blah...blah...blah... Ginger! » México

We who live in stone houses are arrogant about fire

Jonna — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 22:01:52 +0000

We went to a pre-NYE party on Saturday night, there was a lovely dinner. The next day though, I started getting sick to my stomach. Apparently a couple of others who also ate the salad were sick as well. It can happen, I just wish it hadn’t happened on NYE and to me.

The upshot though, is that we canceled on a party on NYE and stayed home. It’s the first time since we moved in here that we’ve been home at midnight on NYE. It was an eye opener. It turns out our across the street neighbors are big on this holiday and like a lot of boom with their new year. At midnight, the city lit up with fireworks, the rat a tat tats of smaller firecrackers, and the huge booms of the M80′s. It was like the news used to be from journalists on a hotel rooftop in Beirut. We were on our roof, watching the dazzle and listening to the booms from all over the city.

Our neighbors came out from their party with a life size dummy representing the old year. They leaned him up against the front of their house and their metal garage door, poured some gas on him and lit him up. It turns out they had stuffed him with M80′s. Whoa! That guy went off for about 5 minutes with the loudest booms imaginable, it was like taking your headset off at the firing range and firing rifled slugs from a shotgun. It was loud. When the dummy seemed to calm down a bit, the neighbor would run over and drop huge strings of M80′s on him to get him going again. Meanwhile, the flames licked up the side of the house and the garage about 5′. It’s a bit unnerving to see flames running up a house, I had to keep reminding myself that houses here don’t burn.

Occasionally, something in there would shoot out across the street and over our heads, I ducked down under the wall several times and started wondering what I would do if one landed in my fish pond. Luckily the wind was blowing to the side and everything sailed by to my neighbors. The street was full of smoke and people who came out to watch along with the party guests from across the street. At one point a cop car parked at the end of the street for a bit, waiting for it to calm down before driving on by.

We had no idea that our house was ground zero for so many explosions. It’s making more sense now that whenever we would come home on NYE, the dogs were totally traumatized. The dogs spent the night huddled on our bed shaking, the cats were under something and no one came out until it was light and quiet.

Mimi took some video of the old man of 2011 burning on our neighbors house, she missed the first half but got the rest. It’s kind of fun, about mid way through at 1:20 minutes a big bunch go off. At the end, the neighbor comes out and throws a bucket of water on it. The next day they swept up the debris and it was as if it had never happened.

From NYE 2012

Pedro Infante, like Elvis but in Spanish

Jonna — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 02:25:32 +0000

I’ve been meaning to write a post about Pedro Infante (1917 – 1957) for a long time. My friend Nancy wrote one recently and it reminded me.

Last semester in my spanish class we read a book called Las Batallas en el Desierto by José Emilio Pacheco. It’s a great book, very short, about a boy growing up in the 1950′s in Mexico City. The discussions we have in class when we are reading a book are fabulous. In one, talking about a passage where he mentions many idols of the 50′s including Pedro Infante, we talked about the similarities between Pedro Infante in Mexico and Elvis Presley in the US. There are more than a few similarities.

Both were singers and actors, both were enormously popular sex symbols who also were macho enough to be popular with men as well. Both mainly appealed to the working class, this is a distinction that we tend to ignore in the US but which is openly discussed in Mexico. Both are still revered many years after their deaths. I don’t know if there have been sightings of Pedro since his death but it’s possible.

Pedro Infante was born in Sinaloa near Mazatlán, thus the statue there that Nancy showed in her blog post. He died here in Mérida in a private plane crash a short distance from the end of the airport runway, in the southern part of the centro. The statue above of him on a horse holding some kind of award is located at the sight of the crash, I went and found it today. It’s at the corner of Calle 91 and Calle 62 if you want to go yourself. I’ve heard that every year on the anniversary of his death in April people come there with flowers and candles.

Pedro was a better actor than Elvis, at least in my opinion. I never thought Elvis was very believable as an actor. Both were great singers, different styles, different times but they both had an enormous effect on the music of their time.

