Quality or Quantity?

Yesterday was a whirlwind of an evening. I had a dentist appointment scheduled at 5:30. Due to the dentist being very, very pregnant and Christmas approaching, it was the first time that I've encountered a Mexican medical professional whose schedule was booked. I had to take the 5:30 appointment. Which meant that Mario couldn't drive me AND I had to find someone to watch Clara while I got my teeth drilled yet again.

Fortunately, my friend Sheila was only too willing to watch Clara. Unfortunately, she lives at the polar opposite side of town from me. Meaning, we had to leave the house at 3:30 in order to make it to my 5:30 appointment on time. Every once in awhile, I'm not a huge fan of public transportation. This was one of those times.

While hanging out in the dentist's chair, I noticed that dark was quickly approaching. Why does December always do this to me? Sigh. So I walked from the dentist's house to the mall in the twilight, knowing that my best chance of getting any kind of transportation out to Sheila's at that time of day would be one of those taxis that is constantly skirting the mall.

Getting in the taxi, I let him know that I needed to get to Sheila's neighborhood at the waaaay north side of town, and if he would wait for me, we'd then need to go to my house downtown. I was a bit nervous trying to make myself understood and probably spoke way too fast. The mouth full of Novocaine didn't help anything. Even on the best of days I can't pronounce the name of Sheila's neighborhood well (which is REALLY embarassing, as it's my husband's last name . . . and a common one at that . . . [really deep sigh]).

After giving very specific directions to Sheila's house instead and receiving a tutorial on how to pronounce my husband's last name (after which he may have finally realized that I wasn't kidding about having a mouth full of Novocaine), we were on our way and he switched our language of conversation to English.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that?

Now, I understand if your English is better than my Spanish. I'll happily speak English then. But 9 times out of 10 my Spanish is better, which makes an already irritating conversation just about unbearable. Yes, I'm one of those who prefers my taxi rides to be silent.

And given the extra-long nature of this ride, I'd be spending the better part of an hour with this man. Perhaps I should have waited for the next taxi. Can't they post signs on the door, saying "I'm a chatty taxi driver!" or, "I'm a silent taxi driver"? Of course not.

After picking up the kid (who did not cry at all the entire time I was gone--highlight of my week), we headed off the long ride back home with Chatty Taxi Driver. Before we even got off the highway, he told me that he had lived in northern California for six years. It seemed like he enjoyed it.

As we continued talking, though, he and I both came to the conclusion that there is something nice about living here in Mexico. As he put it, "there's quantity and there's quality. While we may not have too much here in Mexico, in a number of important ways, I feel that the quality of life is better here."

Obviously, quite a few people will disagree with him, or there wouldn't be so many Mexicans living in my country. However, I have to agree. In many ways, life certainly is easier in the US, but is the quality of life any better?

So often I feel like I'm stuck in a time warp, thrown back a few decades to a simpler time that so many reminisce about. Clearly, memories are fickle things, and all too many things about the realities of life in Mexico are anything but idyllic. However, in my experience, I have to agree with Chatty Taxi Driver. Life just isn't as notoriously busy here as in the US, and that in itself is a huge improvement in the quality of life. Yes, working hours are longer (and for less pay) but that never-ending busy-ness? In my experience, it just doesn't exist.

For this and other reasons, I am glad to live here. Despite a number of uncertainties, I do feel a deep sense of peace, which in part comes from my experience living here. Could I find that in the US? Absolutely. I think it would just require a bit more searching in order to find it.

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(This conversation excluded the reality of the violence that plagues this nation, of course. That's a whole other can of worms and fortunately isn't quite the reality here that it is in so many other cities.)

Entren, Peregrinos!

This afternoon, I attended my first, and likely only, posada for this year.

The ladies from my Monday neighborhood Bible study wanted to have a little party before Christmas, and decided that we should have a posada. It was quite possibly the smallest posada in the history of posadas, but we had a good time and hit all the bases nonetheless.

Posadas are parties traditionally held the nine nights before Christmas. A few people dress up as Mary and Joseph (or hold a maquette of Mary and Joseph) searching for room in the inn (or posada). The host family keeps all the other guests out in the cold while the posada song is sung. The guests all sing a verse, begging for room at the "inn" while the host family sings the following verse, staunchly refusing them. After about 8 verses of this banter, those inside finally "realize" who is asking for shelter and warmly invites everyone inside.

For our posada, I was able to stay inside, by virtue of bringing Clara as my guest, as did Panchita with her preschooler grandson, and Antonia, who's older and getting rather frail. Therefore, the "younger" ones, Socorro (roughly 60 years old), Chayito (edging on 50 years old) and Diana, Chayito's 19-year-old daughter braved the cold. I can't say I've sung that song since I lived at NPH, with their posadas-that-never-end, and I really enjoyed it--brought back good memories. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever sing it again.

Once those "young ones" came inside, we prayed a rosary and sang a Christmas carol when we paused for every mystery. After that, of course we ate. No posada is complete without food. Panchita made tamales (some with chorizo . . . mmm . . . ) and Rosario made ponche and bought a cake. Clara, surprisingly, ate a bit of everything. All that was missing was a pinata.

And as I hate pinatas, I was perfectly OK with that.

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For more information on posadas, read Nine Days to Christmas by Marie Hall Ets and Aurora Labastida. It won a Caldecott Medal in 1960 and is one of my favorite books . . . just gorgeous!

Destination: Real de Catorce

After living in Saltillo for the past two years, we’ve driven down that empty, mind-numbing stretch of highway between Saltillo and San Luis Potosi more times than I care to admit. The first time we drove it, I was rather intrigued by all the Joshua Trees, cactus, and snake skin sellers. But once was enough.

