Celebrating Day of the Dead

 Ever since we're gotten back from Indiana, each mealtime has been the forum for Serious Questions.  Deep Questions--down where the fish ain't got no eyes.

Who's God?

Why did he make us?

Why do we die?

Why did your Grandma die?

Clara with the decorated Pan de Muerto

Am I going to die?

Is Papa going to die?

Now, these last couple aren't asked in any kind of fear.  Just idle curiosity.  And very persistent curiosity, at that, as they're asked quite frequently.

But all this curiosity is well timed, as November 2ed is known as the Day of the Dead throughout Mexico.  It's pretty much like Memorial Day in the US, just honoring civilians.  Well, veterans can be remembered, too . . . it's an all-inclusive holiday. I've posted on Day of the Dead other years, but this is the first time we celebrated it as a family. 





First of all, throughout October, pan de muerto, loosely translated as Dead Bread is sold at all bakeries.  I buy pan de muerto a little obsessively--basically as often as I go to the grocery store.  It has an alluring, flowery taste that has had me baffled for years.  What is it that makes pan de muerto taste like flowers?  (The scent of flowers, if that describes it better.)  I found a recipe in my yeast package and it turns out that that flowery taste is simply orange extract.

Decorating the Dead Bread

Biggest letdown of the year.

Since we eat pan de muerto so often throughout October, I wanted our pan de muerto on the actually Day of the Dead to be something special, so I tried that recipe and made it myself.  It was wonderful, and a lot of fun to make.


It just wasn't quite like store bought Dead Bread.  (In my defense, the recipe was a little vague.  And I let it rise waaaay to long.)

But it was very, very good--almost like cake.  I'll make it again next year.  It'll just be redefined as "my" pan de muerto.  

a traditional altar (NOT at my house)

Furthermore, as Clara has been asking questions about my grandparents and Mario's grandpa, I decided that we could make a scaled-down Day of the Dead altar.  These are set up in people's homes to remember loved ones.  


On the right is a traditional Day of the Dead altar, remembering one person.

Below is our "altar".  We're all about simplicity here.

Mario's kind of weird about funerals and Day of the Dead, so I didn't know how he'd feel about me making a Day of the Dead altar.  At the same time, I knew it was a valuable teaching moment for Clara, so I went ahead with it anyway, knowing he'd be weirded out about it if I talked with him first.  And when Clara proudly showed it to him, he actually seemed pleased! 

"Oh wow--it's like an altar!"  I translated that to be a pleased version of, "Oh wow--we're teaching our kids to be Mexican, too!"

So we'll keep doing this.  I do enjoy the day. 

Our little "altar"

In Search of Gringos

I was debating giving up this blog, but then a new friend of mine stopped me on Sunday and asked if I blogged.  She told me that she read this when she was looking for information (or maybe simply ANYTHING she could find) on Saltillo before she moved here two weeks ago.

Well, shoot.  That is why I write this, after all.  So I'll keep singing Saltillo's praises here.

How did I meet my new friend Beth?  Though one of my very favorite organizations, the Saltillo International Church.  Despite Saltillo's smallish size, there are an impressive number of expatriates here, thanks to a slew of multinational companies that have plants here.  However, after nearly a year of living here, I couldn't figure out where they were.

[Long Side Story, but I will make my point eventually]  One weekend we were in Parras, buying wine, and the other customers were also speaking native English.  Curious (and so lonely I was willing to approach people at wine counters), I found out that one of the couples lived in Saltillo.  They were Jehovah Witness missionaries, but instead of targeting the Mexican population, they were in town to evangelize all the expats. So lonely that I was, I gave her my phone number, essentially saying, "please evangelize me!  Just call me, talk to me, anything!"  I was so excited to meet this woman. 

Alas, she never called.  I guess those Jehovah's Witness missionaries like the hard-to-get type.

So I resorted to internet stalking.  And on facebook I found a gringa who was also married to a Mexican and living in Saltillo.  Thank goodness I did not creep her out.  Furthermore, she knew where the expats were hanging out!  (I'd love to hang out with Mexicans, too, but those circles are apparently a bit harder to break into.)  She knew of a secular coffee group that meets on Fridays, and a Wednesday morning Bible study for women.  The Bible study offered free babysitting.  I went to Bible study.

