New Week, New Classes

Peter and I are beginning our second week of Spanish classes at La Escuela Mexicana (The Mexican School). Per the director's suggestion, we are each taking four classes a day: 2 hours of grammar, 1 hour of conversation, and one hour of a class called escuela practica or "practical school."
What you do in escuela practica depends on your level, but the idea is to learn language as it is used or to learn local culture. In Peter's beginning-level classes, he learns thematic vocabulary in conversation class and then, in E.P., they go out and use it. For example, they learn words for restaurants or hotels, then they go to one and use those words. Lately, they have been learning localization words, so they go out and talk about the locations of buildings and things in relation to other buildings and things. In my advanced level, the class is a bit different. Last week, we read two newspaper articles, one about slang and one about the censorship of biology textbooks in the state, learned idiomatic phrases that use the verb "echar", and listened to a song with lots of subjunctives in it.
Each week, students leave or arrive, some arrive back who have left months ago, and they are greeted warmly. Each week, your schedule might change -- the hours you have your classes, and your teachers. Last week and this week all my classes were in a row from 9 to 1, and Peter started and ended an hour later. However, last week, I had E.P. with Luis, Conversation with Vicente, then two hours of Grammar with Alejandro. In my E.P. and Conversation classes, there were 5-6 of us, but in Grammar only two. On Friday afternoon, after everyone filled out their evaluation and plans-for-next-week forms, and the director had a chance to make the schedules (imagine making a master schedule weekly!), we stopped back at the school to see our new classes. Peter was sad not to have one of his favorite teachers this week and I was sad to see my grammar class had grown, and that I would not have one of my teachers this week, though I do like all of them. Last week, my bigger classes included a man from Germany, a woman from Scotland, a woman from Wisconsin, a girl (she's in high school, which weirded me out a bit) from Texas, and, some of the days, a man from Canada. This week, my classes still include the man from Germany and the woman from Wisconsin, and some days the man from Canada, but now we are joined by a woman from Canada, a woman from Oakland, and a woman from Kentucky.
In conversation classes both Mondays, Vicente has made us choose topics of discussion for the next three days, then Friday is "free day". Last week, we discussed the environment, health care systems, and religion. Friday we ended up talking a bit about immigration and a bit about what it takes for a Mexican to visit the United States on vacation (we are crazy, our country). On all the days, I talked a lot (yeah, no surprise there). After the first day, I felt bad about that and I asked Vicente if he thought it was too much. He thought I was crazy to ask -- if other students want to talk, they can, and that's what the class is for, so I should take advantage of it. Upon further reflection, I decided that none of the other students were less empowered than I, as far as I could tell and it was their business to pipe up. I did, however, ask the German man what he thought one day, just to get his input in the conversation. He had a lot to say.
This week, our class chose cooking, sports, and the economy. Someone suggested clothing styles and I nearly cried. Our homework each night, if we want the discussion to go well, is to come up with about 5 questions on the theme. I admit, I only have three cooking questions so far but, for me, it is not the most generative theme:

1. What are typical dishes of your culture or country that you like to eat/cook, or that you don't like?
2. Why do you think that the majority of home-cooks are women but the majority of the top chefs in restaurants are men? (I don't actually want to ask this one so much, actually)
3. What are your favorite comfort foods?

Honestly, I hope someone else has good questions. My friend from Wisconsin usually comes up with really interesting stuff. Meanwhile, just in case, I figured out some vocabulary: how to say gefilte fish (albondigas de pescado, literally "fish meatballs"), matzoh balls (bolas de matzoh), tripe (tripa, an example of something that is common here and I don't like).

On another note (Pat and Pete!), we seem to be able to see exciting birds from our house. We are up on a hill and there seems to be some undeveloped tree-ful green area to our right. Yesterday we saw a bird an today we looked it up: we believe it to be a vermilion flycatcher. This morning when I was leaving, I saw some sort of bird of prey across the valley on an outcropping wall of one of the houses. I was too far to see what it was, but I think it was a falcon or hawk.

Finally, I know there is a demand for photos of our new place. We are still setting it up, but will post photos shortly.

Cada dia, una aventura nueva (Each day, a new adventure)

A few days ago it was buying water. People say you can't drink the water in Mexico. It is true. You can't drink the tap water. Instead, you buy a "garrafon", a large jug of water (like the kind that goes on water coolers) and that's your drinking water. Most hotels and restaurants have garrafones, so up to now we have been able to just drink water from those. Our apartment includes the tap water and the electricity but not drinking water. I did ask for the base for the garrafon (not a cooler, just a plastic base with a tap it goes on, or sometimes a metal stand that swivels down for pouring) and they brought us one. A couple days ago, Peter came down from the apartment early with me (his classes start an hour later than mine) and decided to buy the water. The water guy, like the gas guy, comes by every day yelling, "aguaaaaaaaaa! hay aguaaaaaaaa!" (the gas guy yells, "gaaaaaaaaas"). Peter approached him and managed to work out the transaction. Tadaa! Now we have water! When it runs out, we will trade in our empty garrafon for a new one.