This last time, when our destination was simply San Luis Potosi, we had time to make a detour—at Real de Catorce. Just crossing the border into San Luis Potosi from Nuevo Leon, we had been promised by Mario’s family that a few hours at Real de Catorce were worth our time.

Real de Catorce used to be a silver mining town in colonial days. I believe the last of the mines were all but scraped clean by 1908. We were anticipating visiting a ghost town.

However, Real de Catorce is a thriving community.

What a surprise, as anyone who wishes to either enter or leave the town must pass through the Ogarrio Tunnel, delving under a mountain nearly a mile in length. That makes for quite a commute, especially as Real de Catorce is the closest thing to the middle of nowhere that I've ever been. Built in 1902, tunnel is impressive. But even more impressive, what were those doors leading off to a few meters from the entrance? I also would have been tempted to stop and look (as my in-laws did). However, the traffic is only one-way, and while they count the cars coming out as the end, if they notice that the traffic has ceased, they may just assume they miscounted, and let the oncoming traffic through. Therefore, when my in-laws stopped to admire this feat of engineering a year ago, my father-in-law had to back up halfway through the tunnel until there was a space wide enough to let the traffic pass. Lesson learned: don’t stop to gawk.

Once in town, what is there? A plethora of the usual tourist trinkets, antojos, and a more than usual number of hippies. I had never seen so many hippies so far from Cuernavaca or Tulum. Who knew that this was hippie mecca? They (the townies, not the hippies) also offer horseback rides to the ghost towns. Therefore, when we return we may get our ghost town fix, after all. And a word to the wise: for those traveling with small children, taking a stroller in this town is more hassle than it’s worth. We learned the hard way.

There were quite a few Regios (people from Monterrey) who were apparently taking a break from getting shot at for the weekend. Much like those of us from Saltillo, they have few weekend options within driving distance. Spotting Regios is fairly easy, as they seem to travel in packs. Were I part of the pack, I would probably love vacationing with them. However, as part of a small, independent family unit, the noise that usually accompanies these packs of Regios requires a bit of patience. Fortunately, they just talk loud. Other than that, they do seem to be very, very nice people overall. I do count my blessings that, at least in my experience, they don’t go blaring that awful norteño music everywhere they go.

And, I’m guessing that thanks to the flocks of regular visitors from Monterrey, we stumbled onto a beautiful Italian restaurant/hotel. But did Mario and I order Italian? Of course not! Mario had German-style rabbit. It was very good, but not near as good as my chipotle sauce-covered rabbit. For those who may venture out to Real de Catorce, this restaurant, aptly named “Real”, is on Morelos, between Lanzagorta and Constitución, a block nearer the center of town from the Plaza Hidalgo.

Futhermore, the lobby at the Real is littered with movie posters and still shots, as the movie The Mexican, with Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts, was filmed in Real de Catorce. Futhermore, Bandidas with Salma Hayek and Penelope Cruz, and a number of other non-Hollywood movies were also filmed here. The hotel boasts the impressive display of pictures, as the hotel’s owner enjoys being an extra or gets bit parts (he was also a pirate in Pirates of the Caribbean III).

As this is the only other town besides Parras within 3 hours of Saltillo and not currently overrun with narcos, we’ll be visiting again. İQue vivan los Pueblos Magicos!

For those who might visit Real de Catorce, take Highway 57 (Mexico City-Laredo) until just north of Matehuala. Then, cut west on 62 (keep your eyes open—it’s not well marked). From there, follow the signs to Real de Catorce. All in all, it takes about an hour after leaving 57—not counting the time spent waiting to go through the tunnel.

Thanksgiving All Over

While spending Thanksgiving away from my family isn't the way I'd prefer to celebrate the holiday, each Thanksgiving that I've celebrated away from home has been particularly memorable and blessed. This post is my means of thanking you, if you've hosted me (and my family) or thanking your for joining me--I can't express how much those holidays have meant!

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Thanksgiving 2001--Las Cruces, New Mexico

Jane and Don Carter invited myself and my housemates (the Las Cruces Border Servant Corps volunteers 2001-2002) for the day. We went particularly early, and probably made a nuisance of ourselves, as Ryan and I really wanted to be there to watch Jane prepare the turkey for the oven, in the event that we would have to host a Thanksgiving ourselves the following year or two. Ha--in my case that didn't happen for another 8 years! Preparation put to good use! But I do remember the Carters being nothing but gracious hosts. We passed a memorable day with them (did we spend the night, just to be able to watch Jane put the turkey in the oven at 6am?), and I remember it feeling like we were spending the holiday with family. Thanks, Carters!

I also remember Jane letting us use her hot wax hand treatment---ahhhh, bliss!

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Thanksgiving 2003 & 2004--Cuernavaca, Mexico (NPH, Casa Guadalupe)

Every year since . . . well, heaven-only-knows-when, Janet Cremin and Joan Provenzano invited the NPH volunteers to their house for Thanksgiving (and Christmas dinner). While we may have spent our weekends in the houses in the backyard of Casa Guadalupe, those were the two days a year we were allowed inside that venerable house. The dramatic difference between volunteer housing in Miacatlan and Thanksgiving dinner at Casa Guadalupe felt a bit over the top . . . or maybe that was the cocktail hour on the roof of the house before mass and then dinner. While Janet and Joan may no longer be in Mexico to host Thanksgiving and Christmas, I am told that Dona Lupe still prepares a mouth-watering Thanksgiving dinner every year, and the volunteers still get the day off to enjoy it. While I enjoyed all my time with the kids, Thanksgiving was always the highlight of each of my years at NPH.

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2007 & 2008 (no Thanksgiving, just moved each year.)

