Looking for a divorced or widowed pretty Lady San Miguel de Allende Mexico Announcements & News
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Looking for a divorced or widowed pretty Lady
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I’ve written quite a bit about The Ugly American Syndrome. In my columns, print and online magazines, and in every book I’ve written, I’ve mentioned this topic. I get a lot of mail from readers, either praising and agreeing with me or chiding and condemning me. As of today, I think I will begin cutting Americans some slack, especially American expats in Mexico, regarding The Ugly American Syndrome. My visit to the bank today convinced me that maybe I’ve been too harsh and need to lighten up a bit. I think my readers (the chiders and condemners) in San Miguel de Allende might breathe a collective sigh of relief over this announcement. What happened is something that should not have surprised or shocked me. I guess I simply have reached the end of my expat rope—at least today. When I get my quarterly royalty checks from my book publishers, I take them to my Mexican bank and deposit them. Because they are drawn on a foreign account in the States, there is understandably a hold on these checks. I get that and it doesn’t bother me one bit. But here is what I’ve been told ever since I began depositing royalty checks into this account: “There will be a two-week hold on this check.” At the end of two weeks, the wife and I go off to the ATM to check the balance and the funds are not there. We go back to the bank. The bank officer tells us: “Oh, there is always a three-week hold on foreign checks.” We wait another week, go to the ATM, and the funds aren’t there. So, we go again to the bank. “Oh, there is a 22-day hold on all foreign checks.” The next day, we go to the ATM and the funds are not there. We go into the bank: “There must be some mistake. There is always a 25-day hold on all foreign checks.” We wait three more days and go to the ATM to check things out. There are no funds. We drag ourselves into the bank with the wife trying to talk me out of murdering someone. “Oh my, my! There is always a 30-day hold on all foreign checks.” In Mexico, as I have written before, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, is as it seems. Nothing will work with any degree of logic or reason known to the rest of the world. Here two weeks can mean pretty much any amount of time. In Guanajuato, Mexico, two weeks means many things. It can mean three weeks, twenty-two days, twenty-five days, or thirty days. And let me tell you, each bank employee will tell you something different each time you make a deposit. They will look you straight in the eye and tell you whatever comes to their minds, whether it is the truth or not. What I do not get is just why no bank employee knows how anything works! This brings me to a conversation with an American expat who has lived in Mexico much longer than I have. She said once that what Mexico needs is a Business Manager. These people need a Business Manager in everything that has to do with anything to show them how things work. This is because in all aspects of life, at least in Guanajuato, no one who does anything that has to do with something knows just how it is suppose to work. Trying to do banking in Guanajuato is not the only thing that doesn’t work. I would love to tell you that this is so but I would be lying. Once we tried going to the movies. The theater manager was at a party and was having too good of a time to show up with the keys to the box office to sell tickets. She sent word that someone was welcome to come and get the keys and sell tickets, otherwise we would all have to wait. Can you begin to imagine what would have happened in America when this movie theater manager finally showed up? She or he would have been lynched by the crowd. Here is the really bad thing. This sort of “Qué Será, Será, whatever will be, will be…” service is vastly tolerated all over this country. The Mexican nationals, at least from my observation, seem to tolerate a level of service from providers that Americans and Europeans would not tolerate for a second! Only those who have spent time internationally seem to be perturbed by those of their fellow countrymen who settle for or offer this, “The future’s not ours to see, Qué Será, Será…” service. Well, the next time I see some American tourist or expat acting out The Ugly American Syndrome, I am going to march up to them, pat them on the back, and tell them, “I feel your pain, Bubba!” by Douglas Bower Article Source: EzineArticles.com | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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| Mexican Coke: The 'Real Thing?'
