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.

Randall plows into a bowl of hearty beef birria.

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!")

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Rolando and Jessi in the back seat. 

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.)

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.

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.

El tianguis

Greg sez:

This morning, Wednesday, J & I went to the weekly tianguis, or outdoor market, about 3/4 mi. down the road in Ajijic. It's a colorful carnival of sights, sounds, and savors, including vendors of meat, fish, bakery, veggies, and fruit as well as of ropa (clothes), kitchen utensils, knickknacks, music, and beggary.

The beggars are the grease in this soapy water, of course, and must be cut, you'd think if you were there. They are selling their beggary itself, of course, and our sympathy for their condition, which may be ancient, wizened, deformed (they expose their hideous leg stumps or plump on their waist, on a piece of straw mat, as there is nothing below the waist).

Now you can't carry enough cambio (change) for all the beggars in Christendom. And it soon palls -- the stretched out hands, the bleating cries, the grating graciases.

Still, you do feel enough of the automatic shame that any privileged gringo would feel in the face of such poverty and beggary. How is it possible for you, gringo, to have so much and not to share while we have so damned little?

Jen shops for dates in the tianguis.

The r:egular vendors are getting by through their efforts, selling their share of fruits and veggies, for example, in this fertile land. Today J & I purchased, among other things, dirt cheap:

• pepinos (cucumbers)
• tomates (tomatoes)
• cebollas (onions)
• lechuga (lettuce)
• aguacates (avocados)
• pimientos (peppers, both jalapeno and poblano)
• una exprimadora (a press for squeezing limes, that is, for our margaritas: la hora feliz, happy hour, begins at 5 pm: c'mon by!)

Photos to follow, when I can get them off my camera (forgot proper cable or card reader).

Salud! Prosit! (Both gringos and beggars.)

Mazamitla

Jen sez

Omar looks down from a rocky ledge at the
cascada, or waterfall. Hang on, buddy!

Today, Pepe, Omar, Randall, Jessie, Greg & I went to Mazamitla. Mazamitla is 124 kilometers from Guadalajara and the name in Nahautl means "the place where arrows to hunt deer are made". It was founded by the Aztecs in 1165. It is 7218 feet about sea level and is mountainous (to 9187') and pine forested. The homes are very interesting and very different than the houses at lower levels, as a lot of wood is used. It is sometimes called the Switzerland of Mexico. There are tons of cabanas to rent, some in the town and others in the woods where we walked. Greg, Pepe and Omar walked to the waterfall and Randall, Jessie and I went about 3/4 of the way. It was rough going on the rocks and very hilly. The way back was mostly UP! Tired people tonight and we just cooked some eggs for dinner and then lay down to read (after I finish this). It was beautiful scenery all the way, with the lake, the mountains, tons of wildflowers, cows, horses, miles of greenhouses full of raspberries, strawberries & blackberries and billowing clouds. I'll leave you with this picture of a cabana for rent in the forest part. More pics later...

This development, outside Mazamitla, feaured
some pretty swell cabanas. Access was limited to
owners (by car) and others (by foot or horse).

Walkie Talkie

Greg sez:


Jen and I bused yesterday into Tlaquepaque (which I call Walkie Talkie), a city next to Guadalajara known for upscale shops, restaurants, and artwork. We went in to meet Randall, our Carolina friend who's been living in Tlaquepaque for several years. Sure enough, we met him at a modest new restaurant called Pancha la Boba, which is two small rooms whitewashed and subsequently written over by patrons' eclectic musings, some as foolish as the restaurant name (which means something like Pancha the Dumbie) and some aspiring to epigrams, wit, and wisdom.

We enjoyed a hearty breakfast at Randall's expense, talked with the cook Mary and her son, who was already (10:30  am, Sunday) enjoying his first beer with breakfast, and then did some window buying and sightseeing in the various touristy neighborhoods of Walkie Talkie. We bought a few knickknacks if not paddywhacks and then hiked to Randall's home. (They call him Sr. Rolando in Mexico.) He has a shotgun suite of rooms not much enhanced or decorated since he began renting, as he's trying to buy now but this process in Mexico can be very protracted. It depends on how many parties own the property, or have claims to owning it, and how many lawyers, honest or not, have their fingers in the pie.

To make a long afternoon short, we retired then to the bar at a boutique hotel called La Quinta Don Jose, where Jen took us 2 yrs ago, as a vacation from our vacation on Lake Chapala, and soon hooked up again, amiably, with Charlie, the bartender, who makes a mean margarita and speaks passable English. He has a Spanish-English dictionary at the ready to improve his competence and is generous in dispensing his own learning in Spanish as a Foreign Language (SFL).

Jen and I were at the bar with Sr. Rolando awhile when, totally out of the blue, a couple entered and spied up -- and their jaws dropped. It was Sharon and Glenn Sorrie, who own a B & B in Mazatlan and were our hosts there on 2 or 3 occasions. My gods, what serendipity! We hadn't seen them in over two years, and here they were just checking in to the Don Jose, where they would spend two nights on the way home from a shopping excursion to Michoacan and Jalisco.

These good folks, with their friend Debby, who runs a massage parlor in Mazatlan, were staying over two nights and shopping in Tlaquepaque and Tonala, a neighboring community, for artsy goods, especially Katarinas (Day of the Dead dolls) for a new store they are to run in their B & B.