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Thanksgiving 2009, Saltillo

Having just made friends with another gringa-married-to-a-Mexican, I invited them over for Thanksgiving. We waited FOREVER for the turkey to be finished cooking, munching on olives in the meantime, and got to know each other better, while our daughters (13 months and 9 months) did their best to play together. A year later, after near-daily phone conversations and weekly visits, I can't express to this family how grateful I've been for their friendship. This year was also memorable, as it was Mario's first Thanksgiving.

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Thanksgiving 2010, Saltillo

We made plans to have a repeat of last year's Thanksgiving, also including another gringa-married-to-a-Mexican family who have also become good friends in the last year. We had heard rumors that other mutual friends tend to do a big Thanksgiving, inviting other gringos in town, but as they were in Texas until the day before Thanksgiving, we weren't planning on them having Thanksgiving, at least not for a crowd.

So behold my surprise when this family pulled all the stops and hosted Thanksgiving, less than 24 hours after coming home from two weeks in Texas!

As Mario and I repeated on the way home, "uhhh . . . soooo full . . . but it was soooo good!"

We still had standing plans of hosting Thanksgiving at our house today, but yesterday Mario came down with something, as had the husband and son of one of my friends, and the other friend's daughter tends to catch any virus/bacteria that comes her way. So, this afternoon, the three of us sat down to a very large turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes (left over from last week), and cole slaw (I had been craving it). The food was just as good, but the afternoon really lacked something without the enjoyable company that we anticipated.

But, next weekend, when everyone is feeling better, we'll bust out those turkey leftovers, add some mole to them, and call it a success. And I know that the Mexicans invited are really looking forward to that "Thanksgiving"!

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If you've found yourself described in this post, thank you so much for sharing your holiday with me. And if you're one of these people, we've certainly shared much more than the holiday with me--you've been a friend when I've been far from all that is familiar. Whether our friendship has endured or was a passing thing while we were thrown together in the same boat, you have had a significant impact on my life and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

And Mom, Dad, Dan--next year you all will be here, right? ;)

Saltillo's Museum to the Revolution

Walking down Calle Hidalgo the other day, I was flabbergasted to see a beautiful, new, spit-and-polished muesum dedicated to the Mexican Revolution. Surely I had been there a few weeks ago and not seen anything. Or else I don't pay attention well.

I was intrigued, but there was a steep flight of stairs and as I was pushing a stroller, knew that this museum was off limits to me. I must have been gazing longingly at the glass doors, as a young man offered to carry Clara (stroller and all) up those stairs. I took him up on the offer and there we were! I guess they were just trying to get as many people through the doors as possible.

Side note: Saltillo has a number of these free museums, and they all request a sign-in (or out) as you leave . . . like most government/grant funded institutions, their funding must be based on the number of people that enter. It seems they're trying to make a success out of this one!

Being a history museum, they had a number of detailed posters explaining the seeds of the revolution and its early stages. I would have loved to read every word, but my cute, little date had other plans. They also had various TV displays and a rather loud recording of Porfirio Diaz sending an audio message to Thomas Edison. They also sported displays of dress of the day, household items of the area, and other documents from revolutionaries of lesser importance (land deeds and such).

Yes, land deeds, as this Revolution Museum is funded by the Coahuila state government. Clearly, their aim was to present Coahuila's most famous revolutionaries (Madero and Carranza) as thoroughly as possible. Therefore the star revolutionaries in this museum were the monied and landed ones--those who aren't so revolutionary in the strict definition of a revolution. Granted, I am grateful that Madero made that bid to rid Mexico of the Porfirato.

Very little mention was made of Pancho Villa and absolutely no mention was made of Zapata. No, wait--there was a poster of him in the lobby, next to Madero's portrait. I thought it was perhaps a northern Mexico thing. After all, much of my Mexican education took place in Morelos, Zapata's home state. In Morelos, Villa is hardly ever mentioned.

I mentioned this observation to Mario when I got home. His reply?

"Well of course they didn't mention anything about Zapata. Carranza killed him."

Oh, right. I often get confused about how the various revolutionary movements came together and conflicted. To make a long story short, Carranza more or less institutionalized the Revolution and made a stable government out of what was left of Mexico after 10 years of civil war. Apparently, he felt that Zapata would further destablize the country and had him axed.

Carranza certainly had a point, but I can't help but admit that Zapata's aims towards agrarian reform and wealth redistribution (which would have been disasterous for Carranza, both personally and politically) gave hope to a significant portion of the population, both then and now. History is what it is, but I can't help but feel that a good deal of that hope died along with Zapata.

Where's That Puente?

Up until a year or two ago, Mexico flaunted this wonderful institution known as the puente. I thought it was a great system. When a holiday, like Independence Day, falls on a Thursday what happens under the puente system? Thursday AND Friday are officially days off of work for everybody. Excellent, right?

This really did work well. If a lesser holiday, like Petroleum Expropriation Day--March 18th, falls on a Wednesday, that holiday was not celebrated at all that year, so that the day we would have had off on the 18th of March gets transferred to the 13th of December, so everyone gets an extra long weekend to celebrate Guadalupe Day. And if Revolution Day falls on a Saturday, that's just too bad. The extra-long weekend for Constitution Day made up for the lack of celebrating Revolution Day. I thought it was a great system.

Apparently, the current administration was not in agreement with me. Two or three years ago, they did away with this great system of extra-long weekends in order to "observe" holidays, just like in the US. This year, Revolution Day--November 20th, does fall on a Saturday. We "observed" Revolution Day on Monday.

Wait a tic--Monday? When the 20th actually falls on a Saturday?