Yesterday, it was returning stuff to the big store. It is not even worth going into that except to say that during the whole ordeal, what kept me patient was thinking that I didn't have anything else to be doing and that's kind of nice in its own way.

Today it was taking out the garbage. As I see it, most people leave their little bags (the size of plastic grocery bags) of garbage along the route of the garbage truck (and I don't know yet what day it comes), more or less in lumps. We asked our landlords where to leave the garbage and they described how to get to some dumpsters nearby. Down the street and around the corner in a parking lot. This afternoon as I headed down to a cafe, carrying the garbage to drop off, I stopped in the Bagel cafe to say to Sandra, Bene, and Chui, "Cada dia una aventura nueva!" To which Bene said, "Vas a tirar la basura?" ("You are going to throw out the garbage?") She understood.

I wonder what is equivalent back home. Calling PG&E to get gas started must be different than just waiting for the gas guy to come by so you can buy your tank. What else is something that one has to figure out back home?

On another note, Alex, the 4-year-old grandchild of the landlords, who lives with them along with his parents, visited us today. We were dealing with a leak in the base of the garafon, and he popped by to talk to his dad who was working on the apartment they are building over ours. I asked him what he was up to, and he told me he was gathering guavas so that they can make a great punch for Christmas. The family has fruit trees of every sort outside: key lime, lemon, guava, fig, peach, cherry, and more I'm not remembering, but most are not ripe right now. After a minute, Alex left and returned with his hands full of guavas, which he dumped on our couch before going for another load. He told us excitedly that now we could make the punch too! He explained that you put sugar cane in water, and also the guava. I think you would boil it.

When you start to feel like you live someplace...

Today was a great day.

Peter and I both started Spanish classes at La Escuela Mexicana. I am excited to be studying and spending four hours each day speaking Spanish. I am reviewing the subjunctive in a much-needed way, and this week in conversation class, we decided to discuss the environment, health care, and religion. Peter and I both have homework! One of the students in my class is 17 years old, which is a little strange for me (I said, "Oh, I'm a high school teacher"), but she seems nice enough. She is from Texas. The other students hail from Madison, Wisconsin; Scotland; and Southern Germany.

We also found an apartment and told the owners we would take it. It is actually located up the street from our current hostel/Bagel cafe, and the Spanish school. Roll out of bed and go to class? Check. Plus, if we live on bagels, we never have to leave our street (they Bagel cafe also takes in laundry)! The new place is two bedrooms, and has a nice terrace. It's a bit up hill and a bit up steps, but not so much that we will dread ever leaving, but good enough for exercise. Pictures to come once we take some (we move in Wednesday).

Finally, I ran into someone I know today in the streets. I mean, we have run into a couple people we met before, but they were Americans and also pretty close to where we met them. This guy was a friend of the Bagel ladies, and I saw him somewhere else, with people who looked like his parents. We waved hello and I asked what he was up to. They had just eaten at Truco 7. I told him they have my favorite Aztec Soup. That was about it. Still, I was excited to start to feel like I can run into people, like maybe I actually live here. Soon, it won't even be living out of a suitcase!

Apartment Hunting

Remember how people used to find apartments before Craigslist? No, you don't, do you? Well, they looked in various newspapers for listings, called numbers posted in windows, heard about things word-of-mouth, and scanned bulletin boards.

That's what we have been doing (there are a few listings on Guanajuato Craigslist, but hardly any -- most are for San Miguel de Allende, and hour away from here).

I have been too shy to call the numbers in the listings myself so our current hostel-landladies were nice enough to call for me. Not much luck there, though. Today, I got up the nerve to call the number posted in a window, and got a woman who was utterly flummoxed: no, she's not renting anything. I wonder if I don't know how to dial with the new cell phone, but it has worked other times.

Via Craigslist, we did see one listing and met with the rep, a nice guy from Oregon who has lived here about 5 years now and has a real estate business. We had a short coffee with him and talked about how to look (essentially, all the things we already were doing, plus he'll keep an eye out for us). Then, he showed us the place listed. It's really nice, but might be too small for our needs -- we'll see.