By TOM RAGAN Sentinel staff writer WATSONVILLE It's popping up just about everywhere in Latino communities across the United States: Mexican-made Coca-Cola in those old glass bottles, somewhat of an anomaly in the age of the plastic liter and twist-off cap. Slightly worn and a bit gritty from all the coming and going, the 12-ounce bottles, which sell for roughly $1.25 a pop, are being bought up and sucked dry at record clips in cities across the country with large Latino populations. And Mexicans and Mexican-Americans aren't the only ones swigging down the soda bottled south of the border, claiming it tastes different from its American-made counterpart, that its fizz seems to last longer because it's in a glass bottle. If running diaries on the Web in the form of blogs are any indication, just about everybody who likes the heft of a good old-fashioned soda bottle is looking for the Mexican-made pop in the thousands of ma and pa convenience stores that cater to Latinos. "Mexican Coke is selling like crazy bro, and I can't keep up," says Rudy Mendoza of El Gordo Taqueria on Main Street. Last week the 20-something Mendoza, Salinas born and bred, was cursing the underground distributor under his breath as the slightly green tinted bottles, with the words "Hecho en Mexico," started to disappear from his refrigerator. In somewhat of a conundrum, the Atlanta-based Coca-Cola Co. has condemned the recent imports across the country as a form of "bootlegging." But at the same time the company has recognized that it would be remiss if it overlooked the Mexican pop craze, which is why it is now buying Coca-Cola in bottles from Mexico and importing them to Texas and Southern California, two of the largest Mexican markets in the country, according to Mart Martin, a spokesman for Coca-Cola's North American division in Atlanta. "We believe that the appeal of Mexican Coke is as much about nostalgia as it is about anything," says Martin. "It's like getting a piece of home in a bottle. You can't deny the fact that it's in a tall glass bottle, something you just can't find in most parts of the United States." But it's the "same exact product," and Mexican bottlers are buying the ingredients straight from the company, says Martin. "It's not like they're stirring it up in some backyard," he adds. "Coke is Coke is Coke." The company, however, rarely elaborates on Coke's ingredients, and the secret formula is actually in a vault in a bank in Atlanta. Instead, the company line all along has been that there is "no perceptible taste difference" between Mexican Coke and the American-made Classic Coke. As Martin says, "You have to consider the circumstances: the packaging, whether there's ice over it, the temperature, or whether it's in a can or a bottle. But what often happens is people think it tastes different because it comes in a bottle, and that's what we're trying to get our arms around. The 'why?' It could just be psychological." Yet there is one kicker, and it's a fairly large one: Mexican Coke may contain the same secret syrup, but its sweetener is entirely different. It's made from sugar cane, not corn syrup. 'The Real Thing' Latinos are the fastest-growing population segment in the United States, and Mexico accounts for well over half of the roughly 33 million Latinos who live in the country, according to the 2000 census. Certainly, this is not the first time the Mexican market has flexed its muscle, with an occasional borrowing from U.S. popular culture. Look closely at the Mexican man wearing that Texas Longhorns cap or the World Series-winning Chicago White Sox hat. There's a chance it came from a market just off the plaza in Any Town, Mexico. But then there's the real Mexican deal, like tequila, which has anchored many a margarita happy hour; or tacos, as popular as hamburgers, without which there'd be no Taco Bell. Mexico's a country that's put the popularity of chips and salsa right up there with ketchup and french fries. And in yet another nod to the lucrative Latino market, Frito-Lay just came out with a "fiery habañero" flavor of Doritos that all but requires a bottle of water during consumption. It's no secret that the meteoric rise in the Mexican population in the past few decades in the United States has given rise to all products Mexican, which has made its way into the mainstream of the American psyche — from canned jalapeños to cheaper laundry soaps to the corn tortilla. But taking a brand name like Coca-Cola and undercutting the American-made Coca-Cola distributors on their own turf hasn't gone over well with the largest soft drink supplier in the world, according to Martin. Although the bottlers in Mexico are authorized and are making the cola above board, it's the non-Coca-Cola distributors — the guys who are wheeling and dealing it in an underground market — that are causing all the problems. Lawsuits have been filed, but no dispositions as of yet. "They're trespassing on the territory rights of many U.S. bottlers," said Coke spokesman Martin. "Bringing it into the country is not illegal. But what it does do from the Coca-Cola standpoint is it violates contractual rights that we have with our bottlers. And it has potential trademark right infringements as well." The controversy has even bubbled to the surface in several blogs. Ordinary Joes are mixing their thoughts and opinions with the best of the high-browed corporate types