Right. The logic baffles me as well. If the holiday is the 20th of November, wouldn't it make more sense to observe the holiday on the 19th?

Apparently not. Let's celebrate it on the 15th.

So Happy Revolution Day, all! In advance.

Or belated . . . I'm not really sure.

No More Split Personality

My apologies to those of you who this may inconvenience, but half of this blog is going elsewhere.

When I started this, my plan was to keep my friends and family posted about my life in Mexico and Clara's growth. Or just to share things that I found interesting, be them my family, Mexico, or whatever.

However, I've had a lot more fun writing about Mexico than I originally intended. So sometimes I feel like this had turned more into a Mexico-blog than a Mommy-blog. This means that I sometimes feel that I need to apologize when I want to write glowing reports of Clara's latest accomplishments.

Therefore, Clara now has her own page. It's called Clara's Page. Original, isn't it? www.xanaidah.blogspot.com


I'll just be trying this out for a few months to see if this really does free me up a bit. If it turns out that I really don't like it, I'll move Clara's page back to this one.

But if I do like splitting up these interests, I'll be sticking with it.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

The Real Reason Why SLP Rocks!

As mentioned earlier, normally all we ever do in San Luis Potosi is buy candy. For years, I think Mario thought that's all there was to SLP--Costanzo's candy store (and GM . . . he is Mario, after all).

And Costanzo's really is worth mentioning. They sport old fashioned wooden and glass counters with trays brimming over with an assortment of sweets. Behind the counters, tower stacks upon stacks of cardboard boxes of the freshest gummy candies imaginable. All Mario ever went in there for (before he took me) were their gummy candies--which are excellent. They're really more like jelly candy, and they've ruined me for anything that's traditionally gummy.

However, their second counter is filled with chocolate. I can't say they sold any truffles, but they sport chocolates filled with almost anything imaginable. Mint filled chocolate, Kahlua-filled chocolate, gummy candy filled chocolate, lime cream filled chocolate, fig filled chocolate (we got some of those on a whim . . . however, now that they're all mixed up in the bag I can't figure out which ones those are). I could spend hours just staring at the candy, never making up my mind which to buy.

Mario, fortunately, does not share my indecisiveness. We made out like bandits, and I'll be enjoying these fruits for quite awhile. Once they're gone--bring on the Christmas cookies!

Destination: San Luis Potosi

Move over Guanajuato--this woman has a NEW favorite Mexican city!

We had a three day weekend this weekend, and we have also been wanting to spend a weekend in San Luis Potosi for quite some time. This weekend was a perfect one to finally give that wish a whirl.

When we drive through on our way to Mexico City, we often stop in San Luis Potosi (SLP) to buy candy (that deserves its own post). So we weren't completely unfamiliar with the city. We knew that we wanted to stay in the centro and not use the car for at least an entire day. And so we did.

The Hotel Napoles, where we stayed is just a block from the Plaza del Carmen, on which sits the Templo del Carmen, a beautiful baroque church; the Viceroyalty Museum, not as exciting as I had anticipated; and the Teatro La Paz, an impressive-looking theater--at least from what we could see peeking in through the glass doors.

That square itself was great for walking, sitting, watching, and, for Clara, stair-climbing. However, we noticed that whenever we walked two or three blocks in any direction, another fountain-filled or tree lined plaza was waiting to greet us. Over and over, Mario mentioned that he felt that he was more in Europe than in Mexico. We happily spent all of Sunday wandering through the streets, taking in SLP's seemingly limitless supply of colonial architecture. Starting at the Jardin Colon, on what I believe is the south side of downtown is the Calzada Guadalupe, . The Calzada Guadalupe is essentially a very long park with plenty of good pedestrian paths that stretches for blocks and blocks, finally ending at the Minor Basilica for Guadalupe. It passes an impressive military complex and and a center for the arts that looks like a medieval castle, but was built in 1884. Evening found us returning from our jaunt down the Calzada de Guadalupe, roaming an area that Mario likened to the Roma neighborhood in Mexico City. During this space of time we had been dreaming big and decided that Mario will be looking for a job in SLP sometime in the nearer future. San Luis Potosi had us wrapped around its little finger.

But then it pulled out all the stops! (Come on, SLP . . . you had us at "hello".)

Once we were clearly back downtown and near our hotel, we browsed windows, debating where to stop for dinner. Just pass the Palacio San Agustin (it's a hotel/museum . . . what a combination!) we peeked into the windows of a fancy-pants restaurant called 1913. No one was inside--it was Sunday evening, after all--but the decor caught my fancy with carved chairs, thick stone walls, an antique wooden bar painted bright blue with gold accents. Mario casually asked what they served and once they said traditional Mexican, he was sold. So we tried it, and were not at all disappointed. Except for the fact that I wasn't very hungry. I had been craving a Sopa Azteca all weekend and ordered a nopal salad to share with Clara. They offered Pipian (verde y rojo), which I would have ordered, had I been hungrier. Mario ordered pork with plum sauce. It smelled and tasted exactly like a Christmas dinner should taste. I was so disappointed that I wasn't hungrier.

Once we were finished and they brought us the bill, they apologized as they thought they were hurrying with the bill. After all, they explained, they close at 7 on Sundays. It was 8 o'clock as we were finishing and we walked in at 6:30. They had been so patiently hanging around for an hour after closing to serve us! Even before we heard that, we had been thinking that their service was impeccable, the atmosphere delightful, and the food . . . I can't wait to go back. Despite the fancy-pants look, their prices were fairly reasonable. 50-80 pesos for appetizers, soups, and salads, and the entrees seemed to generally run at about 130 pesos. Sure, we won't make a habit of going there, but when we feel like a splurge in San Luis Potosi, we'll be splurging at 1913.

