CASITA WITH PRIVATE GARDEN San Miguel de Allende Mexico Announcements & News
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| THINGS TO DO
Though known as a retirement haven San Miguel offers a wealth of leisure time activities to those that don’t believe retirement means rest. It has a reputation for outstanding hiking and biking, horseback riding and instruction, birding and rock climbing. More conventional pursuits, such as golf and tennis are also at hand and San Miguel has a number of fully-modern gyms and exercise studios. House and Garden Tour: One the more popular activities in San Miguel is the weekly tour of the town’s premier residences, if one judges by the over 10,000 visitors who participated in 2005. Over 300 local home owners open their doors on every type of architecture and interior decoration imaginable; a good source of inspiration and ideas for future residents. Tours depart from the Biblioteca on Sundays at noon, tickets can be purchased at the door from 11 am. onwards. Hot Springs: The road to Dolores Hidalgo is dotted with hot springs producing warm to hot, mineral-rich water. Facilities range from those of luxurious spas to more traditional Mexican balnearios with gardens, restaurants and picnic areas; and may include any number of pools. The pools themselves can be indoors, under the open sky or in rock-lined grottos, and range in size from small, perfect for soaking, all the way up to Olympic, ideal for laps or swimming. Fiestas: While all Mexicans love a party, it seems that no town enjoys a celebration or fiesta more than San Miguel. Local citizens take to the streets with verve and enthusiasm for traditional holidays, to honor local heroes and patron saints or sometimes, it seems, just for the fun of it. There’s always something happening; all marked with music, dance and fireworks. Of note in the upcoming months is the Chamber Music Festival in early August, September’s San Miguelada or ‘running of the bulls’ and week-long Fiesta to honor San Miguel Arcángel and the Brass & Wool Fair and Jazz Festival held in November. Wining & Dining: Whether you are an avid gourmand or someone who just likes to pick up food—fast, you will appreciate life in San Miguel. There may be no large chain restaurants, but there is a local cafe on almost every corner, offering tasty, freshly made specialities. And you are sure to discover that the towns premier restaurants can vie with those of larger North American cities for taste, style and presentation. After dinner, those in search of culture will find that their choices include gallery openings, theater, concerts, dance or foreign and classic film. Those who prefer lifting a glass can do so in everything from hard-drinking cantinas or friendly sports bars and pubs to nightclubs featuring rock, salsa blues or jazz (often live) or elegant rooftop terraces and intimate hotel lounges. Reprint permission from "Su Casa"--Your Home in San Miguel de Allende © 2006 Imprint Publishing/Advertising Telephone in San Miguel: 152-0493 |
| 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 |
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 |
November 21, 2006 Greetings: |
If you read guidebooks or travel articles about México, you will read that Mexicans are wonderfully accommodating, friendly, warm, and generous to strangers. You will be given the impression these people are the “Salt of the Earth” and maybe even virtually Saints. You will be told things like, “Mexicans are helpful to a fault” and “they will be so patient with you trying to learn Spanish.” While this might be true, I have, of late, begun to doubt the multitude of clichés that pour forth from all the guidebook and article sources about Mexico. About 18 months into our expatriation experiment, my wife and I began to wonder what was going on in the heartland of Mexico. The clichés we had read in our pre-expat research were, frankly, beginning to fall apart. The longer we lived here, the more we were beginning to see things that the guidebooks gushed about Mexican’s congeniality weren’t necessarily true. Something wasn’t adding up. Guanajuato is about as much in the middle of the country as it gets. It is truly the heartland of Mexico. Here life is uber-provincial. The dictionary defines provincial as, “a person of local or restricted interests or outlook; a person lacking urban polish or refinement.” I began hearing this uber-provincial stuff more and more as the years went by. I heard this from not only American, German, and Canadian expatriates but also from Mexicans who grew up in other parts of Mexico and who, for one reason or another, ended up in Guanajuato. Certain things begin to happen to us that caused us to begin asking questions. After all, we were still very fresh and green expats who didn’t know much. But we began to ask about this or that once things started happening. I guess it was the first time I was knocked into the street by a Mexican and subsequently hit by a bus that caused me to wonder what was going on. The second time was really what got me to wondering. I was pushed off the sidewalk not once but twice into the path of an oncoming bus and was struck. Not once did anyone stop to see if I was all right. The pushers never bothered to utter one word to me. My wife has also been pushed and shoved off sidewalks. I have a 70-year-old American gringa pal who was pushed into the path of a taxi and was nailed. One just has to ask what is happening in