, Carla, walks in.  She is on a break form work, and is wind tussled and full of energy.  She sits beside me, and nods in agreement with Leonor’s latest news.  She taps me on the leg and sits up straight, and makes like she is straightening a bowtie. “Really, he is exactly as she says.  He is truly refined and so proper.  If you want to know about why Rachmaninoff used this timing in this stanza, he is the one who can tell you.”  She also confides that her own uncle fell victim to the scam, as well as a lifelong friend of the scamster.

Leonor continues with an example of just how prim and proper this guy is. She says she invited him over for dinner.  She was thrilled to be hosting the dinner, and was excited about her guest.  She was so thrilled, as a matter of fact, that when he arrived, she wanted to be the one to greet him.  He rang the bell, the door opens and Leonor says hello.  He reels back, gasping with disbelief.  He chides Leonor, and asks why she stooped so low as to open her own door to a guest.  He insists it is the job of a maid.  Leonor explains that she was just so happy and thrilled he was coming, she wanted to greet him herself.  He wasn’t having it…that was soooo low class.

I am asked if I would like some more fish.  I’m good.  I politely decline and spoon on some more rice.  It was good though, but I am just not that big of a seafood fan.

To be continued...