Leaving the restaurant, we meandered some more, in part to walk off dinner, and partly just because we were having a wonderful evening. Finding ourselves in the Plaza de Armas, Mario was drawn to the cathedral. I suggested that he go in and check it out, which I strolled around the Plaza with Clara (taking her in with her stroller would have been more of an ordeal then it would have been worth, as mass had just started . . . if we are going to play that whole "tourists-come-to-gawk-at-the-church-during-mass" game, we prefer to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible). As I was taking in the cathedral and the government palaces, their faces lit up in the night, a band began to play in the bandstand at the center of the Plaza. Not just any band--a formal one, whose clarinets didn't squeak and trumpets knew how to play in tune.

My cup ran over.

We stayed for a few songs of the concert, sauntered over to Plaza Fundadores nearby, where a lightshow was playing out on the Central Building of the University and the Loreto Chapel. I had read about this in the tourist information at the hotel, and thought it sounded goofy and a lot of light pollution. However, witnessing the show live, with music in the background, was yet another highlight of our weekend.

Well done, San Luis Potosi! I look forward to getting to know you even better.

And I Attacked It

It seems that about twice a year, Clara and I are out and about early enough in the day, with change in my pocket and no plans for lunch, that there are still rotisserie chickens for sale at the chicken store down the street, on our way back from downtown. Because who wants to carry an entire perfectly warm, roasted chicken all the way downtown and back--without eating it? Or is that even possible?

Not in my case.

As soon as Clara and I got home (and it became apparent that Clara did not want to take a nap immediately), we sat down and dug into that bird. Rather, I sat down and dug into the bird--Clara is still on her vegetarian kick.

And boy, did I dig in! I began with a knife and fork to cut some meat into dainty bites for Clara. When I realized she was not at all interested, I ditched the knife and fork, and forceably ripped off that poor chicken's left leg with my bare hands. Warm, seasoned, juicy, and salty . . . I couldn't get enough, so ripped off the left wing, devouring it. After that, I dug around with my bare hands, searching for any meat that was easily pulled from the bone--and as it was roasted to prefection, that included just about the entire chicken. That meat came free as easily as walnuts in a windstorm.

Fifteen glorious minutes later, I licked my fingers, realizing that I'd get just as much enjoyment out of the second half of that chicken tomorrow (and maybe Wednesday, too). This is why I only buy one of these twice a year. I can't make it a regular habit to consume half a chicken in one sitting.

While my body and my wallet thank me for my usual restraint, my taste buds were so very happy that today was Rotisserie Chicken Day.

That Odd Chore

Much like last year, and every year since the dawn of time, the neighborhood ladies are making their rounds with the Virgin of Guadalupe and 46 day's worth of daily rosaries. Like last year, I signed up our home for a rosary, but for two reasons I haven't been able to attend any of the previous rosaries.

1) Mario has been working fairly late and I don't want to go with Clara when it's teetering on bedtime.

2) I had been under the impression that they'd be at 7pm every night, just as they were last year. I was about to go on Friday, as I knew it would be at the house of my friend, Rosy, and I know where she lives (unlike last year, I have not received a schedule, so I have no idea where they'll be praying any day except for the 6th of November when they were scheduled at my house). So I was all planning on going on Friday to Rosy's house, when I got a phone call at about 11am. This was my friend, Panchita, who coordinates the rosary tour every year, calling to confirm that we'd host the following day, as they had just finished praying at Rosy's house. What?!? Yes, this year they're praying almost daily at 10am--NOT 7pm. Did they tell anybody else about this change? No idea. So we'll see if I get to another one. We managed to schedule last night's at 6pm, as I couldn't wrap my head around the idea of doing it at 10am.

So last night they did come to our house. At first I saw it as a chore, an obligation that I had signed myself up for as an attempt to integrate myself in this community. Dutifully, I made tea and cookies to serve the ladies, arranged the furniture so there would be enough seats for whoever might show up, and we waited.

Punctually, they came, and my mood lifted. They arrived singing, and once they deposited Guadalupe in her place, they asked if we had any special requests or thanks to give before they started in on the rosary. I had forgotten that this was part of the procedure, and as Mario didn't pipe up, I stammered out thanks to God for these lovely ladies, Mario's job, and our health. After a few unison prayers, Panchita motioned that it was my duty, as the lady of the house, to begin the rosary.

Dear heavens! It had been about a year since I've prayed that! While I sometimes think I can spit it out in my sleep, that was not the case. After tripping over the Lord's Prayer, I then drew a blank "Holy Mary, full of grace . . . " WHAT ON EARTH COMES NEXT?!?

Thankfully, Panchita is my friend, saw my distress and guided me along the rest of it until I became confident. After every mystery, someone else takes the lead on reciting the rosary, and after the third, Mario stood up to lead it. Now, last year I don't remember any man praying with us, let alone leading one. But that's my man!

In the end, I really did appreciate the church ladies coming to pray with us. The fact that we hosted it on a weekend, meant that Mario was able and happy to join us (as he said he'd do tonight when the ladies come to move Guadalupe to Panchita's house). Plus it was nice that it was early enough that Clara was there to wander around as well. While she clearly didn't know what was going on and, let's be honest, I don't quite understand the whys and wherefores about praying the rosary, I loved that all three of us were there together. In some small, odd way, I felt that we were taking a step to be even more connected as a family.

In general, that's how I feel about the rosary. In small, odd ways I feel that I've gleaned some insight, some inspiration after I've prayed it. While at the beginning it may feel like a chore, and a chore that doesn't really seem to have a purpose, in the end I'm always glad I did it.