who've made careers out of analyzing products that sell and those that don't. Grant McCracken, a noted anthropologist with a doctorate from the University of Chicago, wrote: "Some consumers now insist that Mexican Coke is a more robust brand than American Coke, not least because it is charged with meanings that American Coke never had, or long ago gave up. In particular, Mexican Coke is charged with a powerful nostalgia, a remembrance of childhood south of the border." Karina Alejandre, 22, a recently arrived immigrant from Mexico who now cooks at El Gordo Taqueria in Watsonville, remembers her first sip of Coca-Cola. And guess what? It didn't even come from a bottle. "We'd drink from plastic sandwich bags with straws inside," she said in Spanish, an imaginary straw in her hand. "We couldn't leave the store with the bottles." Since Coca-Cola was founded in the late 1880s as a syrup mixed with carbonated water, it's gone from the soda fountain to the bottle to the aluminum can to the plastic liter. And now it's back to the bottle, courtesy of Mexico, a country that's usually a few years behind the times, often fashionably retro because of it. And in the backrooms of some Mexican tiendas in Watsonville, from El Gordo to D'La Colmena, cases upon cases of the Mexican Coke bottles sit, proof that there's a demand, which is causing a stir but saturating a Latino and non-Latino thirst across the country. As McCracken notes, "The bigger challenge of the Coca-Cola Co. is to admit that even the magnificent corporation that has created and preserved the 'real thing' authenticity must now admit to the possibility that there are many authenticities. This is the lesson of plenitude. This is the lesson of the long tail." Miguel Perez and Leticia Martinez, Watsonville residents, don't know anything about corporate lessons learned. They just know what they like. "When we run out," says Martinez, "I buy the smaller American-made bottles. They cost more, but they're worth it. I love drinking Coke from the bottle." from www.santacruzsentinel.com | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| from MexicoDiscovered.com which also has a Discover Mexico magazine.
San Miguel de Allende and Pozos Mexico's most cultured retirement haven - and most popular artistic destination, was declared a Mexican national Monument in 1926. This meant that while other towns pulled down heritage buildings and replaced them with glass and steel boxes San Miguel was off-limits to that form of modernization. Without this single gesture, San Miguel may have become just another slightly decaying backwater - that time and the major highways left behind - instead of the architecturally pristine city we love. But what a National Monument! Its proximity to the nearby silver cities of the Bajio meant that by the eighteenth century it was an important way station en route to Mexico City and an agriculture centre supplying the needs of the burgeoning city of Guanajuato. Spaniards, wealthy from extracting silver, built magnificent palaces here and then enhanced their already enormous fortunes farming the surrounding countryside through huge estates with equally magnificent haciendas as their centrepiece. Further enhancing the architectural splendour are ornate churches and oratorios that owe their existence to the patronage of these wealthy patrons - and the sweat and slave-like servitude of indigenous Indians. Despite the fact that many of the palaces and haciendas were gutted and plundered during the Mexican Revolution in the second decade of the last century, the basic structures were still extant in 1926. It was this slightly scarred and somewhat neglected eighteenth century architectural masterpiece that so enamoured the few foreigners who ventured through here in the late 1920's and early 1930's. Set in the pastoral rolling hills of the Bajio, watered by natural springs, enjoying a spring like climate all year and suffused with a light beloved by artists, how could they resist. One such person was American, Sterling Dickinson who, recognized the possibilities, and founded the now internationally renowned Instituto Allende in 1938 as a place of study for fellow ex patriots. This was the second pivotal action that ensured San Miguel de Allende's future for, with the end of World War II came the United States GI Bill that supplied education grants to returning servicemen. These GIs soon discovered their limited funds went farther in San Miguel and the Institute thrived. A vibrant artistic and cultural society grew up around a still small but permanent expatriate community that serviced their needs. Many of these visiting students never left, instead they became the kernel of a growing artistic community that, generations later, continues to be supplemented by new infusions of artistic talent that also fall in love with San Miguel's special "light". At the same time, many of the wealthy tourists originally attracted by the town's reputation, returned to reside here on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. Attracted by this charming and safe city with a perfect climate they, in turn, became the basis of the well-heeled semi retirement community that San Miguel is today. At the same time other less wealthy (or merely more ambitious) visitors saw the opportunities afforded by this influx and opened even more businesses to serve this expanding tourist and