While I was googling around about Pedro, or Pedrito as the ladies called him, I found several clips of his movies. There was one series of 3 movies, a fourth was planned but hadn’t been filmed when he died, called Nosotros Los Pobres, Ustedes Los Ricos, and Pepe, El Toro. Here is a short clip from the first one, it shows him in his prime, acting and singing and looking handsome and strong. ¡Qué guapo!

Here is another clip of him from the movie Los Tres Huastecos where he plays 3 roles, 3 brothers who are very different. This clip is a great song as it is the type of music I think of as Son Jarocho but is called Son Huasteco here. The Huasteca is a very beautiful area of Mexico, in the hills above the Gulf of Mexico that covers parts of 3 states, Veracruz, San Luis Potosí and Tamaulipas. I am guessing that Son Jarocho (a traditional music from Veracruz) is from the Huasteca area of the state. At any rate, this is very similar to the Veracruz style of call and response, Son Jarocho. Pedro plays the army captain, the priest and a third brother that I didn’t see in this clip. It’s really a beautiful style of music and this is an excellent example, well worth watching for Pedro (x2) and for the music. I believe the woman is Blanca Estela Pavón, she has a lovely voice.

There are a lot of stories about his death, not surprising since his life was one of scandal and gossip as well. He was a rake, a pilot, a motorcycle aficionado and a lover of all things beautiful and fast. It was said that a warrant had been issued against him in Mexico City because his second wife had sworn in court that they were never divorced when he married his third wife, making him a bigamist. He didn’t want to fly back to the city on a commercial flight as he expected the police and the newspapers would be waiting for him. He was co-piloting an old plane with a friend, on his way to squash the warrant and get everything fixed, perhaps a bit under the weather from the night before and who knows… something went wrong. The plane veered off shortly after takeoff and went down in a working class neighborhood.

Mexico declared a national day of mourning, when his coffin was returned to Mexico City it was mobbed at the airport, the country mourned its biggest idol. As with Elvis, class plays a big part in who is a fan. You won’t find the fresas in the malls singing his songs but you will still hear his music coming from the open doors in the working class homes and bars of the country.

stupid is as stupid does

Jonna — Fri, 16 Sep 2011 05:08:55 +0000

I made a huge mess of our visa renewals, I did it all by myself and there is no one else to blame. That makes it almost worse, I’m frustrated and I can’t get mad at anyone but myself. So, this is how NOT to renew your visa.

First of all, our friend Barry said that he found a place on the migración website where he printed the amount owed and was able to pay before his first visit to their office. He said they were very happy about this and he got his visa in 5 days. I was confident that I could do it too. I think I might be dumber than Barry and I’m sure that I am less observant and less detail oriented than he is.

It’s a drop down menu, you pick the thing you want to pay for and the form appears. It is likely that I thought I had the right form highlighted when I clicked and didn’t. The other option is that I am so stupid that I wasn’t reading it right. Whatever.

The form itself looks identical to all the other forms, except the amount you pay is different and the account number the money goes into is also different. That was a clue. Barry paid $2801 pesos and my form said $2800 pesos. Big clue. I had a bad feeling about it but I was in a hurry and I wanted it to be right so I decided it was only one peso and it must be right. Boy was I wrong!

When I went to drop off the forms, all smug and happy that I had already given the government over $500 US dollars, they caught the problem immediately. They were very sorry for me, they were very nice and very efficient but I needed to return early the next morning for the form I would need to take to Hacienda (the equivalent more or less of the IRS here in Mexico) in order to get my money refunded so I could add one peso and pay again. This is when my own personally created hell began.

At 8:30 the next morning I was there, I was number 40 in line. I had forgotten my brain because it was so early and I had forgotten to use bug spray. The migración office is a friggin pesthole of mosquitoes. My friend Theresa, who by the way is fluent in Spanish, told me that every day she gets a bucket of Spanish and some days it is less than others. When it is empty, it is empty. My bucket was empty very early on that day. At 12:30pm I had a form for Hacienda, my visa was listed as in process but Mimi’s was not because she wasn’t there for that hellacious morning of mosquitoes and other fresh hell’s.

The next day I was at Hacienda with my form and with Mimi. We are both impressed with the efficient and quick service but frankly, there are still way too many people trying to get something done and way too few people who can do it. We were given a list of things we needed to write and copy and we tried to get it done and get back before they closed at 2:30, we got there in time to watch them lock the gate.