Yesterday the new Chopper came out (the weekly penny-saver type thing with the listings at the back). Most were identical to last week's, with not much that works to our high standards (near the center, furnished, and not just a bedroom for students). However, one was new and Sandra called for us. It was listed as "chalet" style. On the phone, the owner clarified to Sandra that the place was a vacation rental, but gave her the web address for it. The pictures were pretty, if the place was small. So we made an appointment to see it. Up many, many stairs (oh, right, the great view shown in the pictures was not some amazing luck of view without having to climb), we arrived at a place that was just absurd. While lovely in it's appointment, and not bad if we were just staying a week, it was the tiniest thing. It was three floors, but each one was about 7 feet deep and featured one of the rooms: kitchen/bathroom (with the space between labeled as a breakfast nook: see above picture), bedroom, and living room (with a futon couch that could convert the room to another bedroom). It had the width of a small house, and the depths of a hallway. Two of the floors featured nice balconies with the fantastic views, but this was just not going to work.

Word of mouth, at this point, includes telling: the women who run our hostel, the person who cut Peter's hair, the director of the language school, the couple who run our favorite store, the American owner of the best coffee shop in town, the American couple who put us up in Patzcuaro (who heard of a place from a taxi driver), the American couple we met last night at Japanese restaurant dinner, I'm probably forgetting someone, and my favorite: the gas man. After all, who knows what is available more than the guy who delivers the gas?

Trapeze is the Theme of Guanajuato (for us)

Last night marked the third trapeze performance we have seen in Guanajuato. This may have doubled my trapeze-performance-watching experience (well, maybe not if you count Ringling Brothers when I was a kid).

The biggest treat of last night's performance was that it was in the Teatro Juarez (Guanajuato, a city of 70,000 has three large theaters: Juarez, Principal, and Cervantes). I had read and heard about the interior of Teatro Juarez, but nothing prepared me for what I saw. I had expected it to be somewhat like the pink birthday cake church in Morelia: garish, ornate, shiny. Well, it was ornate, but it was so lovely! The interior had somewhat an asian aesthetic, reminding me of pictures I've seen of painted wood interiors of China. Deep reds, greens, blues were everywhere, with elaborate carving and chandeliers. We didn't bring our camera, but we plan to sign up for a tour of the theater, and will pay the additional fee to bring in a camera when we do. (The one I added above is from the web.)

The show itself was by a theatrical group who decided to do a circus, so have only been at it for about a year and half. At the end, one of the clowns explained that and it explained a lot.

My favorites were the clowns and the stilt-walkers. The clowns cracked us up with physical comedy. The stilt-walkers used the trapeze ring, which was neat and lovely. Also, before the show started, one of the clowns was out in the house dressed elaborately as an usher, and joking around with the audience (I loved that he got us to clap as he announced certain guests, "Everyone, the family Villarigosa has just arrived!").

The trapeze parts were somewhat limited by the abilities of the company. The woman who did tissue (the kind of trapeze that looks like they are using giant scarves, the term for which I learned from my friend Jaron's new circus school in Oakland -- by the way, if you are in the Bay Area, you should check it out) was somewhat interesting, but I was waiting for her to do the part that always amazes audiences and makes us gasp: the quick unwinding/falling coming up short before she hits the stage. That didn't happen, probably because she wasn't skilled enough.

One thing I love about the modern circus is that the BMX bike stunts of our childhood have been professionalized into an official talent. Those boys (and the occasional girl -- remember when the girl's BMX came out?) who spent all their time jumping over mounds of dirt and figuring out how to balance on the handlebars are finally getting their own. A few years ago, Peter and I saw a performance of Circus Oz and they had an amazing rendition of bike stunts. This performance included a man doing bmx stunts, and he was pretty good. However, he lacked stage presence and whereas Circus Oz made their performance looks smooth and easy, you could see his effort. I felt a bit awkward watching him, like maybe I was intruding, until one of the clowns came out on a tiny bike and put me at ease.

Finally, a critique of the performance via a homosexual lens: The dance numbers, with three women, included a decisively erotic element, with suggestive looks and head snuggles. It was as if they were trying to be radical: "Look, we'll include lesbian suggestions!" While it almost seemed more to play to that age-old straight-boy infatuation with lesbians. Meanwhile, the clowns (both men) got a laugh when one was singing "Besame, besame mucho" and turned to the other, at which point, both made a face and shook their heads -- "Ha ha, we could NEVER kiss! That would just be gross!" On the other hand, they had a nice gender play when both the male "magician" (played by one of the clowns) and the female "assistant" gestured for the other to get into the sword box. In the end, the "assistant" won, and the man got in (I just read a book about a magician's assistant, which gives some hints at how these things are done, and yet, I am still amazed at what a small space his body had to scrunch into).