It turns out that the Jehova's Witnesses aren't the only ones who target the expats.  The Tripps, a missionary family who came to Mexico almost 17 years ago, came also to minister to the expat community.  Or, in their words, they came to "be family away from family."  For me, they really are. Four years ago, the Saltillo International Church, a nondenominational, English-dominant church, officially formed (having held services for a few years previously).  It began with a mainly expat membership, but now Mexicans make up at least 60% of the members.  So for those sent to Saltillo for a few years, it provides an easy means to hobnob with not just other expats, but to form meaningful relationships with Mexicans, too--even if your Spanish is nonexistent.

They have services at 11am on Sundays with about a half hour of  worship (singing) in both English and Spanish, followed by a sermon in English (Spanish translation is available).  Nursery service and kid's classes are held for kids (babies through 6th grade) during the sermon.  They also have my women's Bible study on Wednesday mornings, a youth group, men's groups, and a variety of other small groups throughout the week.      

I can't explain how much I appreciate this community.  And I can't quite imagine where I'd be mentally if I hadn't resorted to internet stalking and Missy was understanding enough to introduce me to this community.

By the way, if you're in Saltillo and looking for the expats, they're all way out north.

And those who want to go to church in English, the International Church is way out on Los Gonzalez, smack between Blvd. Colosio and Los Rodriguez--right next to the bar La Milla--and La Milla graciously lets the church borrow their parking lot. 

"Where Are You From?"

"Jill--you're not from Indiana!" 

What?  That's news to me. 

However, a few months ago, my father-in-law read in my passport that I was, indeed, born in Wisconsin, not Indiana.  To the Mexican psyche, one is from the place they were born.  So yes, if you were "accidentally" born in Florida because one of your parents was in grad school there and never stepped foot in the state after the age of six months, to your Mexican friends, you are a Floridian. 

 Mario got lucky in the fact that he was born within the official confines of Mexico City, as he likes to refer to himself as a chilango.  He spent the majority of his growing-up years 10 blocks from the line that officially divides the DF from the state of Mexico.  But, to his way of thinking, he was born on the "right" side of that line.    

I don't mind my newfound status as a Wisconsite.  All my extended family is from there,  and while I haven't lived there since the age of two, I've spent plenty of Thanksgivings, Christmases, Easters and summers there, so Wisconsin and I do have a connection. 

But I'm a Hoosier, baby.  And that's all there is to that.

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On the opposite note, when in the US, I've been introduced to people as "my friend from Mexico". 

Woah, slow down, Sparky.  I live in Mexico.  I am not from Mexico, and it's clear that no matter how many years I'll spend there, I will NEVER be considered to be "from" Mexico.  Don't get me wrong--I love Mexico, and I sure hope I'm assimilating.  However, when I'm ninety years old, I will still get asked, "Where are you from?" 

It's clear (to Mexicans, at least) that I'm not "from" Mexico.

Got Your List?

Greenga Girl got me thinking the other day with her list of cravings from the US.  As I'm planning a trip to the US soon, I've been writing lists in my head about things we need to do, people to see, food to eat, and things to bring back.  And this made me think about how these lists of mine have changed over the years.

The "People to See" category has remained fairly constant and still remains a mad dash of trying to cram as many visits to my favorite people as possible in whatever time frame I have to work with.

The "Things to Do" list has always included a visit to the Indiana Dunes, but now that I'm toting kiddos with me everywhere, this list has changed significantly.  It now contains many more playground and zoo visits than it did in the pre-Clara era.   Fortunately, the Dunes are still a necessity.

This year, "Things to Eat" is pretty vague.  However, as I'll be at my mom's house for my birthday, a Kahula cake is my one very well-formed craving.  Ooo--and any beer that isn't Corona, Victoria, Modelo, Sol, Indio, XX, etc.  Mmm . . . seasonal beers . . . microbrews . . . I'm ready to hop in the car now.  

"Things to Bring Back" is in a constant state of evolution. On this year's list:

• footed pajamas for the kids. I know they sell them here, but the jammies from the US feel softer. 
• Books, books, books.  Particularly children's books.  Ironically, I have a much easier time finding quality children's books in Spanish in the US than in Mexico.  (They don't have Ghandi or the Sotano here in Saltillo.)  It's no understatement to say that Mexico really needs to work on fostering a culture of reading--which is unlikely to happen during Pena Nieto's government.  *snicker*
• hummus mix.  The Three Rivers Co-Op in Ft. Wayne sells a dried mix.  When I add warm water and olive oil--presto!--I've got hummus.  While it's slightly less tasty, it's waaaaay cheaper than what I can find at the grocery store, so I'll keep supporting my favorite co-op. 
• Rechargable batteries.  They're just way cheaper.  
• A pair of jeans.  I was desperate for a new pair of jeans a few months ago, so we went to Parras, where they're famous for making jeans.  (Parras is home to the Dickies factory, too!)  They have men's jeans aplenty, but I was sorely disappointed at the women's selection.  The one pair that I found that fit decently was made of really thin material and, after I got home, I realized that it didn't have front pockets!  They were just sewn to look like pockets, but there's nothing there!  Grrr . . .

