Monday, January 28, 2013

Where is the Macho?

Mexico- Land of the Macho?

Think Zorro.  Pancho Villa.  Antonio Banderas.  A bunch of swarthy guys in skirts.  Honestly, machismo has been taking some serious hits in our little Village.  We first noticed the local penchant for dressing up as extraordinarily buxom ladies at The New Years Parade.  An inordinate (well in our view at least)  number of parade participants were decked out in outfits straight out of the Women's Plus Size aisles of Sears.  And they were really grooving on it.  Blowing kisses, wiggling hips, sashaying with an insouciance even Marilyn would have envied.  I assumed it was like a Mexican Hasty Pudding thing -- although, in all honesty, I've felt those Harvard boys enjoyed the cross dressing aspect of the event a little too intensely. So, anyway, we figured the local stone masons, plumbers, and other prototypically macho professionals got in touch with their feminine side once a year and then slipped back into their jeans and boots and swaggered away.

And then it happened again.....

The Festival of San Sebastian

Oh, I didn't mean to frighten you with that segue.  San Sebastian was not a transvestite.  I don't think.
He probably did wear a toga though.  But I digress.  So here's the background on Sebastian.  He was a Roman captain of the Praetorian Guard who secretly converted many pagans to Christianity in the third century A.D.  Well, they say secretly, but obviously it wasn't secretly enough because Diocletian found out and ordered him executed by a cadre of ace archers.  This story is just RIDDLED with inaccuracies!  Obviously they weren't "ace archers" because he survived and was nursed back to health by a woman named Irene.  What kind of name is that for a Roman woman?  Anyway, Sebastian denounced the emperor for his cruelty and the Emperor (proving the point rather effectively) retaliated by having him beaten to death.  Twice martyred, once dead.  So Ajijic has a barrio named San Sebastian and each year the neighborhood devotes an entire day and night to celebrating the life and near death and actual death of San Sebastian.

 Just after dawn the devotees met at the Rosario Chapel on the Plaza to pick up San Sebastian and transport him (it's not only Virgins who get to ramble!) to his shrine at the corner of Emilio Zapata and Marcos Castellanos for a 7AM mass.  Then the whole neighborhood has breakfast together in the street.  Then they go to work.  Then they come back and have another really huge meal together in the street at 2PM.  After eating for two full hours, they crank it up for a parade back through town to reinstall Sebastian in the Chapel. (Hold on, I'm getting to the cross dressing thing eventually.)  In the parade there are men toting large clay pots filled with "typical feasting foods" and long boards on which are many loaves of home baked tachihual (I have no idea what that is) bread sporting white frosting, red sugar sprinkles and sweets.  They are followed by a string of floats depicting the martyred Saint and the neighborhood beauty queens.  In what I consider a stretch of the imagination, the beauty queens represent the ancient legend of an indigenous princess who bathed in El Ojo del Agua, a spring that is said to have inspired the town's name.  But I can't see how.  Well, let's just forget that.

Now, come the sayaca dancers!  History first.  As with everything here, there are two (or more) stories about where the sayaca tradition comes from.  Story #1:  Right before the Spanish arrived, a couple came to Ajijic and they were oddly attired and pretty much out of their minds.  The local curendera (think shaman) was trying to do her best with them but they just followed her around pirouetting and jabbering and stuff.  The locals, showing a distinct lack of political correctness, taunted them and called them sayacas which loosely seems to have evolved from a word for slip or elaborate dress.  Story #2:  A little more modern.  A deranged woman named Xicantzi would burst from the mental hospitalita (the hospice next to the little church where San Sebastian resides) whenever strangers came to town.  She wore very odd clothing and would follow men through the streets trying to kiss them.  When they refused, she threw face powder at them from her purse.  I like #2.  Although how Xicantzi translates to sayaca escapes me.  So here is how it plays out.  We won't explore why the sayacas are in a parade for San Sebastian because the only possible answer is: "Quien sabe?"

In the parade you also see a pretty huge crowd of boys between the ages of roughly eight to eighteen.  The are running ahead of the sayacas and they are taunting them to try to chase them.  There is, of course, a tuba band (banda) in back of the sayacas providing inspirational music so they can cavort and mince and pirouette down the street.  Half (or more) of the sayacas are dressed as women (see I did get to it) and half as men.  Well, you'll see the photos.  They all have sachels or handbags that are filled with flour or confetti.  At random intervals, the sayacas will have had it with the taunting and will run into the crowd of boys and pour flour on them or hit them with confetti eggs.  This inspires a mini stampede down the street.  It is pandemonium. Flour flying, people scrambling, music blaring....fun.