I don't mean to be negative. We both had a great time and it was fun to go out. It was still spectacular and sweet, and the tickets only cost $7, which you can't complain about at all. I love that Gto has so much going on.

Morning Sounds

Each weekday morning in the Bagel Hostel, where we are staying while we try to find a place to live long-term, we are awakened by an assortment of noises. As the days pass, we have attempted to locate the sources of all these noises. Here is what we have deduced:

Bang! Bang!: Below our window, there is a grate in the callejon (callejones are pedestrian only streets, of which Guanajuato is full). Over it, there is a large piece of thicker-than-sheet metal, bisected by hinges. Both halves are warped in the opposite direction of each other. Whichever side you step on, it makes a loud banging sound as the metal bends down and back. Children seem to love to stomp on it, but even the average person will make a loud bang on it. We have ongoing thoughts of how we can dispose of this metal, as well as wondering what purpose it really serves.

Schwirrrrrr, Clang-Clang-Clang-Clang-Clang, Schwirrrrrrr: This was an undertone in some ways, and I hadn't paid it much attention, always assuming just that there was some building or fixing project going on that I couldn't see. Yesterday, Peter told me that there is a machinists shop one door up from us, and that is the source of the sounds.

"Like a rolling stone!" "There is a house in New-Oleans": Every morning there is some guy playing guitar and singing the same songs over and over somewhere. I was thinking it was an occupant of a neighboring apartment practicing his guitar lessons, for which I felt charitable. However, it turns out to be a busker, who sings down the street a little ways. He seems to sing the songs phonetically. It's not horrible, but he's not a great singer, either.

Of course, we have been staying up late and waking up late, so this isn't until about 10am or so...

Back in Guanajuato and taking steps to settle in

Yesterday was a day for accomplishing things. We went through the "Chopper", a little local penny-saver type thing, looking for apartments, and writing down the info about the ones that sound possible (the Chopper is not ours, it belongs to the Bagel Cafe, so we had to copy out useful info). There were not a lot in the center. We might revisit it to consider an area that was suggested later...get to that momentarily.

We then went up the street just a few steps to a language school that some American professors we met said was good. Peter enrolled to start next Monday. To begin with, for the first week or two, he will take 4 hours of class a day: 2 hours of grammar, 1 hours of vocab, and then one hour where they use what they learned in vocab to actually do it (like, they might learn how to order food, then they go to a cafe or restaurant and do it). Later, the "doing" hour will change into conversation. I might go to the orientation with him and take the exam to see, but for now I didn't sign up. They also have cooking classes in the afternoons at 3, and one can take it 3 times a week, I think, so I might try that out.

From there, we bought a cell phone. Not something we'll be using to call home or receive calls from home on, because that would wipe out our minutes in a flash, but for calling prospective landlords, it seems pretty useful.

Next, to the stylist who does our bagel ladies' hair. One of them in particular, Bene, has great hair. Before telling us where to go, Bene said, "Well, my stylist is a transsexual, or, transvestite." I said, "Yeah, that's fine." (Lesbians referring us to a transgender stylist: feels like home.) So we went and found the spot, waited a few minutes for it to reopen post-siesta time at 5, and in we went. Peter got a good haircut for about $12, and I might go for highlights (that's more like $35, but still not bad). If Bene had not told me, I never would have guessed that the stylist was a man (really small hands!). Well, until the end, when we introduced ourselves and I asked her name and she said, simply, "Juan."

Then, off to this store near there that we loved before and still do. Also has a little cafe in the back where we sat for coffee. I chatted with one of the owners about coffee and the music that was playing (it was great -- he didn't sell the disk because it hasn't come to Gto yet, but he wrote down the name for me -- a guy he compared to Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan in that their words are the best part, and their voices aren't so strong). I liked him for being a great intellectual snob.

Everywhere we went, we told the person (well, not at the cell phone office, but the stylist and the cafe and the language school), that we are looking for a place to live. The director of the school wrote down our preferences and I think he often helps students find houses (he is the one who suggested we consider this neighborhood a little outside the center, where it's quieter), so he seems the most likely to come through. The cafe guy gave me the info of a woman (American or Canadian) who rents places, but the card he gave me seemed pretty fancy.

I emailed with Liz, half the couple who paid our B&B in Patzcuaro because she had said she would be back in Gto this week (George was staying in Oregon). We will likely have lunch or dinner with her next week. She also said they have a big Thanksgiving at their house and invited us. I offered to bring cranberry sauce, which will give me a project while Peter starts his classes next week (those of you who knew me in college might remember my cranberry sauce adventures in Spain -- cranberries are a new world fruit and don't really exist in Spain. I hope that I will be able to find them here, and I think I will. Anyone have a recipe for turning dried cranberries into sauce, though?).