Man, I'm struggling to come up with more.  Either I'm really settling into life here, or Texas is just within too easy access.  Or a combination of the two.  

That which used to be on my lists?

• Peanut butter.  Really, this is often still on my lists, but I'm still well stocked from last year.  They do sell it here, but in minuscule quantities at twice the price.  So yes, I import peanut butter.  
• Cheddar cheese.  I really don't miss it any more.  (But I'm sure I'll eat plenty when I'm there.)
• Cherries.  Unfortunately, I"m not going during cherry season.  Next year, perhaps?
• Shoes.  I have now found a shoe store that I really enjoy in Saltillo.  If I were in need of good tennis shoes, I'd still wait to get them in the US (combination of cheaper and better quality).  Other than that, I'm having fun with my odd, made-in-Mexico finds. 

OK, looking over this list, I see that it really hasn't changed much.  However, my former intense attachment to these objects/experiences has.  Particularly with the peanut butter.  I used to ration my peanut butter.  Sometimes I'd gift it to friends.  Fortunately, they understood how very, very dear this peanut butter was to me.  (It was to them, too.)  We used to spread it on Maria, dip Oreos in it . . . man, I guess I'm growing up!  My friends here in Saltillo often ask me before they make a trip to the border if I need any more peanut butter.  But now that I'm no longer pregnant, it's just not quite so necessary as it used to be.  I guess I was a little desperate last year.

Then again, maybe I should double-check my peanut butter stock.  I may be halfway through my last jar.

Yikes.   

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What's on Mario's list?

• Mt. Dew.  Yesterday, he opened his last 2-liter of Mt. Dew and I heard him say, "oops!  Last Mt. Dew--I guess we'll have to go to Laredo soon!"  Really?  For Mt. Dew?  Goofy man. 
• Cargo pants.  He wears them to work and work tends to tear them to pieces.  And he can't find any in this country. Again, thank goodness Texas is close. 
• Beer.  Unfortunately, Laredo has really disappointed us in their beer selection.  Sam Adams is about as interesting as Laredoeans want in their beer, apparently.

My Salute To Those Other Mexican Immigrants

While there are around a million of us gringos calling Mexico home, another group of immigrants to Mexico has been making their presence known for well over 100 years. 

Lebanon, of all places, has been providing Mexico with thousands upon thousands of wanna-be Mexicans.  After more than 100 years of Lebanese immigration, there are now an impressive number of Mexicans of Lebanese descent . . . their ancestors weren't just wanna-bes, like yours truly.

Saltillo's Lebanese Immigrant Plaza  (on Jose Musa de Leon)

Between escaping the Ottoman Empire in the 1890s and leaving civil war behind them in the 1990s, Lebanese have settled all over the Americas.  Some cities in Brazil claim to have a larger Lebanese population than Beirut.  But plenty have come to Mexico, particularly in Merida, Puebla, Mexico City, and Tampico (according to Wikipedia and other sources).  Glancing through the last names in Saltillo's social pages, plenty of Lebanese also decided that Saltillo is a pretty great place to live, too.

Why is this worth mentioning for me?  Arabic restaurants, baby!  During college, I got involved with a group that served international dinners once every couple of months, and I fell in love with Middle Eastern food.  Unfortunately, I'm from northeast Indiana, and Middle Eastern food is rather difficult to find.  To the best of my knowledge, the nearest restaurant that serves anything wrapped in grape leaves is in Ann Arbor, a good three hours from my house.  So how delightful was it to move to Saltillo, which--while twice the size of my hometown--seems half as small, I could find not one, but a number of Lebanese restaurants!    

Embarassingly, though, we have only tried one.  Almajal, on Jose Musa de Leon, just north of Figueroa, serves an excellent buffet every Sunday.  We like it so much, we haven't bothered trying anywhere else.  (But we will, we will!)