residential market. These North Americans had the desire and the funds to restore the many badly neglected buildings - in accordance with the strict 1926 guidelines - that, today, the town is effectively an eighteenth century wonder with electricity and running water! Well, not quite. The ubiquitous internal combustion engine knows no limits and San Miguel is no exception. Her narrow, winding and often very steep cobblestone streets can soon get jammed with noisy diesel spewing trucks and buses as well as the latest gas guzzling SUVs. Ironically perhaps it is the modern SUV that is the most appropriate vehicle to ply the uneven 200 year old cobblestone streets. Certainly, its 4 wheel drive capability comes in handy when the summer rains hit and the more steeply sloped streets become slick and traction becomes your number one priority. If it isn't, you will soon get used to walking that little bit extra just to avoid the problem of finding that most rare of things in downtown San Miguel - a parking spot. The relationship between the expatriate and Mexican communities is remarkably cordial. One even gets the impression there is only one community. This is born of the fact that the two live side-by-side and both benefit from the other despite the fact that (with the notable exception of a comparatively small number of middle and upper class Mexicans) most expatriates are wealthier than their neighbours. Poverty and crime do exist in the peripheral Mexican areas of town but a strong tradition of volunteer work within the expatriate community has ameliorated many of the resentments such an "invading army" of privileged foreigners could have engendered. Certainly, San Miguel attracts relatively wealthy people, but they don't flaunt it. That is not what San Miguel is about. Any such wealth is generally hidden behind the enclosed walls and high gates of the town - for this is a town that values and encourages cultural and social endeavours above overt displays of wealth. Members of the expatriate community who operate businesses here is one reason the town works so well. They have created jobs and so generated a higher standard of living and quality of life for all San Miguel residents. I was fortunate to meet a number of them - mainly in the real estate and hospitality fields - and was struck by the fact that many of them put as much time and energy into their social and charitable concerns as they did into their commercial pursuits. Dotty Vidargas of Vidargas Real Estate, for example, has lived in San Miguel for 40 years and is one of the driving forces restoring the nearby Santuario at Atotonilco. In contrast, Lane Simmons at Remax Colonial Real Estate became so involved with helping the town's poorer families and abused children that he and his wife have legally adopted two of the children he "rescued". Interestingly, most of San Miguel's realty companies are long established concerns. They know the San Miguel housing market inside out. As part of San Miguel society for decades they are able to impart to potential purchasers that they are buying into a community not just a home. But whether they are house-hunting or just passing through, visitors need somewhere to stay. On the face of it that should not be a problem in San Miguel where the number of hotels, inns and B & Bs must exceed that of any town of comparable size in Mexico. Most, however, are small - with as few as 3 rooms - so don't be too confident you'll find a room without booking ahead! Old favourites in the deluxe class, such as the Casa de Sierra Nevada and la Puertecita must now compete with the intimate luxury of small exclusive enclaves such as Casa Quetzal among many where American amenities meet the best of Mexican design and influence, while less expensive old time landmark hotels such as the Mansion del Bosque remain perennial favourites. Some San Miguelites have "discovered" a new San Miguel at Mineral de Pozos just 45 minutes from San Miguel. Popularly called Pozos it is a protected old silver mining town where many of its old mansions are being lovingly restored. In the main square are two hotels adjoining one another. The Casa Montana is the more recent addition but, even newer is the recently opened Real de Minas B&B. Both are American owned and are just two of the gringo vanguard already settled with established businesses here. Many more will come! | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Las PosadasZacatlán de las Manzanas, MexicoLate that first afternoon I joined the Posadas at Hospital San José where children, warmly dressed in well-worn jackets and jeans, had gathered in the chapel. They looked as if they could be the children of the shepherds that were present at the first Christmas.The tourist office, under the archways in the main plaza, was open when I arrived in the small colonial town of Zacatlán de las Manzanas, two hours east of Mexico City. The plaza, anchored by the 16th century ex Convento de San Franciso, was aglow in silvery fog that foreshadowed the magical time I was to spend. I had been told that Zacatlán celebrated traditional Mexican Christmas Posadas, the symbolic journey of the Holy Family from Nazareth to Bethlehem seeking shelter, and I wanted to join in this nine-day festival. The plaza, anchored by the 16th century ex Convento
de San Franciso, was aglow in silvery fog that foreshadowed the magical time
I was to spend.