Today, to call around to places (oh, I do get so nervous about phone calls in Spanish!) we found listed in the chopper. We have tickets to the Juarez Theater tonight (which is supposed to be beautiful inside) for something that we think is a trapeze act or circus -- we really are not sure but we liked the posters :)

More pictures are up!

here

Mexican Independence Day, Observed

We are back in Guanajuato (after spending one night in Morelia in a "you can't get there from here" experience).

Today is the Mexican Independence Day Observed. A German guy in Morelia told us that all holidays that fall a different day of the week are observed the Monday before. So, actually, Independence day is this Friday, which seemed to all of us a perfectly good day to observe a holiday, but no. On the other hand, as Mondays are usually the days museums are closed, it does mean only one day of not being able to do much, instead of two.

In Mexico, one can learn the various days of independence from street names. Nearly every city has a 20 de Noviembre street, along with 16 de Septiembre street, and of course, 5 de Mayo street. This independence day marks the 99th anniversary of the revolution. It is the revolution that forced out, finally, Porfirio Diaz, a dictator who reigned for about 30 years. It also resulted, in 1917, with the Mexican Constitution, and the party that became the PRI (which may have had its own sort of dictatorship, as it was elected consistently until 2000). Much of this I know, or was reminded of, by wikipedia.

Next year, Sept. 16, 2010, marks the 200th anniversary of the war of independence from Spain, which is already being played up everywhere we go, but especially around Morelia and Guanajuato, where it all began.

We don't know if there is anything special going on, but we do know that our bagel cafe downstairs will be open, so maybe we'll ask them if there is anything special to do.

Still no crocodiles, but...

Juliet:
Peter:

No crocodiles yet, but...

I honestly thought that if we walked down to the lagoon where the crocodiles are seen, we would just see a few of them lingering around. Not so. We went yesterday afternoon and this morning and no luck yet. At least, not in that regard. We did see iguanas (they feed them there), and turtles, and small fish. This morning we met a parrot and two love birds who live at the restaurant next to the lagoon. Oh, and some cats and an adorable kitten who came running when I called it and let me pick it up (Peter says, "Probably no need to get them fixed here...").

This morning, Peter went into the ocean and promptly saw about 5 manta rays and something that might have been an eel or a long fish (I prefer not to think of that part).

Thursday Night Pozole

It is traditional in Zihua (and I think in other places in Mexico) to have Pozole on Thursday nights. Pozole is a stew made from hominy. It comes in white, green, or red (based on whether you add chili and what color it is).

I had read online that in Zihua there is a "pozole alley" a place that opens up mostly for Thursday nights, and gets crowded with pozole lovers. Last night we went in search of this alley. We asked the guy who is at our hotel long-term if he knew where it was, and he drew a map in the sand. It made good sense to us.

After happy hour at one of the beach restaurants (2 x 1) we grabbed a taxi to town. The taxi driver did not know of Pozole Alley, and when I described how to get there (go to the circle, take this road off it, and then it's the first one-way street), he said, "But there are many circles." Eventually he said, "I think I know where to go, this other entrance." Then, he proceeded to do exactly what our sand-map had instructed. Turns out Pozole alley was more like an alley with a pozole restaurant in it. We sat down and both chose green Pozole, Peter's with pork and mine with chicken.

The pozole came with fixings all around it. The table had chopped onions and jalapenos waiting, and the plate under the bowl of pozole had a wedge of avocado, two sides of limon (key lime, the most common citrus in Mexico, I think), slivered cabbage, fresh corn chips and a piece of chicharron. We ordered a pitcher of agua de jamaica (sweet hibiscus iced tea) and were good to go.

The Early Bird Gets the Palapa

When we first arrived in Zihuatanejo, there seemed to be only three other people (one couple and one single man) staying at our hotel. As the days have progressed, however, more people have arrived.

Whereas on our first morning, we quite easily secured a decent palapa with a direct ocean view (not tucked behind the others), each morning we have woken to find our previous day's palapa taken by the older (and earlier rising) visitors. The couple who have been here a month have even dropped off their towels on their palapa and then left for the whole day! In short, we hate the people staying there.

Last night, as we returned home, Peter concocted a plan. He went down to the beach and set my towel on one of the chairs of our original palapa (we dare not disturb the original couple -- their palapa rights seem pretty territorial). This morning, success! We have a good palapa awaiting us when we get back from the restaurant next door with this internet connection.