After a year of living in Puebla my hands-down favorite Mexican meal is really a Mexican-Lebanese creation, the taco arabe.  It deserves its own post.  We spent many a Saturday afternoon at the Antigua Taqueria Cholula, scarfing these babies down until I discovered something even better--the falafel taco.  Nestled in a big, warm, pita tortilla was a bed of slivered beets, cradling a generous portion of falafels, bathed in jocoque.  A-mazing.

Then Mario moved out of Cholula and the next thing we knew the Antigua Taqueria Cholula went out of business.  (If anyone in Cholula/Puebla can find out that they just moved, instead of going out of business, please let me know.  We will make the 12 hour drive some weekend just for the joy of the falafel taco.)

Recreation of the falafel taco--success!

A few months ago, when I was missing my falafel tacos more than usual, I was inspired while at the market.  My verdulero had great-looking beets for sale.  I had never bought them before, but thought, "Hmmm . . . with fresh flour tortillas, jocoque, these beets and falafels (from a recipe that I had just found on pinterest) I could make falafel tacos! 

And I did. 

And they were amazing.

And we even got Clara to eat beets, because my girly-girl three-year-old was pretty excited about a pink vegetable.

Anyway, that's all a very long, roundabout way of saying, thanks for coming to Mexico, all you Lebanese immigrants!  You make this country even tastier than it already was.       

Eco Tianguis

A few months ago, I read the tiniest blurb in the newspaper about an "eco-tianguis", taking place that Saturday.  Tianguis is a Nahuatl (language of the Aztecs) word for market, and the "eco" added to the front implied that they would be selling all things local and organic.  I was intrigued, so when I found out where it was and that is was to be an ongoing event, I had to check it out!

They do have any number of local craft people, jewelers (of the hippie style, of course!), baked goods, natural cleaning/pest remidies, honey suppliers, etc.  But only ONE produce stand.  A bit disappointed.  And, when I asked it seems that their produce mostly comes from Zacatecas and San Luis Potosi, just like the Central de Abastos, where every other independent fruit/vegetable seller in town gets their vegetables from. 

However, they do sell mamey.  And starfruit.  And lychees.  And guanabana.  (Not all the same week.)  We have never seen these fruits in this part of the country!  So I can even talk Mario into going to the big hippie market, just so he can get his mamey fix.  Furthermore, their prices are very competitive with conventionally grown produce sold anywhere in town.  Considering that these fruits and veggies are supposed to be organic, I'm sold. 

The Eco-Tianguis is held every Saturday between 10-6 right in front of Avemed, just behind the Chrysler dealership on the north side of the Periferico Luis Echevarria.

IT'S RAINING!

Hearing the noise on the roof, I paused for a moment and asked myself, "What is that noise?" 

Yeah, baby--it's RAIN! 

While it rained with surprising frequency all winter and spring, lately it's been clear that we're still deep into the worst drought in 70 years.  We held our breath when we heard that there was a storm going through the Gulf--would it come here?

After a few days (and just a little spitting yesterday), I gave up hoping we'd see rain and just hoped that somewhere else, also desperately in need of rain, would get it.

But it looks like we're getting lucky today.

And I'm taking it as a good omen.  (Which, I realize, is probably grasping at straws.)  Today is Election Day in Mexico. They're electing a new president.  Like most elections anywhere, this one is a matter of choosing between the lesser of four evils (Four candidates.)  And let me tell you, I'm glad I can't vote here, because after months of campaigning and listening to three debates, I still have no idea who the lesser of these evils would be.  They're all scary in their own way.

But I'll take this rain as a sign that the "best" candidate will win.

Or maybe I'm just happy we have rain.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.   

Ruta Recreativa

On Sunday morning when Joey crashed after mass and Mario immersed himself in the newspaper, I thought to myself, "what will Clara and I do for the two hours that the boys are lost to us?"

Solution:  Ruta Recreativa!

What is the Ruta Recreativa?  About two years ago, the mayor blocked off some of the major streets of Saltillo on Sundays between 8am and 1pm.  Saltillenses can take their bikes and ride up though town, fear-free.  Or, of course, we can walk our dogs, skateboard, train for the half-marathon (which also took place yesterday) or just walk down the middle of the city's major streets, traffic-free.

When he introduced this idea, I didn't think it was going to last.  Or take off.  But it has!

Now, Clara and I did go downtown between the hours of 11 and 1 . . . not my best idea on a June day in Saltillo.  But it wasn't too bad.

And much to Clara's delight, the city provided free brincolines at both the Alameda and the Plaza de Tres Culturas (on the other end of Guadalupe Victoria). Ever since Children's Day (April 30th) when our chuch rented bounce houses, she's been asking almost incessantly to find more brincolines.  I'm thrilled that we now have a weekly outlet to enhance her need to jump. 