So thanks, church ladies! I look forward to joining you again this afternoon.

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Last year I did try to explain exactly why I join the neighbors in this tradition, for those non-Catholic friends and family who may be thoroughly confused about why I even let them in my home.

Dearly Departed

After nearly 6 years of living in Mexico (off-and-on), I realized yesterday that I had never visited a cemetery on November 2ed, the Day of the Dead. The time had come.

After lunch, Clara and I trotted off towards downtown and then veered sharply west, towards Panteon Santiago. I noticed that a number of the buses, while perhaps following their normal routes, had marked on their windshields which cemeteries they drove by on their route.

And as we turned left at the Alameda, it became clear that we were heading in the right direction. When I told Mario of our plans, he wished us good luck. "It'll be crowded." Just the kind of thing he hates and I love--excellent!

Police were directing traffic at the two intersections closest to the cemetery and, after that second intersection, the street was closed to traffic. Considering that the University Hospital was on that road, almost right across from the cemetery, I wondered how that affected the hospital and their patients. However, as I wasn't a patient there that day, I didn't dwell on it long.

Like any fair, food stalls were set up in abundance, as were candy stalls, flower stalls, and plenty of people selling sugar cane. Why sugar cane? Except for the month of December, I can't say that I've ever seen sugar cane in this state. I felt like I was back in Morelos, all of a sudden. Anyway, it must be a crucial ingredient for properly paying one's respects to one's dearly departed.

Clara and I strolled in with family upon family. I haven't spent much time in Mexican cemeteries, but this was far and away the most ornate and ordered Mexican cemetery I had ever visited. It may have helped that we were visiting on this particular day, as it seemed that every gravestone had been recently cleaned. Plenty of people were perched at the entrance of the cemetery with brooms and buckets offering their services for cleaning the graves.

We meandered through the aisles, enjoying the general splendor, as many of the graves at the entrance had impressive statues guarding individual and family graves. All were white and seemed to sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight. Extended families coordinated with each other and came together to pray for their family members. This is another belief in the Catholic faith that took me awhile to adjust to. After all, when Protestants die, the only people left to pray for are their family and friends left to grieve. Protestants believe that the deceased is immediately in either heaven or hell and no amount of praying after death can change that outcome. While that may very well be the case when Catholics die (after all, none of us really knows for sure, do we?), Catholics believe that praying for their dead family members may help things out. While the idea of Purgatory really weirded me out at first, I'm actually really like the idea now (and have plenty of Bible verses to back me up on it). If you want to pick my brain on that piece of theology, feel free, but this is neither the time or the place.

Some families went all out and hired a band to sing before or after they prayed. My mood was tiptoeing around the somber, so the music helped to lighten things up a bit. And, of course, before leaving family members would leave fresh or artificial flowers behind. Some got rather elaborate with their floral arrangements, as seen in the photos posted.

All in all, it was a lovely afternoon, a good time for reflection, and I'm glad I went. Sure, I felt a little silly not having people to visit. By visiting random strangers' graves, it gave me incentive to stop neglecting the graves of my own dearly departed.

Whenever I get the chance, of course.

Why Are There So Many Churches Here?

Visitor: How many churches there are in Mexico!

Me: All the better to stalk weddings, my dear.


I have a confession. I am a wedding stalker.

When I first moved to Mexico, I was living in Puebla. It's got more than its fair share of churches, and is just a few minutes down the road from Cholula, a town that used to be a huge religious center in pre-hispanic times. And, wherever the Spaniards knocked down a temple, they built a church right over the ruins. Cholula had one pyramid for every day of the year, and they still claim to be a town of 365 churches. (I believe the actual number is closer to 200+ . . . but who's counting?) Puebla, although having a much larger population than Cholula, is right about on par with them for the number of churches.

It makes for a great city to learn how to be a wedding stalker.

Mario and I often spent our Saturday afternoons just wandering the city. We'd poke our heads into the doors of various churches (my favorite being one that was just a block or two south of the zocalo and about a block or two west of Los Sapos). Whenever we saw one boasting an aisle full of fresh flowers and the carpet runner all ready to go, we knew to stake out the benches around 6 or 7pm.

Because then, the parade begins.

Weddings in the US (in my experience) are usually a casual to dressy-casual affair. Khakis and sundresses are prefectly acceptable attire. Not here. Full suits and evening dresses are the standard--at least at the weddings I stalk. And that church by Los Sapos was our favorite, as the bride would usually arrive riding in an antique car of some sort. I'd enjoy the fashion parade, Mario enjoyed the car. It's a great way to enjoy a Saturday.

While I do have a church down the street just blocks from my house, I prefer to do my wedding stalking in Saltillo at the cathedral downtown. Because, just three blocks behind the cathedral, is another church (San Francisco, I believe). Both boast ample sidewalk space and benches to hang around and gawk. This is what is lacking at my church. And, if the wedding at one church turns out to be a simple affair (to be honest, I haven't really come across this yet), I'll just run down the street and stalk the other. Or, if there's a quincenera at one, I have the option of moving on to the wedding at the other. Not that I don't like quinceneras--I just prefer weddings.

The best time of day to be at the cathedral on any given Saturday is right about 7pm. At that time, the 6 o'clock wedding is just getting out, while the 7 o'clock wedding is still waiting to be seated, meandering around the courtyard, and in general, just showing off their beautiful dresses.

And I do enjoy it! And thanks to all of you whose weddings I've stalked. I wish you all the best in your married life. I truly appreciate you sharing your day with me.

Si te reconoces en estas fotos y prefieres que las quito, mandame un comentario y los quitare enseguida. Mil disculpas y felicidades!