Morelia, then Zihuatanejo

We have some stuff to catch up on from Morelia, here is a quick taste:
The Church of the Virgin of Guadalupe: like an inside out birthday cake! With pink and gilt and flowers and more gold gilt!
The Aqueduct: neato and pretty and finally a carless street. Also, this neighborhood seemed nicer than the others we saw in Morelia. More like one we'd want to live in. However, it is the University neighborhood and we were there on the weekend, when the vast majority of the students go home.
The Natural History Museum: Poor Peter. He had gotten kind of excited about the term "skeletal animals" in our guidebook. They had some woolly mammoth bones, but that was about it. In another room they had some stuffed animals, and a note about how we have to preserve nature. Then there was a room where three children and two adults were making construction paper monarch wings. Then, in the last room, they had, well, they had human fetuses. And they had some stuffed siamese animals -- baby goats (I think) joined at the head, or joined at the body. That room, it was horrible. It made the whole place seem creepy. Me: Peter, they're going to eat those children!
The Contemporary Art Museum: Surprisingly nice (especially after the above). They have changing exhibits, and this was a painting and drawing contest results. Some were really interesting and some were really good. It was a nice space and we enjoyed walking through it.
The Orquidario: We took the combi out there. It's next to the convention center, and we walked by a dog show. The orchid house itself only had one house open, the other two were used for cultivation. The orchids were beautiful, but I think the place I visited in Guatemala was more exciting, or the annual orchid show in San Francisco.

One more meal at Restaurant Lu while we waited for the weekly fireworks show to start over the cathedral (that's right, I said weekly): I had a great chicken dish: pounded and grilled and wrapped around fresh pineapple, with a delicious peanut-based mole sauce on top. My fear of peanut-butter and jelly was unfounded -- the sauce was not sweet but instead was complex. It reminded me of pumpkin seed moles, which I love.

Peter was hit hard by the cold (not flu) and had to take it easy for a few days in Morelia. When he was feeling better, we hit the above places, and then came down to Zihuatanejo, the beach.

On the bus here, I saw an iguana sunning on the sloped side of the freeway.

As we got off the bus, I heard, alongside all the normal bus sounds, a ton of birds. It was just about sunset, and I could peek through the rafters outside and see tons of birds swarming everywhere. Even once we passed into the interior of the station, there were tons of birds swarming all over the roof there, squawking it up.

We are staying on Playa La Ropa, (Clothes Beach - named for a ship that crashed and spilled its cargo of silks up onto the beach), which is two beaches over from the main beach. It's quieter than that one, I imagine, and cleaner. It is a good beach for swimming, at all times except at night, when the crocodiles come out from the lagoon into the ocean. The first morning, I noticed that nobody was swimming. I asked one of the women staying in our hotel, and she said that a crocodile -- 10-feet long! -- had not returned to the lagoon yet, and was still in the ocean. There was a boat and some men on shore with poles who were trying to find it to guide it home. They were also warning any potential swimmers. Eventually, they decided it must have gone home, because there was no sign of it.

Our hotel bungalow is directly on the beach with a little patio facing the water. It is rustic, and the fridge needs a little help in closing, but it's a great location and I think the bed is comfortable, and the ceiling fan over it really works well.

The beach is hot, but there are constant breezes to cool you down, especially in the shade of the palapas and coconut palms. There are simple lounge chairs for our hotel, and not many people staying there.

We don't do much. Last night we went into town to eat at a place I had read about online, Tamales y Atole Any. I don't love tamales usually, but these were great. Mine had rajas (poblano chilies), cheese, and epazote (a green herb). Peter got the chile verde.

From there, we went to the super huge supermarket (the traditional mercado was closed, or we would have gone there) to get supplies so that we don't have to pay too much for mediocre beach food.

There are people walking up and down the beach selling junk, and they have para-sailing, but it's not as intense as other beaches we have been to in Mexico -- though it might also be that we're further down the beach from the hubbub. Today we went up to a restaurant for lunch that the people staying in our hotel recommended, and there, and along the way, we got hit up more. There was a man who basically would provide anything we wanted -- snorkel? horseback riding? ganja? We turned him down on all counts, and as we walked on, I pointed out that if I had not been there, he might have suggested much more to Peter.

Lovely sunset tonight. Last night was less exciting, with just the red ball of the sun sinking and then gone behind mist. Tonight there was more color and excitement. I don't know if I have been on a beach in Mexico with a sunset view -- even the pacific beaches (Yelapa) I have been on before faced the wrong way.

Tomorrow we might go see the crocodiles at the lagoon - they also have parrots and iguanas.