And if that's not enough, DIF had some face-painting stations and a few Twister games set up for people to play.

It was quieter than I expected, but we had a good time.  We'll be back.

At 10:30 on Sundays there's a Zumba class right in front of the library in the Alameda!

They close off Venustiano Carranza all the way to the Plaza de Armas (and the street is then named Allende).  Guadalupe Victoria is also closed off). So one could bike from Liverpool to the Alameda every Sunday morning without fighting traffic!

Guadalupe Victoria, looking towards the Alameda. 

It is kind of fun to strut down the middle of the street.

My non-jardin garden

My house, like most houses in Mexico (except in rural areas, of course) has a distinct lack of green space.  We know that we are very blessed to have both a patio and cochera (roofless garage) of fairly ample size.  But we do need some green in our life.  And since I like growing plants and Mario likes to buy them, we've had some very pleasant container gardens over the last 5 years. 

And this is the first time that I've documented one! 

My calla lily (or alcatraz), given to us by friends of Patty's.

My pot of Jojutla--menthol and wandering jew that I stole from my mother-in-law's garden.

My gardenia--I bought it at the fair for San Jose Day, and I'm shocked that it's not only surviving, but thriving.  Everything that we put in the cochera usually dies.

My veteran bouganvillea.  Again, everything that we put in the cochera has never lasted more than a season.  Except for this guy!  You go, bouganvillea!

My awesome tomato plant--first time growing tomatoes!  Plus a volunteer moss rose and another calla lily in the background. That lily is a lot happier, as this is the patio garden, which gets a lot less sun and is easier to remember to water them. 

We'll see what's still alive at the end of the summer. ;)

Where did THAT come from?

During our day of wandering Cholula and reminiscing, we (or maybe I) kept pretending that we were thinking seriously about moving back there.  Truth be told, if Volkswagen were to call Mario and offer him even a moderately interesting job, I'm quite sure he'd jump at the opportunity.  After working elsewhere, we're realizing that VW was a marvelous company to work for. 

Anyway, while I was doing all my pretending about moving back, I was mid-thought, thinking how nice it would be to be near the zocalo, as they now have a (very) small playground when a voice in my head interrupted me out of nowhere, saying, "but Cholula is so far from Texas." 

Where did THAT come from? 

For almost as long as I can remember, or was aware of the Great State of Texas, I have nursed a huge grudge against the entire state.  Why?  That's a little vague.  Maybe because it's so stinkin' big.  And Texans are famous for being very proud of their very big state.  I think in my mind I equated Texan pride with arrogance (despite not knowing any Texans) and I just wanted to avoid the entire state like the plague. 

Then I moved to Coahuila, which shares a pretty extensive border with Texas.  In fact, once upon a time (during the colonial era, I believe) Texas and Coahuila were one enormous state called, rather uncreatively, Texas-Coahuila.  And slowly but surely, Texas grew on me.  Like the suave southerner it is, it wooed me oh-so-gently.  Now, after just three years in close proximity, I can honestly say that I like Texas. 

I never thought those words would pass my lips. 

But do I like it so much that the thought of being 10 hours away from the border would give me pause to consider moving back to central Mexico?  Apparently so. 

Who'd have thought? 

Destination: Cholula

Thirteen years later, still taking the same pictures in the same places.

 A few weeks ago, we took the fastest visit ever to Mexico City took a side trip to Cholula, just outside of Puebla (2-3 hours from Mexico City).  Way back in 1999, when I came to Mexico for the very first time, Cholula was home for 4 months.  When I spent two years in Morelos, I came to Cholula every other weekend to visit Mario, making it home again.  This town has a very special place in my heart, and walking around made me feel like I was home again.

The view from the zocalo.

As we drove into town, we drove behind the University de las Americas (where Mario studied and I spent my study-abroad semester).  Our mouths hung open as we drove past bar after swanky club after posh bar--it was like the strip at Acapulco without the beach!  Mercifully, once we got out of spitting range of the UDLA, it became evident that Cholula was still sleepy, loveable Cholula.

The Capilla Real--49 domes!  One of my favorite churches in Mexico.