The following day we were back. It turned out that our RFC numbers (don’t ask because I can’t explain what those are) were one letter short and couldn’t be processed in the computer. They told us this is because we are foreigners and our numbers don’t have a voter number associated with them. Whatever.

We got to see someone anyway, for this I do thank the gods of Hacienda because they had a bypass route for us. After lots of signatures and papers and such I was told that they have 40 days to verify our address and then they will mail us a letter that we can take to a bank so our money will be refunded and we can add TWO PESOS and pay it again!

Meanwhile, my visa is in limbo (which is good) and Mimi’s is not. If we don’t get the letter from Hacienda soon we will have to pay the $2801 pesos times two again and hope for a refund sometime later. That’s a lot of money. It’s really a lot of money in a month which includes a couple of parties here and the electric bill after a guest that “forgot” to close the windows or turn off the AC. For now, we will wait and see if the address check happens in the next week or so. If it does, we can straighten this out, go to the bank and collect our $5600 pesos and then pay $5602 pesos and go back to immigration.

Plus… it is all my fault. There is no getting around the fact that if I had just gone in as usual and let them figure out what I owed, I’d be done by now. OR, if I had paid more attention and canceled the form that was one peso off and started over, I’d be done by now. I hate it when I’m the only one I can get mad at!

things change

Jonna — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 22:06:50 +0000

Years ago you had to inspect any change you got in Mexico very carefully to make sure none of the bills were ripped, torn, patched or written on. If they were, it was very hard to spend them. I remember having one bill refused because someone (probably a bank) had written an account number on it. Small stores were the worst at trying to pass off damaged bills to unsuspecting gringos. We learned the hard way to check each bill as we got it and refuse any that were questionable. We also learned that toll booths, Pemex and large grocery stores were the place to try and spend any we got stuck with.

Then there was a large publicity campaign telling people that damaged bills could be turned in at the bank. At first, only one bank was designated but later it was at any bank. Things have loosened up considerably since then and now I never check the bills I’m given in change unless they fall apart in my hand. Still, I’d never gone into a bank and tried to turn in a damaged bill until yesterday.

A month ago, I found a $200 peso bill in 2 pieces on the floor in the office. Something – something furry and cute no doubt – had eaten a chunk of the middle of it and ripped it in half. I put it on a shelf, I had an immediate reaction of “I don’t want to deal with this”. It sat there and laughed at me though. If it were a $20 peso bill I probably would have tossed it, $200 pesos (about $16 us) was over my comfort level for throwing money in the trash.

So I reluctantly took the pieces off to HSBC on Montejo yesterday. I didn’t expect much more than an hour or so in an air conditioned lobby for my efforts but I felt I had to try. I got in the teller line and when I got to the front the teller told me he was going to check with the boss and for me to wait. A few minutes later, el jefe walked out to look at my little torn bill, laughed when I told him my cats had eaten part of it and told the teller to give me a new one. Wow! No more than 15 minutes in the bank and I don’t even have an account there! They checked the numbers on the two parts, estimated the amount that was missing (it has to be less than 20% I think) by putting it against another $200p bill for comparison.

It’s odd how the things I think are going to be difficult end up being easy, it’s the other ones that catch me.

By the way, I’m legal

Jonna — Mon, 16 May 2011 19:30:19 +0000

With all the excitement from the burglaries, I forgot to tell you about my trip to Akumal to get legal. Not me personally, I do have my visa so I’m a legal resident. However, our truck was a very fuzzy area. Sometime last year we left it parked on the street overnight and didn’t lock it. In the morning, we discovered someone had stolen the tarjeta de circulación along with the factura for 2011 and the owner’s manual. My guess is they intended to sell another stolen truck with that paperwork and hope no one checked the VIN. We were then unable to find the bill of sale or anything but a copy of the import paperwork, basically we had very little to prove we owned it. I spent most of a day going around here in Merida trying to get it registered in Yucatan. It was going to be a big problem, involving paperwork submitted to Mexico City and a possible 3 month wait. In the mean time, we rented a parking space in the lot across the street and stopped driving it.