In Honor of the Table Salsa

The table salsa, is what I call it: the salsa that the waiter brings to your table, pretty much no matter what you order, though you usually have to ask for butter, and even at times for salt. Pretty much, this salsa is going to be great. The taqueria on the corner has two: a green avocado salsa that is spicier than it looks and a deep red pepper one that is milder than it looks (more smoky than spicy).
Yesterday, the dutch guy at our hostel who is riding his motorcycle all the way down to Patagonia said he thought the tacos there were really spicy. I looked at him in confusion and finally asked, "Did you put salsa on them?" He said, "Yes. I put a little green salsa on the first one. The taco was so spicy that I put a lot more green salsa on the next one to try to make it more mild." Me: "Um, the green salsa is pretty spicy. The tacos are not at all..."
Today's breakfast came with two salsas: a red one of medium spice that I slathered on my fried eggs and on the ubiquitous refried beans, and a small container of habanero salsa -- I tried that one and then left it alone. At the table next to me, I saw a Mexican woman put a fair amount on her sandwich and admired her strength.

The best restaurant in Morelia

I found a blog of a woman who lives here in Morelia (though she seems to be not from here). She recommends restaurants at times, so we decided to go to one for comida (the mid-day meal here, which is the big one, whereas cena [dinner] is minor). The first one we tried has closed for good, so we gave up and decided to go to what she says is the best restaurant in Morelia: The restaurant at the Best Western. It is called Restaurant Lu, after the chef who has taken it over and made it fabulous, Lucero Soto Arriaga.

Just yesterday, I wanted so sit and sip a cappuccino in the main square, and I scoffed internally at the idea of going to the Best Western. Yet today, there we went. And boy was it good. I had read about the tasting menu the chef has made in celebration of 2010's bicentennial of the independence, so we both ordered that.

The menu took us through three stages of Mexico's history and then gave us dessert at the end: Pre-Colonial, Colonial, and Independence.

Pre-Colonial included two small, squash-flower, soft tacos steamed in banana leaf; a tiny corunda, or triangular tomale, and a clay jar with some soup or sauce in it, with the top covered in masa then cooked. The highlight of this dish was a salsa made from pumpkin seeds, I think.

Colonial: Salad jumping out of a cucumber with blackberry, grapefruit or orange, lettuce. Sope (thick tortilla) of pickled pig's feet (I tried one bite), sope of hibiscus flower (delicious! interesting!), and sope of some kind of chile (I liked more than Peter).

Independence: Red white and green dishes: Enchiladas with lettuce and jicama. filled with avocado slices, and chile en nogada (something that readers who read my last Mexico blog several years ago will know that I don't like, but this one was good -- only she used a different, small chile, which was too spicy, so we just used bits of it with our sweet mincemeat and absolutely perfect walnut sauce and pomegranate seeds). Both of these were great -- super rich flavors.

Dessert was maybe the best part, if a little large. It was Ate with Cheese in three sectures. Ate is fruit gel. Like membrane if you have had that. This one had guava gel, then guavas that were stewed or something, stuffed with a brie-like cheese and with a mild soft white cheese across the top. Super delicioso.

Oscar Chavez y los Morales

Peter has my old cold (I still have a bit of it, too, I think) and it is hitting him pretty hard. Since we've returned to Morelia, he has slept a lot. We took the private room at the hostel (it's only a few bucks more than two dorm beds), and so at least he has a fairly comfortable place to be while he's sick. Private bathroom and everything!

This morning we were sitting at a cafe in the nearby plaza, and some people brought by a flyer for a concert tonight. I decided to go. Peter wasn't up for it, so joined me at the corner taqueria before we separated: him to lay down again and me to stand in a cold former cloister. The concert was great -- a ton of people. Oscar Chavez y los Morales were great -- traditional Mexican music played and sung beautifully. During La Llorona, the power gave up. Eventually, they got the sound back on, then some of the lights. Not far from where I was standing, a man lowered a huge power cord down from the roof, but they didn't end up using it.

One thing that surprised me: when the power went off, everyone clapped! I would have been insulted if it were me singing, but I don't think they meant it as an insult. It seemed more like a "we're all here together for this." and maybe a "I believe in you to fix this" They clapped again when the music was restored. However, one thought I had was "I thought Mexicans don't clap." Of course, one must not generalize, but for all the spectacular shows we saw in Guanajuato, there was always just polite-level clapping -- never cheering or anything, even when it was kids performing or taking a bow. So I thought it was something cultural -- just not something Mexicans do much. This crowd, however, cheered for the power going out, coming back on, and then for ideas they liked (the singer talked about how he had sung for the Zapatistas in Chiapas, and that was popular).