Only Skeletons Celebrated Here

Yep, I'm jumping on that Day of the Dead bandwagon, too. Because what did Clara and I come across when we went downtown hoping to refill ink cartridges? The street along one side of the Alameda was blocked off to make room for enormous ofrenda upon ofrenda for the Days of the Dead.

Last year, I believe I posted something about the ofrendas that were on display at the State Cultural center. That was enjoyable, but this was so much better! This year, a number of the city's high schools seemed to stage an ofrenda-making competition of sorts. Various schools were represented, a stage was set up for local talent to sing covers of popular songs, and a nine-foot tall catrina danced down the street.

I don't know if it's because we live so close to Texas or if it's because Mexico in general is getting more and more Americanized with their Halloween celebrations, but certain sections of this town are really trying to hold on to their own traditions and celebrate the Days of the Dead, instead of Halloween (or, maybe along with Halloween--hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em). This parade is a good example, as was the sign posted at the daycare center near my house. Today the children were to come to school dressed as catrins or catrinas (boy and girl skeletons)--NOT in their Halloween costumes. Good job, Centro Educativo--teach them young to reclaim their culture!

Anyway, the ofrendas are altars built to remember someone who has passed on. I believe a few were made in honor of the founders of some of the schools represented. I saw quite a number dedicated to Frida Kahlo. Sor Juana seemed to be the next favorite of the high school girls. I didn't recognize the picture of this one, so I asked the boys who made it. Pedro Infante--of course! How did I miss that most dapper of mustaches?

So thank you high school students of Saltillo--you sure brightened my day!

It's About Time

1) Since it's been awhile since I posted a Clara update, and
2) the kids is making strides (quite literally) in a number of areas,
here's the skinny on Chubbs:

She walks! Without holding onto my hand! The second week that we were visiting my parents, she and I went to Parkview North's playground. I was sitting on a bench about 3 yards away from her as she played with their enormous abacus. After awhile, she pooped out, took a seat, and asked me to pick her up. I told her to walk to me. She kept asking, I kept insisting. Finally, she planted her hands on the ground, hoisted her heiney in the air, got to her feet and walked over to me. I was incredulous. She just looked at me, plainly saying, "What's the big deal? Of course I can walk."

Thanks for finally letting us in on the secret.

Her vocabulary is also advancing with leaps and bounds. Keeping in mind that bilingual children are a bit slower to speak, I was still getting a little worried when, at 20 months, her only recognizable words were "mama" and "papa". And even those words were hit and miss. Just within the last week or two, she has developed an 8-word vocabulary.

• Mama

• Papa (she does say "dada" pretty frequently, but as we've never referred to Mario as "daddy or "dada", I'm not counting it as anything.)

• baby. Until yesterday, this did not refer to a baby, at least not in Clara's mind. To Clara, "baby" means animal, any animal. Puppies, Chris's cats, the hornet in my parents' kitchen, illustrations of cows . . . they're all babies. Finally yesterday she did point to Baby Bill and call him "baby".

• no. Today she decided to prove that she is very, very good at "no". Funny how the baby books often mentioned that kids learn to say "no" right around the same time they learn how to walk. They were right on, in Clara's case.

• please. She still does the sign language, but now she'll often accompany it with a verbal, "pee".

• ball. It comes out as either "ba" or "be". Very consistent, though. I think it was her first word after mama and papa.

• yeah. I've heard her say it a few times in the last week, but "no" has solidly eclipsed anything positive.

• beer. Mario was enjoying one tonight and Clara was working really hard to get a sip. After quite awhile without success, she thought it would be good effect to string together, "Pee [accompanied with hand signal], bee." For real? Beer?!? You're out of control, Clara.

Visitor Delight

Coming home last week, I didn't have too much time to adjust from being the visitor to having a visitor! How I love visitors . . . hint, hint!

My friend, Danyel, lived and volunteered with me for a year at Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos way back in 2004. She's back there working and had to visit the house for the college students in Monterrey last week. Since she was all the way up here, she decided to spend her "weekend" with us here in Saltillo.

In my heart, part of my plan for her visit was to wander around downtown and snack ourselves sick on street food. When I was living in Toluca and she had just returned to NPH, we'd meet up in Coyoacan, on the south side of Mexico City, about once a month. Coyoacan is a lovely, lovely neighborhood, and we'd meander through the neighborhoods filled with huge houses, impressive gates, polished wood doors, cascading bouganvillea. While doing all that walking we'd inevitably work up an appetite, head back to the center of Coyoacan, craving corn-on-a-stick, donuts-on-a-stick (thanks, Cafe El Jarocho), mocha frappes, gorditas de nata, nieve (sherbet) . . . on at least one occasion we both ended up sick afterwards.

But it was so worth it.

I toyed with the idea of introducing Danyel to Elote Real, a popular snack spot downtown that throws a cup of sweet corn kernels in a styrofoam cup and then douses them with mayonnaise, nacho cheese, and chili powder. Amazing. And then we could peruse nachos, in the state where they originated (they come from Piedras Negras on the Texas/Coahuila border). Unfortunately, I haven't seen any jicaleta vendors lately to give our feast a healthy image.

However, Mario bought a newspaper on Sunday and a number of restaurants ran some fairly large ads . . . including three Lebanese restaurants. Middle Eastern food in Mexico? Oh, yes. I believe that in the 1920s, Mexico welcomed large numbers of Lebanese immigrants. One of their lasting contributions to Mexico is the taco arabe in Puebla (more on that another day). And, these excellent restaurants in Saltillo which happily serve me large platterfuls of unidentifiable delicacies. All that I know is that they're all stuffed with lamb and rice. Little squashes stuffed with lamb and rice, grape leaves stuffed with lamb and rice, cabbage leaves stuffed with lamb and rice. Mmm . . . I love that lamb and rice! Eating garbage downtown just had no appeal after considering our lamb-filled options.