I decided to give Quintana Roo a chance since it has been registered there for 5 years in my name and hopefully that would help. On the way, I got pulled over at a state police checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. I had just picked up 3 hitchhikers, dreadlocks and backpacks, who were on their way to Tulum. The cop was definitely angling for a bribe. I’m rather stubborn about that, although in this instance he had seen me speeding and passing a combi over a solid line. He also asked for the truck papers and all I could give him was the police report I filed about the stolen paperwork. He was definitely building up for a larger bribe, almost smiling he was so happy. Feh! Then, he asked for my driver’s license. I told him I knew it expired in May but I was on my way to renew that as well as my registration. He looked at it and happily told me that actually, it had expired in March. The peso signs were ca-chinging in his eyes.

I’m pretty stubborn though, I just kept saying that I was on my way to fix it all, that the combi driver had sped up when I tried to pass him in a legal area and anyway, it wasn’t such a big deal but if he wanted to give me a ticket that was fine. He said it had to be paid in Merida and I said that was great, I live in Merida. He walked across the road and tried to wait me out. I went back and opened the tailgate so the hippies wouldn’t suffocate. They were from somewhere else in Mexico and cheered me on for not paying him. We waited… it was hot. I knew this was part of the game though and I just stood and calmly watched him across the street, I also took his picture with my phone.

Eventually he came back and motioned me up to the front of the truck where he made a half-hearted attempt to remove the bolts holding the license plate. They were rusted solid. Meanwhile he was telling me in a low voice that we could make this all be as if it had never happened. I told him that I was a retired cop from the US and that I felt everything should be handled legally. I smiled at him and said that if he removed my license plate, how would I get new ones and get the truck legal? He looked at me with such a disgusted look, told me to drive better and get things straightened out and to go on. I almost did my happy dance right there but managed to thank him, go and close the tailgate with a wink to the hippies and we were out of there.

That night my friends in Akumal told me that we were no longer able to register cars in Playa but now had to go to Tulum. They said Tulum had no license plates but just gave you a voucher and that they were charging exorbitant rates in addition to the usual ones. I took a chance the next morning and went to Playa anyway.

I explained it all at Hacienda, didn’t point out that my address said Akumal and no one seemed to notice. First the guy told me I had to go to the Playa police and make a similar denuncia, I looked a bit sad and asked where to go. He then said that I could maybe go to that office right there next to where we were standing and ask inside. I did that and the guy in there wrote me a little note after looking at my denuncia, sent me back, I paid my fee and then had to go and get the old plates to turn in.

I knew they wouldn’t come off easily so I asked one of the cops who stand around outside Hacienda if he would help. He walked over to the parking lot with me, managed to break off the bolts holding the plates and mentioned how thirsty he was on the way back. I don’t mind tipping for something like that, so I told him I’d see him when I came out. I went in, got my new plates, gave the cop outside 20 pesos for a soda and was on my way. I had a new tarjeta, a new factura, new plates! I went to a hardware store to buy new bolts and they offered to put the plates on for me. I gave them money for cokes as well and drove off in a legal car.

Now for my driver’s license I was off to Tulum. I got there, got copies of my visa, got my picture taken, paid the fee and walked out with a new license. I was really doing the happy dance! I couldn’t believe I got all that done in one day, it was like I won the Mexican lotto.

Of course, that night as I was celebrating at dinner with some friends, Mimi called with the news that someone was breaking through the door upstairs. It kind of ruined my day of triumph.

Perseverance and the ability to wait calmly are the best traits to have in Mexico. Here’s a picture of a cat that has been in Akumal for many, many years. Everyone calls him Pet Cemetery, he knows his name.

He has no ears left, so many scars he looks like an old boxer, and his genes no doubt flow through most of the feral cats in the area. He was finally trapped, fixed, vaccinated, treated and now he is almost tame. He’s got to be at least 10 years old, he’s a miracle.

This is not him looking mad, he’s trying to look cute and lovable because he is begging for food at a local restaurant. I know it is a bad, low light, cell phone picture but I just had to put old Pet Cemetery up here.

Perseverance furthers.

you can’t get there from here

Jonna — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 16:06:38 +0000

A real town and a real sign, somewhere on a road to Ticul in the outback of the state of Yucatán.

