Headed South: October 2013

Since we have come to Mexico we have not gone a month, perhaps not a week, sometimes not two days, without a fiesta. And, not to mislead you, there have been fiestas this month. It is just that we have not partaken of them because of: 1) Michael's knee; 2) an evil sinus infection; and 3) the angst of real estate transactions (more on that later). So, we've missed the Month of Fiesta in Guadalajara and the triumphant return of the Virgin from her romp about the lake. But, once more in fine fettle, we are gearing up for Day of the Dead at the end of October and promise more photos of prancing, dancing and partying. But to attend to the reasons we have been fiesta-less -- with the exception of the sinus infection which is just too disgusting to dwell on.

A Knee Update

Won't you be glad when he is totally healed and we don't have to go into this? I will. Anyway, Michael has proven an exceptional patient and is now cavorting about the house and tap dancing on the cobblestones without so much as his walking stick. This is due to the fact that he has been scrupulous about performing seventeen hours a day of physical therapy. This involves working out in the exercise casita, water aerobics in the pool and lying on the bed constricting his stomach muscles -- which I don't understand but seems to work. He has been injected with some miracle goo which is supposed to lubricate him for some indeterminate number of months and, all in all, things are peachy. End of that.

Michael in the pool for fifteen minutes of leg kicks (just one part of his pool regimen).

Michael on the bed doing his pillow leg squeezes (again just one part of the regimen).

Why Real Estate is Not About Trust

There are reasons there are contracts. And there are reasons there are very specific contracts. And now we vividly understand all those reasons. And it has been a pain. In "the contract" we bought our new house and its "entire contents". Well, there were a few exclusions in the second version of the contract. Very specific. Two decorative plates, five copper clad pans, 3-5 serving pieces. I mean THAT is specific. Good. But then, we're not quite sure when, two words were added. Personal items. I noted them first while reviewing the contract at our lawyer's. "Where did that come from?" I asked Michael. "Hmmm. Don't know." We talked to our agent and we said: "Here is the definition of personal items. Clothes. Toiletries. That's it." He agreed, talked to the other agent who swore he talked to the woman packing her house who also agreed. Okay. Fine. Reiterated this with both agents multiple times. No problem. Until....

The closing date kept slipping. It was because they had a mortgage and a trust -- two very unusual things in our cash-only economy. But we were cool with it since we didn't have to move until November. The agents gave us the keys to the place so we could start some work. Michael had taken a complete photo inventory of the house's contents. Good Michael. Very good Michael. Because, when we took a peek around, we realized things were missing. Many things. Like 75 things. Some quite valuable. Upon inquiry, it appears the owner felt that Wedding Gifts (not stipulated) were personal items. And she must have had a lovely wedding. My demeanor was that of a rabid terrier as I began the quest for the return of the items. I really do dislike being snookered. A lot. While Michael's approach was businesslike and taciturn, I concentrated on wiping the froth from my jaws and going for the jugular. Poor realtors. They behaved admirably, and the vast majority of items were returned and financial compensation provided for the few items that remained elusive. Like the beautiful towel rack with the hand hewn copper plate. "My dead brother made that for me," she said. Obviously it was so dear to her that she failed to list it --while listing her five copper clad pans. Really. But even a rabid terrier can only traverse the bounds of decency so far.... so enjoy dear lady.

The Forest for the Trees

It pays to have a sense of humor. I was seated at the dining room table surveying the bounty which had been returned to our rightful ownership while Damien, our new gardener, was watering the interior plants. I glanced over my shoulder towards where he was watering a particularly splendid specimen when I noted that a small rug under the plant had its corner turned back. Wait... What was that? Why was there plywood where travertine tile should be? I inquired "Que es eso?" He replied "Escalera secreta" Huh? Secret staircase? What? Well, it turns out there used to be a staircase going from the living room to the casita. Now you reach it via an outdoor staircase. But why? Why wouldn't you put in tiles? Why??? Quien sabe as we say. While obsessing about the return of the missing items, we might have spent more time focusing on things like.... well, secret staircases. Live and learn. No big deal. We hope.

The Insanity NOB

Clearly this whole fiasco with the shutdown and the debt ceiling is too much for me to get into. However, I was driving the other day listening to talk radio. It was, of course, in Spanish, but I did manage to get the drift. The two female reporters were discussing Obamacare and it went sort of like this:
"Ayyyee. I don't understand why all the americanos are so angry about Obamacare. Do they not want their poor people to have insurance?"

"Si.... many of them think it is terrible."

"But why? America is rich. We have Seguro Popular for our poor people and Mexico is not rich like them. Do they want the poor people to die?"

"Some of them think that the Communists will come if they have Obamcare I think."

"But, we are not Communist. What do you do if you are sick and you do not have money in America? Do you just stay home and die?"

"No..... well, maybe. "

This went on for quite a while. They just couldn't wrap their heads around the concept that America would reject giving medical treatment to all their people. Neither can I.

