Well...after 4 years absence, we are returning to Mexico for a 2 1/2 week vacation. We will be in Guadalajara, Tlaquepaque and Ajijic area.
We leave on October 22nd. Can't wait!! Stay tuned for more........
Friday, August 21, 2015
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Otro lado del lago (the other side of the lake, and coin)
Yesterday mi amigo Randall, whom Jen and I met at Quinta Don Jose in Tlaquepaque two years ago, a boon bud and North Carolina greasy longhaired hippie who cared to stay in touch with us these intervening two years and nurtured our return, toured part of the south side of Lake Chapala, far from the madding crowd of gringos who crowd these northern shores. I rented a car and we boogied down, through a string of pueblos on the northwest shore, including Jocotopec, at the northwest corner of the lake, and down through a region of raspberry and blackberry fields, through some verdant landscapes with great views of the lake.
We stopped for lunch, in a very light drizzle, in San Luis Soyatlan, in a nondescript roadside restaurant. We sat at a table under a temporary roof, away from the rain, and ordered the special of the day, a birria or stew of res, beef, not chivo, or goat, which is often the case.
The dish was delicious and, in that weather, warming and comforting, containing beef, onions, tomatoes, jalapenos, and savory broth. The cocinera (cook) brought us new layers of tortillas every 5 minutes, and another worker squeezed a whole pitcher (half gallon) of fresh orange juice, seeds floating on the top, for our drink.
As we were munching away and grunting with satisfaction, another of the kitchen workers cuffed her kid, a boy of about four, and called him "cabron" (little bastard), to which I responded, to Randall, aka Rolando (he who rolls and keeps rolling along), "Who your daddy? Who your daddy?"
For about $10, we were stuffed and happy. Damn good midday meal, plus some local color.
We proceeded east on the south shore and in half an hour or so hit the metropolis of Zipotlan el Alto (the very high village of Zipotlan, which in the original Indian language means something like obscure town where boredom is the chief domestic product). We surveyed the church, a melange of architectural styles (Greek, Roman, Doric, Gothic) but couldn't get inside. We sashayed through the local market and resisted the lures of the flesh (veggies, fruits, pastries, and a beggar boy of about 10 who put out his grubby hand but couldn't think, when we asked, of anything he was selling or producing). We admired the 12 yr old Catholic schoolgirls getting out of class (about 1:30 or 2:00 pm) and chattering as they worked their way home. ("Tell your mama and your papa ... I'm a schoolboy too!")
The piece de resistance was our finding, after several bouts of directions from the locals, -- of the ruins of the Hacienda de San Francisco, which was started in 1546. Today there remained perhaps half a dozen large buildings, in various states of disrepair, and a few vaqueros training a horse in a corral.
We took some picturesque pix, including horses and cowboys, building walls, and infusions of morning glories (growing everywhere) -- and them vamoosed. These pix will be added presently (as I now lack a cable for transferring them to my netbook).
Suffice to say that Randall and I had a great time in the light mist. Surveyed a lot of breathtaking lakeshore. And came back to what we're pleased to call civilization a little lighter and airier for for efforts.
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| Randall plows into a bowl of hearty beef birria. |
The dish was delicious and, in that weather, warming and comforting, containing beef, onions, tomatoes, jalapenos, and savory broth. The cocinera (cook) brought us new layers of tortillas every 5 minutes, and another worker squeezed a whole pitcher (half gallon) of fresh orange juice, seeds floating on the top, for our drink.
As we were munching away and grunting with satisfaction, another of the kitchen workers cuffed her kid, a boy of about four, and called him "cabron" (little bastard), to which I responded, to Randall, aka Rolando (he who rolls and keeps rolling along), "Who your daddy? Who your daddy?"
For about $10, we were stuffed and happy. Damn good midday meal, plus some local color.
We proceeded east on the south shore and in half an hour or so hit the metropolis of Zipotlan el Alto (the very high village of Zipotlan, which in the original Indian language means something like obscure town where boredom is the chief domestic product). We surveyed the church, a melange of architectural styles (Greek, Roman, Doric, Gothic) but couldn't get inside. We sashayed through the local market and resisted the lures of the flesh (veggies, fruits, pastries, and a beggar boy of about 10 who put out his grubby hand but couldn't think, when we asked, of anything he was selling or producing). We admired the 12 yr old Catholic schoolgirls getting out of class (about 1:30 or 2:00 pm) and chattering as they worked their way home. ("Tell your mama and your papa ... I'm a schoolboy too!")
 |
| One view of the ruins of the hacienda of St. Francisco. Someone, I believe, is squatting in the portion at right, as it's all brightened up with new paint. |
We took some picturesque pix, including horses and cowboys, building walls, and infusions of morning glories (growing everywhere) -- and them vamoosed. These pix will be added presently (as I now lack a cable for transferring them to my netbook).