Mario lived for 11 years, two blocks from the zocalo and that was just about where we parked.  We had tacos arabes at Tacos Robert (I was also craving a cemita and contemplating getting both a cemita AND the tacos, but they were out of cheese.  What's a cemita without cheese?  OK, it'd be a big, huge drippy sandwich--without cheese.  No thanks).  After that we wandered the zocalo, and visited our favorite chapel Cholula is said to boast 365 churches (as the Spanish built a church over Aztec pyramids and Cholula was a huge center of worship for the Aztecs).  In reality, there are something like 200+ churches in little Cholula.

Front door to the main church.

Popo (the volcano) was putting on a good show!

Love the contrasts!

My boys in front of the Capilla Real (please correct me if I've got the name wrong!)

We had ice cream and people-watched on a bench in the zocalo.  Then we noticed that they were setting up for a concert in the kiosko in the center of the zocalo, so we stayed to listen (Mario will do ANYTHING to drive into Mexico City as late as possible to avoid the traffic--the concert was a great excuse).  And a highlight was that they played the William Tell Overture, so I could bounce Joey on my knee with accompaniment other than my own humming.  I think I enjoyed it more than he did.

There are three huge, enormously old trees in the courtyard.  Waaaay back in the day, the Indians weren't allowed inside the churches, so mass was held outside for them  Passing these trees I always think about the countless people who spent hours sitting under these trees, nearly 500 years ago.  Oh, the stories the trees could tell!

I had always wanted to hear a concert in the bandstand. This visit, dreams came true!

What a great day!  We felt that we were literally walking down memory lane.       

All About Diapers (Really. Sorry about that.)

Earlier this year, we found our new favorite store.  OK, that's an exaggeration, but I'm so excited that they opened up shop.  And the proprietors are pretty excited that we're regular customers.

It is . . . (dum, dum, dum) . . . a store that sells nothing but diapers and toilet paper, mostly in BULK!  Yes, this really does top the list of excitement when you've got two kids in diapers.  So the other day, I stocked up again on 10 kilos of diapers (5 kilos for each kid).  Let me tell you, that's a lot of diapers. I've got half of them put away and the other half . . . well, we just don't have room for them!  Currently, they're sitting behind the door in the kids' room, where they'll likely stay until Mario gets tired of seeing them there and finds a creative solution for the storage problem.  I can always count on him for that.

Clara with a mere 3 kilos of diapers

To prove how awesome the Diaper Distributor is, let me spell out the savings.  I counted out the huge bag of diapers, and 5 kilos of size 5 diapers is 138 diapers.  I paid 315 pesos for those diapers.  A conventional bag of diapers contains 38 diapers and costs, on a good day, 115 pesos.

         38 diapers = $115
       138 diapers = $315

When doing some rounding in my head, I figured that that's like getting 3 packages for the price of 2 (a deal that Soriana used to do fairly frequently, but it's been awhile since I've seen that advertised).

And using the calculator for exact figures, one conventionally packaged diaper costs almost exactly 3       pesos.  One diaper bought in bulk costs 2 pesos.  (OK, it's not as dramatic a discount as I was hoping.)  But, over the course of hundreds of diapers, that adds up.

Plus, it's pretty sweet to only have to buy diapers once every couple of months instead of once every two weeks.

It turned out to be a good idea to individually count out the diapers, as they come all smashed up and folded funny.  Mario used to work in a diaper factory and 30% of the diapers made there were unfit to be sold and had to be thrown out.

No kidding.  30% straight to the trash.

There is a debate that rages whether cloth diapers really are better for the environment than disposable.  To my way of thinking, it's a no-brainer that cloth diapers are better.  However, it turns out that in comparison to the total amount of trash that chokes up landfills, disposable diapers are a very small percentage of the total trash generated.  And, disposable diaper champions also claim that the water used in washing diapers at home is wasteful in itself.   

However these arguments fail to consider the industrial costs of producing each diaper.  There is a certain amount of water necessary to produce each disposable diaper (putting it close to on par with washing cloth diapers?).  And then fact that one out of every three diapers has to be thrown out!  Yikes!

Wow, that was quite the tangent that I didn't mean to go down!

Anyway, I'm guessing that my cheaper, smashed up and funnily-folded diapers are the irregular ones that they couldn't sell at full price but are salvageable for selling in bulk.  In our last 5 kilo bag for Joe, there were about 30 that were missing the fastening tabs.  Fortunately, those who run the diaper store want to keep their customers and therefore are happy to exchange those 30 for diapers with tabs.  And, if Joe grows out of his size 3s before we run out of diapers, they're also happy to exchange whatever we would have left over for the next size.  Awesome.  