Random Bits, part 43

• Pogs: remember pogs? the game where you throw your plastic or metal pog at the cardboard ones of your opponents and try to turn over their stack? The kids here play it like crazy. Everywhere. Mostly boys, that I've seen.
• My glasses fall apart in foreign countries: two years ago the arm came off a pair in Florence and we ended up buying a red faux leather bag from a street vendor because of it. Last week, in Guanajuato, the arm of my current pair separated and a watch and jewelry repair man fixed it for me in a matter of minutes after the place next door told me it would take two days.
• Different towns have different words for their bus stations. Not huge differences, and they all understand "estacion del autobus" but today we ended up at the cargo train station because the colectivo (little van-bus) guy said "estacion?" and I said, "si, estacion" from there we took a taxi across town and out some ways to the central del autobus.
• Gotta love aguas frescas (aka preparadas). Why do we not have these in every restaurant in the U.S. like they do here?
• Again, I say: 14 cent tacos.
• Hostelbooker.com said the hostels in Morelia were full tonight, but there is plenty of space at this one. Wonder what's up with that?

14 cent tacos

Yup.

Dia de los muertos (link for pics at end!)

The 31st was not a huge deal here. Throughout town, children carried around carved out green pumpkins with slots or crosses carved in the top and asking anyone they passed for pesos. Some had shoe boxes with faces carved out of the tops, some had plastic jack-o-lanterns or Frankenstein heads like kids back home. Some in costumes, some not. Peter went and bought some candy to give out, and some kids looked a little disappointed not to receive pesos instead. That continued during the day and evening yesterday, too.

We signed up for a night tour of some of the pueblos. There was an archeologist who was leading a tour with some of the other guests here and they started from the b&b where he gave a lecture about the festival. I was lucky to get to hear that and shared it with Peter who was disco napping. The archeologist explained how the indigenous and Catholic traditions blend in this holiday and the symbols of the offerings. He explained that last night's observance in the graveyards was the indigenous side, when the people believe that the spirits of their dead join them for the night. Today's observance is more Catholic, when it's more a tribute to the dead, but not actually communing with them.

Our tour guide mostly gave the Catholic perspective and revised history, so I was glad to be able to recall the archeologist's explanations.

We visited three towns:

In the first, children did traditional dances in front of the church, where people had also set up fake grave mounds and made their offerings. It was the least interesting of the three to us, but still nice to see a different tradition.

The second was the most powerful for me. This was the most traditional. We walked up the hill to the graveyard ("panteon" in Spanish), where families had decorated their simple graves with tons of marigolds, wild purple orchids (the archeologist said that smell was important), some carved pumpkins, favorite foods of the dead. All homemade, as far as we could see. They brought chairs and benches and blankets and settled in for the night. They built fires to keep warm and lit candles to light the way for the dead. One woman, whose relative was buried near the wall, set up a palm mat and blankets for her three children who got ready to sleep the night there. While tourists, both Mexican and foreign, wandered among them snapping photos, some families welcomed visitors to sit with them and learn about the holiday and their ancestors, and to drink some ponche (warm punch).

The third town was similar to the second, but with more wealth. The graveyard was larger, and many of the tombs were more ornate, both in their permanent and festival ways. There, we found fewer families -- it seemed like more had set up the tombs and lit the candles, then headed home. Some teenage boys at the back blasted hard metal.

Before heading out for the night, Peter bought a wool sweater and I got a cotton hat in the local market (as you will see in the pictures -- yay, finally some pictures!

We arrived back at the hotel at 3am, talking about how we honor the memories of our dead and recounting sweet memories of our grandmothers.

Not sure if any of the pictures are going to show up -- having trouble with loading them, but here they are!

Our change of fortune

The B&B in Patzcuaro is truly amazing. We were just excited to have a private room and bathroom, but what a room it is! Fireplace, local art, adobe tile and thick adobe walls, beamed ceilings. Then, outside, a babbling fountain in a lovely courtyard leading to the shared living and dining rooms where full breakfast is served. Behind that a large, sunny garden. Too bad we have so many things we want to do in town, or we would wile away the days just in the hotel.

The other guests are a mix of people who can afford this place. Very friendly, all from English speaking countries (except one woman from Chile, but I think she lives in London now). The owners have been here (they split their time between Victoria, their house on the Mexican Coast, and here). We like the couple from London who have been in search of more Catrina dolls -- they admit their obsession and are willing to take the colectivos (the van-buses that locals use to get around and others staying here would never dream of using).

Our hosts, Liz and George are so sweet. They are an interesting pair and so warm.

And, this is nearly an afterthought, but it has been very nice actually staying in Patzcuaro for day of the dead, rather than in Morelia and busing in.

Peter uploaded the pics of the place to his computer, so we'll have to coordinate adding them to this post.