Suffice to say that Randall and I had a great time in the light mist. Surveyed a lot of breathtaking lakeshore. And came back to what we're pleased to call civilization a little lighter and airier for for efforts.
Tropical Storm Jova & Turista
Out of commission for a couple of days due to a bout of turista. Don't know what I ate or drank, but something made me sick. After a couple days of rice, apples and bananas to eat am pretty much back to normal now. The weather, however, is something else. It rained a good portion of the day yesterday, with brief bouts of clearing, but still chilly for these parts. Since early this morning, nonstop heavy rain. The streets are flooding, the hilly streets are like rivers plunging down to the square. Mountains are shrouded in mist. A good day to stay in the casa and read. But.....this is our last full day, and really wanted to walk around and maybe do a little shopping. I doubt it will stop today, as we are in the first wave of tropical storm Jova. I hope it doesn't affect our flight home tomorrow.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Birthday Dinner 2, Jen's take
Just like many homes in Mexico, when approached, the Number 4 restaurant doesn't look like much -- a nondescript door and cement face. You walk into a very large room with bar, tables, stage and dance floor and a staircase leading you to the upper level with a very high palapa roof, huge, hanging paper lanterns and candles on the tables. We ordered a bottle of torrontes and scanned the menu some more. Everything looked so good, it was difficult to choose. We shared a salad with romaine, gorgonzola, pears, cherry tomatoes, candied pecans and a wonderful dressing -- heavenly! Then I had grouper cooked perfectly (carmelized on the outside, but flaky and moist inside), accompanied by a pesto sauce and a passionfruit sauce. It came with jasmine rice and steamed vegies (broccoli, cauliflower, spinach, etc). It was amazing. Greg had rigatoni with arrabiata sauce and shrimp. Such a lovely setting and wonderful food. Pricey for Ajijic -- more than twice what our meal the night before cost. There was a lively crowd downstairs, where we stayed for a while and then made our merry way home.
This was definitely the best meal I have had here. This and the strawberry cream pie at the Nuevo Posada.
This was definitely the best meal I have had here. This and the strawberry cream pie at the Nuevo Posada.
January and May
Greg sez:
No, it's not January now. Neither is it May. I'm thinking, rather, of the cross-age relationships that may spring up in Mexico between gringos and natives.
Just as in Chaucer, where the old miller marries the sweet young Alysoun, so today the old seek the young ... and may be sought by them.
I'm thinking in particular of our friend Randall, an old NC hippie in his 60s, who retired to these parts several years ago and is renting a house in Tlaquepaque, an artsy town adjacent to Guadalajarda (not on the lake). Randall, or Sr. Rolando as he's called sometimes, has had a succession of novias, or girlfriends, here, as he's a mover and shaker of sorts. The most recent is a young gal of 30 named Jessi (say "Yessy"). She accompanied us the other day to Mazamitla, a good looking gal who could almost be a teen, what with the armament of braces on her teeth (Rolando's gift?), her ready giggle, and her youthful shape.
Jessi wasn't feeling so hot and tired toward the end of the trip. She reluctantly accompanied Rolando and Jen up the stone-paved road toward the cascada but stopped short, with them, of going the whole way. On the way back, she leaned sleepily into Rolando, and he himself was conked out. (Was anyone but Jen and me wearing seatbelts? Pepe and Omar weren't. Jessi wasn't. Ah, the invulnerability of youth!)
Jessi told Rolando, evidently, when they first met that if the difference in age bothered him he could vamoose. He hasn't, whether he is bothered or not. (I know he is hot and bothered: wouldn't you be? Besides the comforts and elations of the flesh, Rolando has a great new project started up, I believe, that I may help him on. It's called the Horizontal Language Learning System, you see, for those who learn a language through the intimacies of the couch. You will see, and hear, here words and phrases you won't encounter in any polite tourist phrase book.)
Just a day or two after our trip, then, while I was walking up on the carratera, or highway, I espied walking hand in hand another January-May couple -- this time, a withered gringita in her 70s and her 30-something Mexican boyfriend. No, I didn't take their photo. I didn't interview them at all. Rather, I stepped back, staggered, and admired their chutzpah.
(Who says things have to end as in Chaucer, where Alysoun betrays her ancient husband with two students, one of whom tells her he longs for her as the lambkin hungers for the teat? A highly comical story, to be sure, and reflective of reality. But reality is various, mysterious, perhaps inexplicable. And so, for now, I rest my case.)