Okay, so now San Sebastian is back at the chapel being tenderly returned to his spot after a pretty full day.  The sayacas are outside doing silly things to amuse the throngs.  But are we done?  Mais non!  Now it is time to go back to the neighborhood to get the street party going.  The party is fueled by punch laced with God only knows how much alcohol.  This is to get people in the right frame of mind for Papaqui.  Papaqui is a frenzied mock battle in which cascarones -- brightly colored eggs stuffed with confetti-- are hurled at anyone within range.  I continue to ponder how they get the confetti in the eggs.  If you know, please tell me.  Anyway, the throng mills about until local mariachis begin to sing a traditional song filled with humorous references to San Sebastian's life.  I have failed to see anything humorous about San Sebastian's life but my Spanish is still quite poor so maybe I've missed something. When the song begins, it is the signal to start pelting people with eggs ferociously.  This continues until there are no more eggs.  Then a band tunes up and the folks rock out until the early hours of the morning. Remember -- they were up getting San Sebastian BEFORE 7 AM mass.  That's stamina.

Well, it turn out that we will be seeing more of the sayacas.  They are part of the whole Carnaval scene that is already beginning to unfold.  A parade today (covered in next blog), then next Sunday and then I think every day in the week leading to Mardi Gras. Whew.

Sayacas on parade 

Some sayacas even show a little midriff !

The statue of San Sebastian complete with arrows, followed by men carrying the tachihual bread.

No parade would be complete without a life size depiction of San Sebastian.

No parade would be complete without los ninos and more tachihual bread.

Another sayaca followed by the band.

A float with the young beauty queens (or princesses) of San Sebastian.

The masks of the sayacas are truly amazing!

The sayacas dancing in the plaza.


Another House Tour

We went on another house tour this week.  It wasn't as good as the first one but it was still pretty good. Since I have gone on and on and on about San Sebastian (not that he isn't worth it) I think I will just discuss the house we liked the best.  Next blog I may feature the one with the really tarty bedroom -- not as tarty as ours but pretty bad.  AH!  Perhaps a contest between our bedroom and that one.  Excellent.

So this house started out as a Bed and Breakfast.  It has a main house and then a casita with two bedrooms and the biggest bathroom I've seen outside of Newport mansions.  It is one of those houses that even though it is really big seems very cozy.  I would buy this house if I had gazillion dollars and was willing to off the current residents.  So, I will let the pictures speak for themselves once more.


No house in Mexico is complete without their very own burro.
Creativity is everywhere --- even in the bathroom. Note the matching wastebasket & toilet.


Even the entry ways are beautifully decorated.
The domed ceilings with the windows are wonderful for adding light to the rooms.

The paneled wood doors are a creative way to close off the kitchen  or have an "open concept".

Colorful tiles add accents to the kitchen.

Because of the year round temperate climate, outdoor living space is utilized a lot.

Another view of the outdoor "living room".

Even the headboards on the bed are decorative.

Creativity abounds on the walls.

No house here is complete without the obligatory pool.

Here you can take a bath with a view. . .

or use the shower instead. This is the bathroom for the casita!

The house opens out onto a patio with a fountain.


The Breakfast Club

Almost every Thursday night we go out to dinner with The Breakfast Club (based on the iconic film of the same name).  We like the irony of the dinner/breakfast thing too.  Anyway, when Michael and I first arrived here, we were invited to this dinner and met lots of interesting people many of whom have become very good friends.  Over the summer, the average number would be around 15 or 20 people.  Last Thursday it was 56.  It makes for a diverting time.  Restauranteurs love us needless to say and with these numbers Wes (our organizer) has significant clout to get specials and deals.  But anyway, last Thursday we went to a restaurant called The Peacock Garden.  Thought you might enjoy some pictures.  I do believe that the U.S. health inspectors might have a bit of a problem with the co-mingling
of poultry (live) and persons.  Worry warts.

The "peacock" of The Peacock Garden.

This rooster decided to join us.

A few of our friends ...

and a few more of our friends!


A Thought on Parenting

I met an American woman (younger-- but isn't everyone?) who is married to a Mexican man.  They have a little daughter.  She said that it made her crazy that her husband was always saying:  "Rosa, please bring me a glass of water."  "Rosa, please open the window."  "Rosa, please take my dish to the sink".  Finally, she'd had it and told him that he was treating the kid like a slave.  Why didn't he get up and do the things himself.  And he said," That's the problem with you norteamericanos.  We teach our children that it is their job to take care of us.  That's why when we get old they bring us into their houses and take care of us and feel it is the right thing to do.  You are all the time doing things for your kids and spoiling them and then you don't understand why they put you in a nursing home."  She shut up.  Probably too late for all of us.  Oh well.