But do you know what the really, really cool part of the Diaper Distributor is?

It's right next to a bulk candy store.  And they sell dehydrated strawberries.

Such a shame that we buy so many diapers in one shot that we only go there every 3 months or so.

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Where is the Diaper Distributor?

In Saltillo, on the south side of the Periferico, almost directly across the street from Soriana Lourdes.

Short Saltillo Slide Show

Lake at the Alameda

View of the mountains at sunset at Parque Maravillas

Mom & Clara at the Chapulin Park

More mountains at Maravillas

Word

Just learned my new favorite Spanglish word.

And this time I didn't make it up or learn it from another gringo--it's standard around here! I saw it on a billboard a few days after hearing it.

The other day, I walked past a table where someone was selling cupcakes. They asked me if I wanted a quequito. Of course, my English-driven brain heard "cake-ito".

But no, if you want a cupcake in northern Mexico, a quequito it is.

Yet another joy of living awfully close to the border!

San Jose Day 2012

Last Monday, apart from being a day off of work for most, thanks to the observation of Benito Juarez's birthday, was celebrated down my street for the day is was, San Jose Day! (It's a big deal down this street.)

We actually started celebrating the Sunday before with a parade from the Alameda to the church. It was officially called a pilgrimage. Padre Gordo reminded us to keep the true spirit of pilgrims, by thinking about our pilgrimage through life. Huh . . . glad he mentioned that! (Although it was easy to get distracted with the dancing chickens in the bed of one truck, courtesy of those who organize the children's mass.) Joey and I were all about joining in, and I was impressed that Mario and Clara were agreeable, especially after we arrived at the Alameda. I forgot that two or three matachin groups generally join the procession. They were very noisy, and neither Clara or Mario tolerate noise well. What troopers!

Then, the following Sunday, the church changed their usual 5-10K race into a mere 1.5 Run/Trot/Walk family event. So I signed us up for that, too. (Yep, I'm a joiner.) Mario had a long night the night before and bowed out, so I strapped Joey into the kangaroo (that's what baby carriers are called in Spanish--how awesome is that with a boy named Joey?), tied the three-year-old into the stroller, and we trotted off around the neighborhood with our Josefino family. I had fun running 5 steps then walking 10--it was pretty fun to watch Joey's head bounce around--but when 1.5 kilometers turned into a longer distance than I had imagined, I gave up and just walked.

After the race, they held a raffle, so we stuck around. My neighbor gave us an extra ticket from a friend who wasn't able to be there. Imagine my surprise when they called that very number for the last prize--a tricycle! As I lept up to claim the trike, Clara tripped and burst out sobbing, so it wasn't a pretty scene at all. I don't think she realized until we got home that the trike was hers. Then she was pretty excited and has been ever since.

Then, of course, last Monday was the actual San Jose Day. They closed the street at about noon and various vendors set up shop. It's my one chance a year for street food (rather, street food that isn't nachos), and once again I was impressed that Mario was game for eating on the street. Beyond food, they had games, rides, bingo, people selling clothes, and a plant lady.

I was also surprised that Clara was really into the matachines. When we first heard them in the morning, she insisted on going to see them and would have happily stayed all day, just watching them. For a kid who doesn't like noise, I was more than a bit shocked. She does, however, really like dancing.

After eating, I told her she could go on four rides. They had trampolines, which she had tried when we went to the Cola del Caballo, so she was set on that one. She had been spying one with cars (that just went round and round in a circle) for a day or two before, so she jumped at the chance to try that. After about 5 turns around though, she said that she was done, and I tried to explain that she couldn't get off until the man stopped the ride. She did well with that one.

Then she wanted to go into a bounce house. Despite being the only kid on it, once she got her shoes off, she decided she no longer wanted anything to do with the bounce house. Oh, finicky three-year-olds! The lady was great and gave me my money back. We wandered down the street and she decided that she really did want to go on a train ride. We watched it down around for once whole ride, so she could determine if she really, really wanted to go. She did. I kept reminding her that she couldn't get off until the lady stopped the ride (not just whenever Clara decides the ride should end). She understood. She still really wanted to ride the train. So she got on the train with another little girl and and soon as she was strapped in, she decided she really did NOT want to be on the train.

Too bad. It's time to stick by your decisions, kiddo!

She screamed the entire time. It was pretty close to bedtime. And it was pretty noisy (that's the reason Clara told me afterward). And the entire environment was pretty overwhelming. Poor kid.