No, it's not January now. Neither is it May. I'm thinking, rather, of the cross-age relationships that may spring up in Mexico between gringos and natives.
Just as in Chaucer, where the old miller marries the sweet young Alysoun, so today the old seek the young ... and may be sought by them.
 |
| Rolando and Jessi in the back seat. |
Jessi wasn't feeling so hot and tired toward the end of the trip. She reluctantly accompanied Rolando and Jen up the stone-paved road toward the cascada but stopped short, with them, of going the whole way. On the way back, she leaned sleepily into Rolando, and he himself was conked out. (Was anyone but Jen and me wearing seatbelts? Pepe and Omar weren't. Jessi wasn't. Ah, the invulnerability of youth!)
Jessi told Rolando, evidently, when they first met that if the difference in age bothered him he could vamoose. He hasn't, whether he is bothered or not. (I know he is hot and bothered: wouldn't you be? Besides the comforts and elations of the flesh, Rolando has a great new project started up, I believe, that I may help him on. It's called the Horizontal Language Learning System, you see, for those who learn a language through the intimacies of the couch. You will see, and hear, here words and phrases you won't encounter in any polite tourist phrase book.)
Just a day or two after our trip, then, while I was walking up on the carratera, or highway, I espied walking hand in hand another January-May couple -- this time, a withered gringita in her 70s and her 30-something Mexican boyfriend. No, I didn't take their photo. I didn't interview them at all. Rather, I stepped back, staggered, and admired their chutzpah.
(Who says things have to end as in Chaucer, where Alysoun betrays her ancient husband with two students, one of whom tells her he longs for her as the lambkin hungers for the teat? A highly comical story, to be sure, and reflective of reality. But reality is various, mysterious, perhaps inexplicable. And so, for now, I rest my case.)
Birthday Dinner 2
Greg sez:
One good birthday dinner deserves another, no? For a reprise J and I checked out, the night of October 7, the wonderful new restaurant called Number 4 (yes, it's the address; no, it's not the 4 Seasons). She can write more accurately and enthusiastically than I about the food, and she will. Suffice it to say for now that we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly in this new fusion restaurant, sitting upstairs under a palapa roof, stirred (like the candle on our table, which flickered and went out several times) by a strong night breeze, stirred by our old emotions (almost 41 years together), stirred by the food and the bottle of Argentine Torrontes. Downstairs a capable jazz duet played (the sax player was very good), and if they didn't screw it up too bad by singing they created serviceable renditions of American and Latin jazz and pop classics.
After our lingering dinner we went downstairs and joined a rowdy crowd of others at the bar, enjoyed a couple of more drinks (Jen a Spanish tempranillo, I tequila). We must've acquired a bit of this rowdiness ourselves, as our landlady, Robyn, says we were singing and laughing as we returned and turned the key in the gate.
At any rate, may you all enjoy such fine celebrations when the time is right, or ripe. As it appears to be to us old folks now.
One good birthday dinner deserves another, no? For a reprise J and I checked out, the night of October 7, the wonderful new restaurant called Number 4 (yes, it's the address; no, it's not the 4 Seasons). She can write more accurately and enthusiastically than I about the food, and she will. Suffice it to say for now that we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly in this new fusion restaurant, sitting upstairs under a palapa roof, stirred (like the candle on our table, which flickered and went out several times) by a strong night breeze, stirred by our old emotions (almost 41 years together), stirred by the food and the bottle of Argentine Torrontes. Downstairs a capable jazz duet played (the sax player was very good), and if they didn't screw it up too bad by singing they created serviceable renditions of American and Latin jazz and pop classics.
After our lingering dinner we went downstairs and joined a rowdy crowd of others at the bar, enjoyed a couple of more drinks (Jen a Spanish tempranillo, I tequila). We must've acquired a bit of this rowdiness ourselves, as our landlady, Robyn, says we were singing and laughing as we returned and turned the key in the gate.
At any rate, may you all enjoy such fine celebrations when the time is right, or ripe. As it appears to be to us old folks now.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Birthday Dinner
Went out to dinner at La Rusa restaurant at La Nueva Posada Hotel. We shared the house salad, both had a wonderful beef filet with portobello mushroom port sauce, garlic mashed potatoes & steamed vegetables. Had a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and then shared a strawberry cream pie and coffee. Total bill, with tip was 700 pesos -- about $51.00. Best birthday dinner deal ever! The food and service were wonderful and we dined under a couple hundred year old rubber tree, with strings of lights throughout its branches, right on the lake with the waves sounding. Couldn't be better.
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