However, we did walk off all that rice downtown. And, as we approached the Alameda, we stopped for a frozen yogurt. For 10 pesos, we were served a generous serving of frozen yogurt, fruit on the bottom (raspberries for me), chocolate on top, then garnished with a spoonful of chocolate chips. Yes.

I need to have Danyel visit more often. We eat well together.

*******************************************************
Ayamal: Monclova #1419, Col. Republica Pte. 416-8201
Or, Jill-directions: You know the Soriana on Coss? And there's a Banamex in that same Plaza. Right. Roughly across the street from the Banamex (behind Coss, going into Republica) is Banco Inbursa. That's Calle Monclova. So the restaurant just past Inbursa, yep, that's Ayamal. And I don't think it's called that from the signs from the outside. Go figure. They also sell gorditas and other typical norteno dishes, plus Lebanese a la carte. However, I just always go for the buffet-brought-to-your-table as soon as they mention it. It's a good call.

Stop Seducing Me!

Oh, USA . . . after hanging out with you for almost three weeks, I must admit, I am a little smitten.

You started in with the walking trails in my parents' new neighborhood, meandering through woods and backyards and finally winding up to the YMCA (which boasts daycare . . . ooo--you want me bad, don't you?). Sidewalks that were wide enough for 2-3 people walking shoulder-to-shoulder and NO 6-inch cracks to navigate the stroller over? No traffic? Wonderful.

Then we discovered the toddler-friendly playgrounds--not just one, but two in town (and that was without even seeking them out). Stairs wide enough for the kid to crawl up . . . toddler swings that she won't fall out of if she lets go to point at a dog . . . slides that don't pitch her headlong into the pavement . . . nice.

And the library--oh, the library! Just the thought of those thousands upon thousands of FREE books, mine for the asking, is making me weak in the knees. For a parting shot the day we left, we returned our books just as story hour was beginning. I could be friends with those ladies. Clara could be friends with their kids. How I would have loved to go to lunch and the park with them afterwards, as some were suggesting.

Yep, you pulled out all the stops. Don't think I didn't notice.

Fortunately for me, a few days before I left the US, a friend of mine posted these photos on facebook (my apologies that I can't pull them up here for all to see). Thank you, Missy! Those snapped me out of it. Parts of me may want you, US, but for now, the rest of me is in Mexico. And I really am rather happy about it.















So, USA--despite all your charms, I left you again. We had a good time, but for now, that's all it can be.

Our Large Problem

Clara and I are hanging out in the US yet again this year (we've got to take advantage of the fact that Clara doesn't have to pay for an airplane ticket yet . . . that, and a friend's wedding). Anyway, I'm stumbling across some interesting comparisons between my life in the US and my life in Mexico.

Lately, a number of Mexicans have been proclaiming, almost proudly (strangely enough) that Mexico is now officially ranked as the second fattest country on the planet--after the United States, of course. A number of Mexicans have proclaimed that they ARE the fattest nation on earth. I put them back in their place. Yes, I'm from the US. We have to win on everything. While Mexico certainly has more than its fair share of overweight people, it's got NOTHING on my country when it comes to obesity.

Ironically though, since I've been in the US this week, I feel like I've been bombarded with health/consumer information. So many magazines sport cover models who have lost over 100 pounds in weight (and I am so happy to see them there instead of the celebrities who need to fatten up a bit). Magazines, newspapers, the TV news, and community organizations feel like they can't tell the public enough to go out and take a walk. Walk, walk, walk--it's the new miracle excersize! (Kudos to Allen County, Indiana, for investing in a series of walking trails--one which goes right through my parents' new neighborhood . . . I can't get out there enough.) Eat fiber, drink water, buy veggies from the farmers' market--the barrage doesn't end. Nor do the fat-free, salt-free, gluten-free, carb-free, sugar-free options in the grocery store. Dear heavens!

At any rate, I've been overwhelmed with the amount of health information from every channel. And it's apparently been long overdue, or we, as Americans, would not be in the shape we are.

Mexico, on the other hand, seems to be, once again, still stuck in the sixties. As often as I hear solid information about how people should cut calories, go for a walk, eat more vegetables, I hear at least as many rediculous theories. For instance, the peach diet--eat nothing but peaches and you'll achieve your ideal dress size. Right. Cut out tortillas and watch your waistline shrink. OK, there may be some truth to this one, but tortillas, especially corn tortillas are full of good nutrients and even a bit of protien . . . call me crazy, but skip the pop and chips and things might really start moving in the right direction.

More than anything though, the only reason that I can see why Mexico is #2 instead of #1 in worldwide largeness per capita is that it's still necessary for most Mexicans to walk at least a little bit each day. In the US, we've made it so that it's nearly impossible to walk to any kind of store, recreational area, school, etc. (Unless one lives in a large, urban area, I assume.) In Mexico, at least where I live, it's inevitable that I'll walk to either the butcher, the corner store, the tortilla store, the post office, the bank or the park almost every day. (OK, we were smart and chose to live downtown.) But, even when I lived in smaller towns or in areas that weren't quite so centrally located, I walked a lot--basically because I walked to work every day. Unless I wanted to wait 10 minutes each way to sit on an overcrowded bus, I walked. It just made more sense.

But in the US, at least where I grew up, it was next to impossible to walk anywhere without getting run over. Slowly, things are getting better. But not quickly enough.

So let's just hope that Mexican city planning (what's that?) never follows the direction that the US took. Unless they're just bound and determined to beat the US in something.

I can think of better goals.