The Posada (literally inn) tradition began in Mexico in 1587 when an Augustine order requested permission of Pope Sixto V to authorize a Novena, a nine-day Christmas celebration. The Augustinians, who used theater, drama and song in the process of conversion, not only wished to tell the story leading to Christ's birth, but wanted to supercede the Aztecs' twenty-day annual December festival dedicated to Huitzilopochtli, their war god. Bethlehem StarsToday Posadas are often reduced to a single evening but historically it is a Novena celebrated daily from December 16th to the 24th, which of course is then followed by Christmas on the 25th. I came to Zacatlán to experience the Posadas as a Novena, the religious ritual in a provincial setting. Mary Carmen Olvera Trejo, Director of Tourism, was seated behind her desk, wearing a soft, bluish-white, downy sweater, working at her laptop computer, when I entered. She instantly looked up, greeted me, invited me to sit down, and asked, "How can we help you?" I said, "Where should I go for Posadas?" She penciled an outline with directions where I could visit Posadas during the week, in the schools, the churches and also suggested Hospital San José. And in a gesture of good will, knowing that I was alone, she invited me to the Olvera Family Reunion-Posada on Christmas Eve. Zacatlán is a compact colonial town with a huge clock in the central plaza. Red tiled adobe buildings, windows framed with iron grills, and cobblestone streets give the visitor a feeling of history and tradition. I could walk to the Posadas that Mary Carmen suggested. Hospital San JoséLate that first afternoon I joined the Posadas at Hospital San José where children, warmly dressed in well-worn jackets and jeans, had gathered in the chapel. They looked as if they could be the children of the shepherds that were present at the first Christmas. Passing out treats. San Jose HospitalIn the hospital chapel, I sat in the front pew next to a little girl whose rosy cheeks glowed through her dark skin. She sat quietly while her mottled brown-blue eyes carefully examined my camera. The church was a cream colored white with purple drapes. The director, a petit nurse-nun dressed in white and wearing wire glasses, introduced me as a guest. She used the opportunity to remind the children to be on their best behavior so as to leave the visitor with a good opinion. The service began. Children sang the rosary. The chapel was in the center of the hospital with a corridor encircling the chapel. We stood. Four children in the back of the church lifted a plank with an angel, Mary and Joseph on their shoulders. It was decorated with a green pine tree branch and Christmas ornaments. The procession came up the center aisle, turned right and then began a journey around the outer corridor of the inner chapel. The choir and students followed Joseph and Mary and made periodic stops, as did the Biblical Holy Family when looking for a place to rest in Bethlehem. The children continued singing the rosary: Hail Mary's and the Our Father. At each stop, the Holy Family asked for shelter and
was denied. Finally, after a full circuit, in the hospital, the Holy Family found
rest, and the nun dressed in white passed out gifts: oranges, sugar cane, jicama,
peanuts and other treats.