Guanajuato, Mexico. I wish I could tell you. What I began to see long ago was that the Guanajuatenses on the street are practically running to get somewhere but never arrive on time for anything. Although all of Latin American (and Italy) is famous for how they regard time differently than the rest of the world, this has slowly been changing in the more metropolitan areas of Mexico. More and more, Mexicans are beginning to forsake their traditional understanding of what it means to be on time for anything. Not so in Guanajuato. It is just as traditional here as it has been for centuries. Some say the heartland of Mexico is “stuck in the past.” But, what you have are Guanajuatenses running at the speed of light and, I can assure you, to get nowhere fast. They are absolutely not trying to get somewhere on time. It is a cultural affectation here in Guanajuato. They will never, ever arrive on time for anything. This is a total mystery in and of itself. Why are they running? They never arrive on time for anything so what’s the rush? So, you may logically ask, why are they running down the sidewalk knocking gringos into the gutter? I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I have asked Mexicans because I have the facility in the language to do so. Most of those I have questioned are not from Guanajuato originally. They are here for a job, marriage, or whatever, and have been transplanted from other regions of Mexico. To my amazement, these Guanajuato transplants have told me that they view the people of Guanajuato as some of the rudest, most ill educated, and most ill reared Mexicans in the country. I have gotten emails from Mexicans and as well as been told in face-to-face interviews that they regard Guanajuatenses Mexicans as anti-social. This is amazing. These are Mexicans from other regions talking about their fellow Mexicans. It very much reminds me of those from the Midwest and western parts of America talking about New York. Now, I have to take the word of those who tell me this since the only place I’ve ever lived in this country is Guanajuato. But, I am beginning to take their word to heart and believe what they say, hook, line, and sinker. Our experience bears out what our Extra-Guanajuatenses have told us. Once, I got an email from a Mexican lady in Puerto Vallarta. She had read some of my articles and columns but poo-poo’ed me as a crazy gringo. Then, she and another Mexican girlfriend came traveling through Guanajuato. She said she couldn’t wait to email me and tell me how many times she was shoved off the sidewalk and pushed away from the cashier’s counter in stores. Just this morning, my wife was in line to buy some very delicious tamales. She placed her order and paid the guy. Before the seller could get out of his mouth, “One moment while I get your food” a Mexican lady, one of our congenial, warm, and kind Guanajuatenses, elbowed my wife out of line and cut in front of her. The seller had to be someone from some other part of Mexico because he noticed what happened and told this woman to get in line. A month ago, some college student who thought it was appropriate to lay hands on me and shove me a good one shoved me out of the way in a pharmacy! I wish I could tell you that these are all isolated incidents but I would be lying. The guy pushed me as though I was a piece of furniture that was in his way. The mystery is how Mexicans are supposed to be such kind, generous, and accommodating people to foreigners while in Guanajuato, you are just liable to be pushed into the path of an oncoming bus going at the speed of light. How…how…how is this so? The other day, we were exiting the post office when we saw one Mexican do something to another Mexican. This kid, in his early twenties, walked by a lady who had set her heavy bolsa (a large shopping bag) on the sidewalk while waiting for a cab. This young man kicked the bolsa into the street. It seemed unintentional. He looked briefly and then walked off. The lady took off after him. While she was trying to corral him, a bus came by and squashed her bolsa and all its contents to smithereens. My wife once had to catch an elderly lady who was shoved off a 12-inch-high sidewalk by two girls who seemed not to care a wit that they almost killed one of their fellow countrywomen. Something else that goes on in stores all over the city—another mystery--is something that would get Guanajuatenses killed in America. When you go to meat counter or any place with a counter, Guanajuatenses will shove you out of the way to bark their orders to the hired help, even though the employee was already waiting on you. Don’t miss the picture here. There you are. You’ve just given your order to the butcher for a kilo of hotdogs when some Señora puts her hands on you (or elbows you) and knocks you into the middle of next week so she can be at the front of the line. This goes on all the time, without fail, day and night—and there’s nothing you can do about it! NOTHING! Why they do it I cannot tell you. We have asked and are told that the people of Guanajuato are “malcriados” and “maleducadas” …this means ill-raised and badly-educated. I think the mystery is how did they earn the warm and inviting reputation that you read in all the guidebooks? They certainly could not have meant the heartland of Mexico, especially not Guanajuato! Perhaps it’s the other regions about which the guidebooks have been talking. I do not know! by Douglas Bower Article Source: EzineArticles.com |