Ah...The First Little Death and other random thoughts

The Registration is Where?

We have now officially joined the ranks of resident gringos.  We have paid our first mordita.  True, we were neither smooth nor cool but the deed is done.  A mordita (which the computer keeps trying to correct into morbid --very apropos) is "a little death" in Spanish.  This would equate to a bribe in the US or a way of life in Mexico.  We were happily wandering down a one way street in the wrong direction looking for a shoe repair shop for Justin's boots when we were nabbed.  Now we swear they take down the one way arrows which are hung on the walls of buildings.  How else to explain the portly officer, ticket book in hand, staring intently and greedily as we approached.  Actually, I had left the car to go ask someone where the cobbler was and Michael was supposed to go around the block and pick me up.  Imagine my surprise to come upon him locked in an eye battle with the cop.  Neither spoke.  This was because neither of them could speak the others language.  Justin looked on bemusedly from the back seat.

I hesitated.  There are various theories on how to handle this.  Here they are:

1)  Get on your high horse and insist they give you the ticket because YOU won't support this kind of corruption.  This generally results in your spending 12-15 hours in the finance department of the local city hall which is very much like the 7th or 8th circle of hell;
2)  Pretend you speak absolutely no Spanish.  Try to make your eyes cross and generally behave like an idiot -- but not an idiot on drugs.  Twitch a lot.  Hope he loses interest or sees an easier mark.
3)  Calmly remove your license, slip a 200 peso note under it and hand it to the cop with a slight smile.  Hope he is not the one honest cop on your local force.  He probably isn't.

We decided to go with Option #2.  Well, actually, we just kind of fell into the "Look, I'm an idiot and I can't speak Spanish either" (well, certainly not under pressure like this!).  Michael managed to give him his license but it all started to fall apart when the cop demanded "el papel". I thought he wanted a piece of paper to write the mordita amount on but no.... he wanted the registration.  Except -- we couldn't find the registration.  We're tearing the car apart.  The cop is pacing around the car and staring grouchily at us.  We find the registration of a car we haven't owned for two years.  But not our new one.  I try pathetically to explain that we are "new in town" (no smile from cop), must have left it home (no smile) are really nice but stupid people (small smile).  He turns on his heel and walks away while gesturing threateningly at us to stay put.  I start telling Michael that they can now tow our car and that we may, if we are lucky, one day have the stripped bare chassis returned to us -- one day.  Now the cop is returning but not with a tow truck. Praise Allah!  He has brought a fluent English speaker and I can just tell this guy is ON OUR SIDE!  And Luis is.  After about 15 seconds he says to me:  "Look, I don't know how you feel about this but I can get rid of this guy for 200 pesos." I assure you, money has never flown out of Michael's wallet more quickly.  Luis, in one smooth and practiced gesture, swoops the pesos into the outstretched hand of our local protector.  He didn't even say thanks.

Now here's where we get to the part that shows that we should always go with Option 2 because we really ARE idiots. We drive home and Michael rips apart the office looking for the registration.  And then it dawns on him.  We  reregistered the car in Texas.  They put the registration on the windshield.  The whole time we were destroying the car, carrying on, and looking like fools the registration was clearly visible and within a foot of us.  One wonders if the cop knew.....

Love In Action  -- Really

Yesterday, Michael and I went to work at Love In Action helping to run an Arts and Crafts session.  LiA (as I mentioned everything here is abbreviated-- even things like this which shouldn't be) is an orphanage.  Yes.  They still exist.  And having spent an afternoon there I am inclined to wonder if the kids there are not better off than kids in the US that end up in foster home after foster home after foster home.  While certainly not idyllic, there is structure, they get a decent education (including after school tutoring) and quite a bit of love.  The Mexican government kicks in very little money but the gringo community here is very generous.  When it became possible for them to buy a six building complex (they had been crammed into one small building) three wealthy gringos each wrote a check for $100K and then the community fixed it up.

There are 65 children between 6 months and 18 years there.  They cannot be adopted because they have parents and under Mexican law they cannot be put up for adoption if the parents are alive.  Thus, most spend their entire childhoods at LiA.  This place would drive people who are into regulation, rules and restraint over the edge.  I kind of liked the ambiance.  As we walked up, six boys were pig piling on the grass and generally working each other over.  When they saw that we were there they unpiled and ran up smiling.  Over the course of the afternoon they would scale a large glass fronted meat case and perch on top kicking the glass with their sneakers, clamber onto numerous unstable objects and two would get hit in the heads with swings.  Coming from a culture in which physical contact between kids is frowned upon and adults go to great lengths to prevent any possible injury this was a cultural adjustment (crisis) for me as I cringed and flinched my way through the afternoon constantly biting my tongue.  They all survived.

While on one hand they have tremendous freedom, on the other it is a very disciplined environment.  There is a schedule posted on the wall and it is followed.  No food is consumed without grace being said. All homework is completed under supervision and there are no excuses.  Por favor and gracias are insisted upon.  It's kind of like Sister Mary Francis meets The Dead End Kids (only 3 of you are old enough to remember that show).  Anyway, the kids are adorable and we really enjoyed our time with them so this will be an ongoing relationship we hope.

Deirdre helping a new friend with water colors

Mugging for the camera

Deirdre with two new friends

One More Random Thing

A Revised History of our House -

We had our neighbor Malcolm and his wife over for drinks.  Malcolm owns a B&B and resembles the professor in Back to the Future both in looks and mindset.  He has lived in Ajijic for 25 years and regaled us with tales of Timothy Leary and the crew rolling through town.  As we were giving him a tour of the house he told us the "real" story -- real being a very vague word in Mexico.  According to Malcolm our house was not built by two gay guys from Guadalajara as a party house.  More distressingly, it was built by an ex-Naxi General named Rolf (they always are) for his son and his wife.  They must have been swingers --what with it being the 70s/80s and having all the mirrors, unicorns and mermaids.  Spawn of a Nazi and swingers -- indeed a tawdry past.  As I told my friend Phillip, next we'll be told it was built for Shari Lewis and Lambchop--that really would be distressing.

Well, that's it for this week.  Hope all of you are fine and having fun.  Take care and keep those comments and updates coming.

We'll leave you with a few more pictures of our beautiful village.

Colors of the village

Looking at the mountains from the village

A carved statue in the plaza

A colorful store in the village

A colorful house

Sunset on Lake Chapala