I love language mangled signs but this one, well.. it’s the best I’ve seen so far. Thanks to my friend Sheila who gave me** the picture and Alexander White who was the photographer. Otherwise, I’d still be out there driving around the scrub looking for it. Even so, I may have to go on an excursion just because I wonder if there are more signs in the town, like for the church? Iglesia up yoh-but? but Julio, we just met! I have the most infantile humor at times, thus I’m pretty easily amused.

**I had thought that Sheila took the picture but she told me recently that it was in fact Alexander and I want to give him the credit.

La Morenita, Emperatriz de las Américas

Jonna — Sun, 12 Dec 2010 23:23:09 +0000

I am an atheist, but I can appreciate the solace of religion and I have great respect for that and for faith that I see in others. My friend Croft had a great quote on his blog the other day – there are few facts involved in religion. I’ve very little respect for the Calvinist doctrines of my youth, a lot of depressing, vindictive and judgmental people trying to convince themselves that their lack of joy will benefit them later. If you are going to have a religion, I think it should do what its intended to do and give you joy and solace and the ability to enjoy the life you have through all of its hard times. Plus, it should have beauty in its buildings, nice smells and music and lighting.

Since I don’t think any religion is more than illusion, I’m able to judge them on their aesthetic qualities and whether they seem to provide something of value for their believers. I don’t see value in a feeling of superiority which appears to be the driving force of Islam and evangelical/Protestant Christian religions. I’m not interested in religions that have no pomp, no costumes, no incense and candles and towering beautiful buildings. I want some Barnum and Bailey if I am going to suspend rationality. Thus, my fascination with Catholicism and the seeming dichotomy of a non-believer getting great joy from its rituals and beliefs.

The Virgen de Guadalupe, La Morenita, La Virgencita, La Reina de México, the most impressive bit of marketing in the last 600 years, is one of my favorites. I often refer to the Catholic Church as the Microsoft of religion, they have long followed the dictum from Redmond to Embrace, Extend and Extinguish. I wonder if Bill Gates is Catholic?

The brown skinned, loving, compassionate, mother of all Mexico is without doubt the most powerful image of the country and she has the love and belief of almost everyone in the country, protestant and Catholic and yes, even the atheists. What is there not to love about her kind and loving gaze, her words of solace, her strength and compassion, the joyful fervor of her devotees?

Her words are kind and comforting:

¿No estoy aquí yo que soy tu Madre? ¿No estás bajo mi sombra y resguardo? ¿No soy yo la fuente de tu alegría? ¿No estás en el hueco de mi manto, en el cruce de mis brazos?

Every year I try to attend the celebrations. All weekend rockets and fireworks have been going off at all hours. From all over southern Mexico people have walked, run, ridden bicycles, horses or in the back of trucks, carrying torches that symbolize their devotion, to be here at the church dedicated to her on her day. Most arrive on the eve of the 12th of December and that is when we usually go to the church. Every year I try and get pictures that will convey the incredible joy and love and devotion as well as the excitement. These are the best I could get this year, I think a couple of them are good but perhaps I will do better next year.

Also every year, I try and get a good picture of my favorite priest. He has a smile that lights up his face. He is always in front of the church welcoming the antorchistas. He speaks to every group and I was pleased to realize this year that my Spanish has improved enough that I could understand him as he spoke to one group. I don’t remember his words but he talked of San Martín de Porres and of love for the land, for all animals and the love of God. It’s the smile though, some day I’ll get a good picture of his smile.

Quinceañera and sandwichon – 2 firsts for me

Jonna — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 08:57:58 +0000

I mentioned that we had a very late night on Saturday and that I had some bad iPhone pics to share. About the phone pics, I have realized that I need to get a smaller camera. I just don’t carry my big camera with me as much as I wish and even when I intend to take it, I forget. If I had one that fit in my pocket like my phone, but with a flash and a zoom I’d have much better pics to share with you. I don’t carry a purse, except for the one that is really a camera bag and that I’m always afraid to take with me because I may leave it somewhere because, I don’t carry a purse. If you carry a purse all the time you remember it, it is part of your world to not get up and walk away without it. If you don’t, well… let’s say that I’ve been very lucky to have retrieved my camera the times I’ve left it hanging on the back of a chair in restaurants and bars and on the seat of the car.