What are we to make of such coincidences, such happy coincidences, which fate throws our way? How likely was it that we would run into each other at that time and that place? The occasion was much like another time in Mexico, some years back, in Oaxaca City, when Jen and I ran into the couple who had sold us our St. Paul home, Lou and Julie Casagrande, and then moved to Boston. They just happened to be visiting Oaxaca at the same time we were -- and happened to be, at that moment, in the same art gallery we were visiting (and where we buying a painting called "El Foco" by Enrique Flores).

We can be looking for someone or something for ages, without finding it. (Does happiness come to mind?) Then, in a twinkling, a lightning flash, we find ourselves with people we have known from long ago! That is, we find ourselves not so much by active seeking as by losing ourselves in the day to day details of getting and spending, waking and sleeping, scrambling about the landscape.

We enjoyed seeing Glenn and Sharon so much, and imbibing more than a few margaritas, that we stayed with them for dinner at the Don Jose and took a room, next to theirs, and stayed the night.

In the morning, this morning, everything was fresh and new. We breakfasted together, said goodby, and trusted that we would meet again before too long -- this time, through our efforts, Jen's and mine, to get down to Mazatlan.

Esperando

Greg sez:

"Esperando," or waiting, is an art in Mexico. "Esparar," to wait or, significantly, to hope, is a key to surviving here. If you wait long enough, you hope you will get what you're waiting for. If you hope long enough, whether in a line or on your knees, you may not be waiting in vain.

This morning I went to the ATM at the bank in the central plaza. Of course I chose to wait for the most inopportune time to go. Saturday morning is here, as in the States, the time when everyone goes to the bank. So I had no one to blame but myself.

No big whoop.

I waited in line about 20 minutes, in a queue of Mexicans and gringos (Americans and Canadians). Of course, it was only the gringos who complained. "Jheesh!" said the well-groomed lady in front of me. "C'mon now!" her companion chimed.

No big whoop.

I looked around and noted the sawed off sculpture of a dead tree on the closest edge the plaza. I admired two or three girls who hadn't yet whelped and lost their figures. I observed the Corona truck pull up with a bang and back up to one corner of the plaza. I saw the Barrilito store across the street (vinos y licores), where I'd bought a few beers the other day. I wondered if the bar just down the block, the Viejo, or Old Man, would be friendly to this old man this morning. (Waiting in line develops a thirst in some quarters, you know.) I tried to remember the word for blockhead, which I'd heard the other day somewhere, and thought might come in handy.

No big whoop.

I got to the head of the line, the head of the class, slogged through the Spanish on the ATM screen and got my fistful of pesos.

Now the whole rest of this gorgeous sunny Saturday morning lay before me.

I set off for "la tienda," or little store, of Felix, the guard who'd befriended us here two summers ago when we stayed at a gated community called El Parque. (Felix kept a few animals down the rode, and initiated me into the art of the pajarete, a concoction of fresh milk from the cow's teat, tequila, chocolate and coffee. I suffered no ill effects except disabling laughter! Salud!)

Nah, Felix wasn't there. No problema. I'd return in the afternoon, I told the clerk, and if I didn't, why, then, it could wait.

3 Days in Ajijic

Jen sez.....


Where do I begin? So many, sights, sounds, smells. After waking at 4:30 AM at the hotel in Bentonville, we had an uneventful trip(s) to Ajijic. Met our landlady, Robyn and toured the house, learning the eccentricities of lights, switches,etc. Mexican electric & plumbing are not like NOB.

We had several forays into the town and neighborhood, getting groceries at El Torito and Super Lake (two small grocery stores). This because we arrived a day after the Wednesday tianguis (outdoor market), which are weekly. On Tuesday, we will go to the organic outdoor market and then to the Wednesday market to get whatever we can't get organically. Loving breakfasts with the fruit, yogurt (I had forgotten how wonderful the fruit and cereal yogurt is), bolillos, fresh juice, Oaxacan or Chiapas coffee......

The casa is much bigger than it appeared on VRBO. So much space for two people -- so come on down! We have three patios -- the entrance patio, an interior patio on the first floor and a huge patio on the second floor roof with tons of plants and a great view of the mountains and the church steeple and a glimpse of the lake.

We went to a neighboring town, Chapala, to eat at the Beer Garden and listen to a gringo band with a bunch of other 60's types. We were to be picked up by a party bus and waited 20 minutes and decided to take the local bus. When we were ready to leave, the bus was not there and no one else was gathered for the bus, so we asked the hostess where the bus was. She brought over a guy, who said follow me and led us to a VW bug, said he was the owner of the restaurant and drove us back to Ajijic. Only in Mexico!

I forgot to mention that, as we arrived in Chapala, we happened on the procession to the church -- a parade of band, statues and people. The statues going to the church for the festival of San Francisco (Saint Francis) the patron saint. There are festivities through Monday (the actual saints day -el ultima dia), including fireworks, carnival, tons of street food and restaurants and bands.

Tomorrow we go to Tlaquepaque to visit friends and look around, maybe buy some artsy/crafty things (maybe I'll find something for you, Heidi)

Must go back to making my guacamole and pico de gallo....