Onward!

So we move onward to Carnaval.  Everybody is doing fine.  Justin's film (well, not his but you know what I mean) is in its third week of filming.  Alex is enjoying a week with his good friend Robbie in Vieques and Michael is wrapping up his audit for Lake Chapala Society (thank the Lord!).  Betsy and Fred will be jetting in from Boston in less than two weeks for a visit.  Planning is in full swing for a trip to Portugal and Spain in the spring.  Please let us know what you are up to.  We miss you.



Sunday, January 20, 2013

There Were No Parades....

this week! But there was

Charro!

No, no. Not the weird singer/dancer woman who captivated Ed McMahon. That's Charo.  Charro is a cult-like (but not icky) group of horse people whose lives revolve around the charra.  The charra is kind of like a rodeo but with no scary clowns and smaller bulls and better riding.  First, the cult type stuff.  According to a local friend, you are either born into a charro family or you are not.  Once you are, you will attend every meaningful event in your life dressed in full charro garb. Baptism, Marriage, Funeral -- probably first day of school.   As will everyone you know because you hang with mostly only other charro folk because you spend almost every waking moment on a horse doing charro-y things.

You will be placed on a horse as soon as your legs can span its back.  You will be lashed to the saddle (in a kind manner) until your legs get longer.  If you are a boy you will learn to do sophisticated rope tricks,  grab a steer by its tail at a gallop and throw it to the ground and leap from one horse to another (with no saddle or bridle) at full throttle.  If uncoordinated, you will probably be dead by age five.  By the time you are twenty you will be doing these things with a bottle of tequila in your hand.

If you are a girl, by the time you are six or seven you will be able to ride sidesaddle at very high velocity in a ring with eight other girls and horses at very high velocity and crisscross each other in intricate patterns missing each other by inches. Your mother will probably take a lot of Xanax or drink heavily.  Actually, your mother probably did the same thing twenty years before.

This charra featured a boy of perhaps 12 or 13 who was the overall champion of all events charro.  Whether he was the Junior or regular champion we never figured out but he was....words fail me.  He:
1) did rope tricks on ground and horse which included standing on the back of his horse and jumping through the lasso from side to side multiple times; 2) made the horse dance with steps more intricate than the Rockettes could master; 3) bunches of other stuff too hard to explain.

While seated stupefied, I began to realize that the life of a big time charro is not cheap.  Just the outfits alone cost a bucket.  Then, it looks like you have multiple horses (dancing horse, roping horse etc.), serious tack (lots of silver and I don't think it's fake), horse trailers, stables, lassos, tequila... well, it all adds up.  So, charro is to Mexico what polo is to England.  You can render your socio-economic conclusions from there.

As always, in Mexico, being part of the audience is always as diverting as what you have come to witness.  You have lots of time to interact with your peers because everything always starts late. We know we haven't fully assimilated because we simply cannot yet manage to be even ten minutes late for anything.  And anything counted in minutes doesn't even qualify as late in Mexico.  So, there we were sitting on the hard concrete seats in the bullring with some time to kill.  Bored?  But non!  To our right behind us were seated the mothers of the small girls who would within minutes be hurling themselves around the ring on steeds that were about 20 times their weight.  They braided hair, laughed without a care and did cheers and songs to support the offspring.  Young entrepreneurs stalked the stands trying to sell rebozos (shawls) on a day that had to be 80 degrees. More work on marketing needed.

And then, there was the borracho.  Now those of you who have been following the blog since the early days may remember our references to the town drunk (see Globos festival and a few other posts).  This is a man of endless good cheer, endless inebriation and, we now know, significant coordination.  As we were seated in the stands munching jicima with chile and lime (exquisite!) we spotted the borracho dancing with abandon to the blaring banda music supplied to keep us entertained prior to the event.  He danced along the railing and benches, he tottered above the ring, he bobbed, he weaved.  He balanced a cup high above his head, twirling, never spilling a drop.  He capped off his performance with a series of cartwheels performed high above the bullring.  The crowd was appreciative.  Meanwhile, the audience continued to consume margaritas, beers and street food in huge amounts.  Polishing off his supply of drink, the borracho unfurled a black plastic garbage bag from his pocket and made his way through the stands collecting empties.  Within ten minutes, his bag was full, his money collected and his next round of drink supplied.  A man with a plan.