Back to Saturday night. It was the quinceañera of our housekeeper Gabi’s daughter. This is a huge event in the life of a girl in Mexico and strangely enough this is the first one I’ve ever attended. I guess I never knew people with daughters the right age. Gabi has been planning and talking about this for at least a year. She told me that she really didn’t want to do it but her daughter was insistant that she had to have this celebration. For those that don’t know, it is the 15th birthday of a girl and, as a friend put it, it’s like a wedding but without the problem of the groom or the interference of his family. There is a Mass (which we skipped with Gabi’s permission), there is as big a party as the parents can afford, there is the princess dress and a tiara and it is the equivalent of a personal debutante ball. No sharing, every girl gets her own. It is the girls formal introduction to society as a woman, an acknowledgement that her childhood is behind her and her future beginning.

The presentation by the parents, godparents and family

There are distinct differences between classes in how it is celebrated. I’ve learned that for the casta divina, the upper class, there are not the ‘surprise dances’ and costume changes that are a part of the working class version. Styles change as well and it is important to do what ‘everyone else is doing’ as with anything when you are 15.

We went with Tom and Debi and we timed our arrival perfectly. The invitation said the party began at 9pm. We knew it would be rude to show up that early, so we got there around 10:30. Shortly after we arrived the presentation of the quinceañera began. We were originally seated at the back of the sala de fiesta because it was the first empty table when we arrived. The table in front of us was occupied by a group of teenage boys and while we were there the godfather had to come over and have a little talk with them about their behavior. Shortly after that, we were asked if we would like to move up closer and we did. I saw the padrino go by and have several other little talks with the boys at the back during the evening.

Yirley Alexandra was presented by her parents, her godparents, her grandmother, her uncles and aunts and her cousins. The MC read a statement her parents had written to her. It was so touching and emotional, Yirley cried as did many in the audience. I caught most of it and it mentioned her first steps, her first words, her first day at school and went on through the joys of having her as their daughter when she was a child and now when she is becoming a woman.

Then, a lot of other stuff happened. I can’t remember it all now and it’s probably more than you want to know anyway. There were introductions, there was the first waltz with her proud father, then with her chambelanes (escorts chosen from her friends for this event), then with every male family member and then every male in the audience. We tried to get Tom to go up and dance with her but he just flat out refused. There were appetizers on the table during this part and a non-alcoholic fruit punch plus beers were given to most who wanted one. The godfather is in charge of all of this, keeping everyone behaving well, so the boys in the back didn’t get much beer.

Then an intermission with costume changes happening behind a rather transparent curtain across the stage. That, plus the fact that the chambelanes never closed the door to the bathroom they were using as a changing room, had us laughing. Off came the princess dress and the first of four ‘surprise’ dances began. I don’t know all the info on this, remember this is my first. The basics are that the quinceañera does several hip dances with her chambelanes and often with professional dancers hired to choreograph and teach the steps.

the 'chambelanes'

These dances were choreographed and done to hip hop music with a lot of bump and grind. I kept wondering how her father felt watching his little girl. It had to be tough. He seemed calm about it though and Gabi was clapping and laughing so I think I was putting some of my cultural biases on the whole thing.

the professional dancer

Dinner was served during the next costume break. I’ve written before about sandwichon (here and here) which in my mind is one of the aberrations in a culture of excellent cuisine. Until Saturday I’d only gazed at it laying on counters in the warm air or sitting out on the table at parties. I’d never actually eaten any. Well, guess what was on the plate for dinner? It was accompanied by some good cochinita pibil and one of those ever present pea and mayonnaise salads. I ate it. I survived. I hate to admit it but it wasn’t bad. Really, how can anything made from several pieces of white bread covered in mayonnaise with more mayonnaise covering the ham and cheese and hot dogs inside taste bad? Assuming that you like mayonnaise, which normally I do. It’s the idea that is bad, not the taste.