A Related Note

I became so incensed after listening to another statement on the news by Cruz about how Obamacare was the end of the world as we know it, that I wrote a letter to the N.Y. Times. I had just talked to our 27 year old son Justin who had investigated the California exchange for health care options. I was spurred by outrage and two glasses of wine (oh-- only ONE Santiago). He has been paying $192 per month with a $8k deductible and $50 copay. He was quoted $65 with a $500 deductible and $15 copay after subsidies. They emailed me the next morning and it ran the next day. People need to start getting these stories out. But don't feel pressured.

The Pepper Spray Bandit

Yes, we live in the land of banditos. It's true. But this one is a gringo. He hit the village last year robbing many houses in Rancho del Oro (Gold Ranch-- but what's in a name, eh?). Despite quite an accurate description-- gringo, 5/9" tall, pony tail, ball cap, shorts, silver Jeep, skinny legs etc. -- our crack police force was unable to capture him and his cohorts. He is called the Pepper Spray Bandit for the obvious reason. If confronted while doing his nefarious deeds, he zaps the person with pepper spray and takes off. After about three months of eluding our finest protective services, he headed off for greener fields when the heat intensified.

Now, he's back. Only this time it is La Floresta. The leafy, tree shaded neighborhood east of us populated by Gringos with many plasma TVs and muchas computadoras. But just to tell you how ballsy this guy is..... An old gringo came home to witness his electronics being loaded into the now infamous silver Jeep. As the Pepper Spray Bandit leapt into his car to make his get away, our own brave geriatric floored his car and followed him through the quiet streets of La Floresta. As they approached the carreterra and the possibility of encountering policia increased, the Pepper Spray Bandit threw on the brakes. He jumped out of the car, brandishing a tire iron and his Pepper Spray and ran towards the pursuing geriatric. Allegedly he beat up the gringos car with the tire iron and sprayed him with the spray. Now, here is where having a youthful brain and reflexes would have been good. Rather than flooring it and running the Pepper Spray Bandit over, probably not an offense in Mexico, the guy retreated. Boo but understandable.

La Floresta has its own security force. He's dealing with a different breed of cat now. This guy has upped the ante. He has enraged the La Floresta Protective Services. On each entrance to the neighborhood is posted a large full color poster stating "Se buscan" (we're looking for them). You'll love it. I've got a gas mask in my car and I'm keeping my eyes peeled. More later.

We're looking for them!

One of the accomplices of "The Pepper Spray" bandit.

"The Pepper Spray Bandit" himself!

And I Thought It Was Just a Ratty Hotel

You know we've never had a very successful trip to the coast. And our first was no exception. I thought we were going to La Manzanilla but I got confused and booked us into Manzanillo. Come on, they're close. So, I got us a room at La Posada which was touted to be right on the Ocean and the most established hotel in the area. Well, it was pretty run down and very, very pink. And the restaurant/bar was filled with Canadians and Americans who seemed to start drinking at about 11AM and stopped... well, never. So, we did our time and left and vowed never to go there again. Case closed.

Then I happened upon an article in the Times or Esquire about Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters. You remember them. I KNOW you remember them. It turns out when Kesey was on the lam with his wife and pregnant mistress, and the rest of the fun-filled gang, they hung out at ..... you guessed it.... the beach right next to La Posada. Hurrah! A reason to have stayed there! They interviewed the guy who owned it and the guy who was a big mover and shaker in those circles then but they didn't illuminate much. By their own admissions, they were so stoned all the time that they have only vague memories or maybe flashbacks or maybe repressed memories or maybe.... Well, anyway, at least I now have something interesting to say about that trip to the coast.

Vino Blanco -- Homeless?

Many will remember Vino Blanco, the white donkey, that was willed from Pedro Loco to Yves prior to Pedro's death. Well, Vino has been happily grazing in front of Yves' restaurant ever since greeting his peeps and munching lavishly on the scraps from the restaurant. (Note photo of portly, yet still adorable, Vino.) Now, rumor has it, Yves has to move his restaurant up to near the carreterra -- hardly a suitable environment for a donkey used to rambling beachside at his whim. This, of course, is all rumor. But everything in Mexico is rumor until a week or two after the fact and sometimes even then. But fear not. This is the most animal-centric community I have ever lived in. They'll be lining up to adopt him. A report shall follow.

The latest photo of Vino Blanco.

Murals

I know this is getting long but the muralists have been busy. Just since Michael's been out of commission new murals have popped up around town. So yesterday we had a ramble on his newly constituted legs and snapped some shots. Note the Mother and Child Manatee portrait. This is a highly sentimental view of the manatees of Lake Chapala since they were beaten to dispatched and eaten before any of them could even become romantically involved (See earlier blog on manatees as method of water hyacinth control). Well, honestly and truly, this is it. Done. No more. Take care.