The thing about the village is that people just seem to take people for who they are.  The borracho is the borracho.  Give him your empties, don't sermonize.  If he looks like he's going to be run over, pull him out of the way.  There's room here to be who you are.  Which leads us to our next, and rather sad, tale.
El borracho dancing for the crowd...
and el borracho turning cartwheels
Adelita appears even at the charro


Dancing in pairs is also part of the entertainment at the charro...


as well as dancing alone.


No charro is complete without lariat skills ...

and even more lariat skills...
and lariat skills on a horse!
Kids, don't try this at home!


No charro is complete without colorful costumes...


pretty women & handsome men.



The colors are spectacular...


as well as the skills involved in dancing on a clay pot!

As Deirdre mentioned, the charro tradition begins very early, even for the women.

The skills in riding sidesaddle...

while executing intricate maneuvers on the horse are impressive at any age!

You can get an idea of how the horse is "dancing" by the direction of the tail.

Note how the horse has all its weight on one leg!

Most of us have trouble sitting a horse, let alone standing...

or staying on when the horse rears up...

or kneels down...



or sits down!

Riding bareback on one horse & then jumping to another horse!

Finally no charro is complete without bull riding.
Pedro Loco Will Be Missed

Once again, I call on you to remember prior blogs where we have spoken of Pedro Loco.  A quick catcher-upper for the newcomers.  When we first came to Ajijic we were walking along and spotted a tall guy dressed all in white and festooned with feathers, jewelry and really good cowboy boots.  Not your average Joe-- even in a quirky town.  We saw him everywhere and he was a very pleasant guy -- if a little vague.  Like almost everything in Mexico there were numerous, contradictory explanations, descriptions of who he was, where he came from etc. etc.  We knew that he owned Vino Blanco at some point and it was rumored that he was a high powered lawyer who chucked it all and came to live here.  That was enough for us.

Shortly after New Years we heard that he had died.  And only through his obit and talking to some friends did we find out "his story".  It turned out he was Canadian and a very successful criminal lawyer.  He came from two very wealthy, established families in Canada and had left his practice at 55 (12 years ago) and moved to Ajijic.  He had neurological problems at that time and then developed Alzheimer's.  What components of his new Ajjic persona were dictated by his medical state we'll never know.  He really was a fixture in the town and his picture was in ads and he had special seats at bars dedicated to him alone.  Ajijic does embrace the unusual.  Well, he had decided that when things got too bad, he'd just take care of the situation.  And he did.  At the memorial service, his son and relatives spoke lovingly of a man who must have been quite different than the man we were acquainted with.  But, in both of his lives, he seemed to have brought happiness and a smile to those around him.  Not a bad legacy.

Pedro Loco will be sorrowfully missed on the streets of Ajijic,...

goodbye Pedro Loco.


On to Other News 

 It is well known that American politics is dysfunctional.  And Congress is just getting beaten up badly -- and deserves it.  But, I cannot, in good conscience, let my American friends think that we live in political nirvana.  Actually, you probably DIDN'T think that but let me elaborate.  Mexico has changed its immigration laws.  I will tell you about it.

1)  Eighteen months ago, they passed the new law.  But writing the whole thing out was really boring so the legislature just kind of did an outline and threw it to the bureaucrats who are mostly their really stupid brother-in-laws.
2)  They mostly went on vacation or did Sudoku for seventeen months and then dashed off some stuff to fill in the outline so they could release it in November.
3)  It didn't make any sense then and still doesn't but the government implementers swear it is all very clear and succinct even though every lawyer or facilitator (hired by gringo's to penetrate the veil of obscurity) gives a contradictory interpretation.
4)  We care because we have to change our status.  From FM3 (No Immigrante) to either Temporary or Permanent -- by April 13.  But no one who has filed since this fall has received their completed documents.  And you can't leave the country without them unless you pay even more money and submit more paperwork into the gaping maw that is the immigration department.
5) If we go Permanent, we may have to drive our car to Texas, sell it and come back and buy a car in Mexico because customs doesn't talk to immigration and........ I just can't go on.  There's more but I'll spare you.

So, don't feel so bad.

One Last Odd Death-Related Thing

The following was in the Guadalajara Reporter this week (English language newspaper)

"A 38 year old man in a rural community outside Lagos de Moreno has been charged with the stabbing death of his curandero (folk healer) after paying more that $300 for a 'spiritual cleansing' that 'didn't
work'".            CLEARLY!

Okay.  On to another week.  I promise no more death oriented pieces for a while.  This week we go on another House Tour (let me know if you want a reprise of this one) and may venture to Guadalajara to confront the forces of Seguro Popular (national health insurance) on their own turf.  Take care.