Then there was an Indian dance routine. Lots of hip action and the professional dancers were out carrying her around in the air and throwing her between their legs. She did well, she didn’t look professional and she didn’t look entirely comfortable but she did a presentable job.

One thing that I noticed was this fleeting switch in her face and demeanor, she would go from a shy child to a flirty woman and back again in a couple of minutes. I was fascinated by that and the implications that it really was the time in her life when she was changing from a child to a woman and wasn’t completely comfortable in the new role.

Then the turquoise princess dress returned and it was time for pictures. Apparently it is traditional for everyone present to have their picture taken with the quinceañera. While this was going on, there was dessert and the godfather (he who controlled the booze and the propriety of the guests) brought decorated bottles of strong liquor to each table. I tried to peek and see if he gave one to the bad boys in the back but I couldn’t tell.

Tom poured a bit in a glass and we all discreetly sniffed. The label was covered so we didn’t know what it was. Oddly, it smelled like poppers. I’m dating myself but that was the overwhelming smell of discos in the 70′s. It’s a chemical smell, like ether and alcohol mixed. I decided I really didn’t need anything more than the beer I’d already had and didn’t taste it. Hey, I ate the sandwichon, that’s enough.

I went back during the beginning of the picture taking and got a pic of Gabi, her husband, Yirley and her younger brother. I think Yirley looks a lot like Gabi but she says that she looks more like her father.

I wish I had the picture that we were in. Tom is well over 6′ tall and if you’ll notice that arc of balloons is sized for a shorter height. When it was time for the 4 of us to get around Yirley for the picture, Tom had to bend almost double to even get inside the balloons and I’m positive that he appeared to be wearing several of them attached to his ears in the picture.

Gabi had told Debi that there was going to be a surprise for Yirley after the pictures. It turned out to be some of the professional dancers and a drag queen lip synching I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor. Yirley was put in a chair in the middle of the dance floor and they sang and danced around her. It was awesome. There were several encores. I still haven’t gotten the song out of my head.

Then, they pulled Gabi up to dance with them. She not only looked great that night, she was everywhere and kept everything moving and she can really dance.

By now it was well after 2am and general hilarity ensued. Everyone – except the old fogeys which included the 4 gringos present – got up to dance. There were balloons and confetti and lots of people enjoying themselves and probably enjoying the effects of that bottle on each table. Yirley was a gracious hostess and I watched her go around and make sure everyone got to dance with her and that none of the young people were left out. She really seemed to be enjoying her night.

We made our exit not long after that, with our remembrance gift and after saying good bye to everyone. As we were leaving it appeared there was a fight outside, I think the bad boys were too intimidated by the godfather to get into it inside. Gabi told us Monday that some of the girls took off their high heels and were beating on the instigator. As we walked away, we saw him running full speed down the street. All in all, it was a fabulous party and an incredible night. Gabi also said that it didn’t end until 5am.

the last day of the fair

Jonna — Mon, 06 Dec 2010 06:26:39 +0000

Mimi and I meant to go to the month long state fair again this year but it didn’t happen. We got up late today because we had a late night last night, that’s another blog post and a bunch more bad iphone pics. We’re having a lazy Sunday morning, drinking coffee, when we see in the paper that this was the last day of the fair and that everything was on sale. So, around 2pm we decided to drive out there and have a look. One of the great things about the Yucatan fair in Xmatkuil is that it is so close to the city. It only takes about a half hour from our house and the traffic is really well organized as is the parking.

I’ve been to big fairs before, the California State fair in Sacramento is supposed to be fairly large. I’ve never been to the Minnesota State fair though and friends tell me that is the biggest of all. Of course, they are a bit biased being from Minn. In fact, they were here this Thanksgiving weekend and lamented the fact that they only managed 9 hours at this fair. They felt they had lost their touch as they used to spend much longer than that at home. Their excuse was that this is a smaller fair.

I think it is huge, I don’t think I could stand any more crowded streets of games and shops and rides and food and baby carriages. Those baby carriages are the tanks of the fair world. It is so crowded that you are just pushing along in a mass of people and suddenly in front of you is this behemoth on wheels with requisite cute sleeping baby inside. It’s bad form to step on them, but sometimes you end up crashing back on several old ladies to avoid it. Somehow it all seems to work and no one gets mad and everyone eventually gets going again. Then there are those who just stop, suddenly, in the middle of the mass of pushing humanity they just stop. WTF? Eddy out folks, it works on the river and it works here too.