At each stop, the Holy Family asked for shelter and was denied. Finally, after a full circuit, in the hospital, the Holy Family found rest, and the nun dressed in white passed out gifts: oranges, sugar cane, jicama, peanuts and other treats. Young children marveled at their good fortune. I was surprised to see such pleasure from what I would have deemed modest. Church of St. FrancisThe next day at the Church of St. Francis, the largest in town, I encountered a different expression of the Posada. After we entered the church, the doors were closed. The rosary was not sung but a number of journeys were made around the inside of the church, with young men carrying statues of the Holy Family. We stopped at the various niches as if seeking an inn. Mary in blueWhen the procession rested, a verse of the traditional Posada Song was sung. The Posada Song consists of two alternating choruses. First, the Holy Family requests shelter, then there is a response, "This is no inn. Continue on your way. I will not open. You could be thieves." Back and forth, there is a request and a denial. Then it is revealed, the chorus sings, "The queen of heaven is asking for shelter. It is Joseph and Mary, his beloved spouse, who stand at your doors and seek lodging in your house." The climax follows, "Let the doors be thrown open, let the drapes be drawn, for the Queen of Heaven has come to rest." School: Juana de Arca, AtexnaBut it was on the road to El Refugio, a holistic cabin and campground enclave, where I found the most memorable procession. Here was simplicity, faith and tradition among grammar school children reenacting the Holy Family's journey and their quest for shelter. Here was simplicity, faith and tradition among grammar
school children reenacting the Holy Family's journey and their quest for shelter.
As I turned off the highway onto the rutted dirt road at Atexna, children had just left a solitary church and had just started their trek up the road to their primary school. I quickly parked and asked the teacher, Guillermina Juarez Martinez, if I might join the pilgrims. She was happy to welcome me. Joseph dressed in green and gold, Mary wore blue, and Jesus' godmother looked angelic in white. Angels, shepherds, wise men, parents and teachers followed the Holy Family. Solemnly they hiked up the hill reenacting the journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem. I ran ahead and took pictures of the pilgrimage treading on the damp earth road framed with maguey cactus. The procession arrived at the school. A number of students entered, but the Holy Family, angels and shepherds, stayed outside. I was inside with my camera. The Posada Song was sung with the alternating choruses. The door was opened, the Holy Family entered, and students gathered in front of the manger. Joseph in green and gold stood on the right, and Mary with her light blue cape stood on the left, while the godmother, seated in the center, rocked Baby Jesus. Mixing of traditions, Santa and angelGuillermina Juarez Martinez kneeled and kissed the Baby Jesus. Everyone, pupils and teachers followed her example. Then small gifts were distributed and hot punch was served. I enjoyed the pageantry, the processions, the rituals, and the songs. But what I had not realized was that I was yet to experience the love and the essence of the Christmas message. Olvera Family Reunion-PosadaMary Carmen had invited me to the Olvera Family Reunion-Posada. The party was at 7 p. m. Christmas Eve. I said, "Seven or after seven?" I didn't want to be the first to arrive, especially at a family gathering of over 80 relatives. Mary Carmen said, "A partir de las siete." (Any time after 7.) I meant to arrive about 7:30 but I got lost. In the dark I couldn't find the turnoff to the family homestead, and I knew I was within yards. But in the dark, along the road, the Grand Marquis' headlights made every shrub bristle as if it were the sign of an entryway. Luckily, there was a nearby restaurant getting ready for a Christmas Eve Party and the owner was cordial and told me precisely where to turn. I arrived at 8 just in time to join the outdoor chorus singing the Posada Song asking for shelter. When the doors opened I entered into a grand multi-generational family reunion and celebration. Here I found more than the Christmas Posada, the Holy Family pilgrim tradition and a religious service. Señor Olvera, Mary Carmen's father, 83, and family patriarch, dressed in a suit and tie and wearing a short overcoat and a brown beret, spoke to his family. He embraced his wife