Apparently the experience did not traumatize her for life, because this week they set up some fair rides in the grocery store parking lot. Clara was pretty interested.

But I'm not falling for that again!

And, of course, no proper Saint Day celebration in this country is complete without fireworks. Patty and I ran down the street at about 10, after the bells had been chiming for awhile. We missed the good ones.

Word to the wise: get out the door as soon as the bells start ringing. This is still Mexico, and the scheduled time is always relative.

Destination: Cola del Caballo

And a destination this was! Two years ago, we meandered out this way with some friends, but never made it to the actual waterfall. It wasn't in the original plan anyway.

So this time around, when my parents were around and we thought that a drive through the mountains would be lovely, I was determined to get to Cola del Caballo. Of course, I wasn't driving!

Leaving Saltillo, we made our way to Arteaga, the county just east of here. Arteaga is known for their apple orchards, last year's forest fires, and the largest artificial ski slope in Latin America. Huh. They do boast a number of cabins to rent, which I'd really like to do some weekend when the spring/summer heat gets unbearable.

Right around the time we meandered to the Nuevo Leon border, we found ourselves in this impressive canyon, which we explored two years ago. Traffic is very light, so a number of people (ourselves included, clearly) just pulled off to the side of the road and pondered the sheerness and immensity of the cliffs. Incredible. To be honest, this part of the road was more impressive than the waterfall that was our destination.The view from (almost) straight up.Some perspectiveThrowing rocks into the stream.

I thought that the waterfall would be just twenty minutes more down the road. After another hour had passed, I was quite confident that we'd shortly be entering the outskirts of Monterrey and we had somehow missed the waterfall.

I wasn't too far off. However we did find the entrance to the Cola del Caballo just before we cruised into Monterrey. If one would be driving from Monterrey, the entrance would be much more obvious. But if, like us, you prefer the longer, windier road, keep your eyes open!Mom & Dad with the waterfall
Clara & Grandpa

A Head's Up for Coahuilans

This morning we went to the passport office to get the kids' Mexican passports. Immediately, we were slapped in the face with a nasty surprise. Thanks to the ex-governor's impressive levels of deficit spending, all passports issued in the state of Coahuila are slapped with an aditional $1220 fee. That's about 3 times the total cost of the baby's passport. (As an additional comparison, last year the fees that the state applied to passport applications were around 200 pesos . . . yep, we're that far in debt.)

Thanks for that, ex-gob!

Unfortunately for those who came up with this genius pay-off-the-debt measure, they failed to take into account that the two biggest cities in the state, Torreon and Saltillo, are a short drive to neighboring states. Which is why the passport office was eerily silent this morning. Now, instead of the state government collecting 200 pesos from each of the roughly 30 people that would file for a passport daily, they can now rake in 1220 once every two or three days from some poor schmuck who just doesn't have the time to go to Monterrey.

But, the good news is that it's no longer necessary to make an appointment to renew your passport in Saltillo!

Ojo de Agua

My in-laws were here last week. As we've lived in Saltillo for 3 years now, they've seen the sights. But this time they came wanting to visit the Ojo de Agua, or Saltillo, if you will. This is a spring of water on top of a decent-sized hill. Saltillo was founded on that spot and a church stands there now with a small, chapel-like niche housing the spring. I had only breifly visited it myself, and I was also itching to spend a little more time exploring it.Lili inspecting the spring. Mago checks out reminders of all the miracles worked there. The entrance to the spring. In this spot, Captain Francisco de Urdinola, following the process of the law, founded the town of Santiago del Saltillo del Salto de Agua on the 25th of July in 1555, by mandate of the viceroy of Spain, Don Luis de Velasco, the first.
Christ Yesterday, Today, Forever [with unfortunate graffiti below]


The Ojo de Agua is about a block away (a fairly steep block) from the Mirador, or a lookout point. This is also another area I wanted to check out again, having only visited both sites on a sightseeing trolley tour, which only afforded about 5 minutes to check out the view. We went on a beautiful clear day, and enjoyed relaxing in the kiosko on the little plaza for the Ojo de Agua neighborhood, while watching neighborhood boys played a pick up game of soccer.



Clara poses in the kiosk, as I took in the view.





From there, we headed downhill to the grocery store across the street from the Chapulin Park. Our plan all along had been to buy a rotisserie chicken and have a picnic at the park. We dawdled longer than we meant to, so we had a moonlight picnic under the stars. It was a little chilly, but as the park was still open, and we were still hungry, we took advantage and had a memorable meal in the moonlight.