Anyway, we had a good time looking at stuff and people watching. I’ve never liked carnival rides, the point of a roller coaster is wasted on me, I don’t get it. So, we skirted the rides area and spent our time in the shops and the exhibits. We finally made it to the far back of the fairgrounds where there is a huge arena that is filled with ‘stuff’ for sale.

Really, there are pots and pans and blankets and dishes and the displays are at least 15′ high. Today, it was all on sale in this huge cacophony of noise and pushing and items being thrown from the top of the displays. Guys were on top of the piles of stuff, holding things up and calling out bargain prices and then pointing to someone in the crowd who wanted it, throwing the item to other workers down below who collected the money. To get the crowds attention most of them were not only yelling at full volume but also beating giant metal pot lids on the pots. All of the workers on the floor were also yelling at full volume. The noise echoed in this football field sized arena and the crowds were so dense you could barely move. It was a remarkable experience, Mimi and I kept looking at each other just saying WOW. Trite, I know. There isn’t much else to say though when huge plastic laundry baskets and king size blankets are flying over your head in the middle of all that shouting and banging and press of people.

That’s my bad photo from my phone, note the two guys you can barely see, one right and one at the left, standing on top of the displays. I really considered trying to do a voice recording of the noise but decided I didn’t want to figure out how to do it right then.

We’ve been to the fair here for the last 3 years but this is the first time we’ve gone on the last day. It’s not going to be the last time though, I think it is my favorite fair trip so far. We finally left around 7:30 and there were still lots of people streaming into the fairgrounds. We were both exhausted and just wanted to sit down. We didn’t buy much, some churros, 3 small kitchen tools for $25p, a couple of pair of sunglasses for $25p and Mimi got two of those dreaded fanny packs she loves. Everything was about half the cost and there were hundreds of people jammed into tiny clothes stalls buying jeans for $100p and t-shirts for $20p.

Several bands were playing in huge show areas and people were dancing. Of course, most booths also had enormous speakers blasting music. It must be the biggest paycheck of the year for the edecanes*. There were hundreds of scantily clad girls dancing in front of the booths or moving through the crowd and an equal number of people dressed as huge chickens, or batteries or space monsters, many of whom had a group of drummers tagging along with them.

We had intended to eat at the fair but by the time we were hungry we weren’t in the area with places to sit down and eat and we really needed to sit. So, we ended up just coming home and ordering pizza. It was a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

*Mexican Spanish word of the day = there isn’t as clear a word that I know in English but these are the ‘hostesses’ or ‘demo people’ that either dance in skimpy attire or wear costumes and are there to attract attention to a product or booth at an event. Apparently this definition is from Mexican Spanish and the word does not have the same connotations or meaning in other Spanish speaking countries.

Paseo de las Ánimas

Jonna — Tue, 02 Nov 2010 06:30:48 +0000

Every year during Hanal Pixán, the Mayan name for the traditional Day of the Dead celebrations, they close Calle 66 one night from the church at La Ermita to the cemetery – about 10 or 12 blocks. City departments, schools, people who live along the street and other groups build traditional altars in the street. This year it happened on Friday night and Mimi and I walked most of it for a couple hours.

At one point we were really thirsty and went into a store looking for cold water or soda. The only thing he had cold was beer so I asked him if we could carry them outside on the street. He took them and carefully wrapped them in newspaper hiding the labels. We carried them up the street past lots of police with no problem. Everything is possible, that’s what I love about Mexico.

The kids dressed as skeletons were fantastic, many of them so small that they were carried by their parents. It was like a long block party, lots of people walking and sitting by their altars, lots of music, food, and smiles. I asked before I took any pictures and everyone said yes, they were proud of their altar and wanted to share it.

We spent a lot of time watching and listening to the band at the square. All of the musicians were older women dressed traditionally. They were fantastic!

I took a lot of pictures so if you would like to share in the Paseo de las Ánimas (walk of the souls) click the picture below to go to the album.

Hanal Pixán 2010