Julita, dressed in a red coat, and gave thanksgivings for their blessings, and family prayers for those present and absent. Testimonials were spoken for the family's happiness. One by one adult children hugged their parents. There was a gift exchange, a grand feast (with 8 daughters, food was abundant), toasts (even Viva California!), and dancing to salsa, marimba, rock 'n roll, waltz, fox trot and swing. We danced together, in a group, in a line, in a circle, in the center of the circle (nudged forward for an impromptu jig, or whirl). There was a call for "Los Calvos", the bald guys, only two of us, the other being Eduardo, a son-in-law from Aguacaliente, where cock fighting is the annual attraction at the San Marcos Fair, so Eduardo and I pantomimed our interpretation of a two strutting cocks to cheers and applause. Then singing, Mary Carmen led, followed by nearly every guest, some reluctant, needing encouragement, some with good voices like Mary Carmen, some frogs like myself who sang El Rey, but I had to pull Mary Carmen up with me as I was uncertain of all the lyrics, so we ended up a duet. Husbands brought tears, pure streams of joy to their wives, as they sang love ballads, with words like, "My life would be nothing without you, you are my total love, my source, my reason for being," while directing a fixed gaze, eye to eye with the wife. There were other songs and recitations, humorous, or just favorites, more toasts, more dancing, a total spectacle of a loving, endearing, supporting, joyful family, whose patriarch's favorite response to, "Como está?" (How are you?) is, "Yo soy agradecido de haber nacido." (I'm grateful for having been born.) La Piñata and a FuneralI drove home alert, not tired at 3 a.m. Mary Carmen told me to join the family at noon for the children's Christmas Piñata Fiesta. Afterwards, she said, we would join her nephew, his wife and daughter at La Trucha (The Trout) Restaurant for Christmas dinner. When I arrived, plans had changed. We would be going to a funeral at 2 p.m. An elderly aunt died Christmas Eve and in Mexico burial is the next day. It seemed ironic. During Day of the Dead in San Miguel de Allende, I witnessed a wedding, and here in Zacatlán, on Christmas Day, I would be present at a funeral. At noon, the children took turns, blindfolded (a symbol that the only guide is faith), and smacked the piñata. It was a clay pot covered with a 7-pointed star decorated in brilliant red, blue, orange, green, gold, silver, purple and white with paper streamers, which symbolized the Seven Deadly Sins. When it broke, treats gushed out. Children gathered up the traditional gifts: sweet potatoes, jicama, sugar cane, peanuts, oranges, a few small toys, balls and Spiderman figures, caramels and hard candy. After the piñata, the festivities quieted. We still had a funeral and Christmas dinner to attend. The sun was out. I was now part of Mary Carmen's family and we walked up the hill to the original homestead, which was being used for storage. I no longer thought of the fog. Here on a hill outside Zacatlán the weather was warm and the sky crystal blue. Children were taking turns on a swing. The homestead was built L shaped and I photographed the flowers. I took nine photos, all different. We traveled back to Zacatlán for the 2 p.m. funeral. I dropped Mary Carmen and her nephew, wife and child in front of the church, and then continued, looking for a parking place. The funeral was short. But the church overflowed. In a small town, everyone is related. The casket, carried by 6 men, was placed in a funeral limousine and an entourage followed the slow-moving hearse to the cemetery. It was only a few blocks distant. The aunt was laid to rest on Christmas Day. Christmas DinnerWe backtracked past the Olvera homestead, drove to Jicolapa, a small village outside Zacatlán, and then into the quiet green pine forest and onto a dirt road that lead to mountain streams, a trout farm and a restaurant. We had been delayed. We were the last guests to arrive at La Trucha. I felt as if I had returned home to northern Colorado and had just driven up the Poudre Valley River Canyon. We selected our trout direct from the pond. Shortly, dinner, wrapped and baked in tinfoil with herbs, was served. We toasted, clinking bottles of cold beer. We were in a simple wood-framed building in the pine forest next to a stream with turkeys wandering about. Our dining room was more like a giant tree house than a restaurant. It was modest, rustic, and appropriate for Christmas. Christ had been born in a manger. -- Dick Davis |