Five Star Crossing

Upper echelon titans of industry and congressional types travel all the time.  Nothing short of the best for those VIP characters.  I'm sure they were thinking about the titanic or some other news worthy disaster when they visited the "Last Frontier" out here in the Big Bend.  The crossing at Boquillas on the row boat and the donkey ride up the hill might have gotten their attention.  But I guess these power players are used to row boats and donkeys.   These guys were actually heading to Mexico and not leaving the country post election.  To there credit they had in some way contributed to the magnificent wildlife preserve just across the river in Mexico called the El Carmen Land and Conservation Project.  400,000 acres of pristine high desert with no grazing.  There are bighorn sheep, elk, bear, mule and whitetail deer and mountain lion roaming free and natural in this amazing place.  I was on board as the medical support for this group along with the Mexican equivalent of the Green Berets as bodyguards.  The need for both of us became evident watching them hunt quail.  Don't think anything of it....hunting on the conservation land....the quail were not in any danger.  It's good to know that maybe some people are still interested in preserving what is left.  Who knows, maybe on there next visit they may take advantage of the hospitality industry glut on in the region.
It's a new beginning I think.

The Last High Board

The pool at the City Park was a very symmetrical hard concrete hole in the ground.  It usually received a new paint job each summer before opening to the enthusiastic locals.  I know that because I lived just a few hundred yards from the concrete monster.  It was sort of a scary place for me.  I wasn’t a good swimmer then and it got deep really quick.  “The ROPE”, was the place of drown or move.  You could never ever hold onto the “ROPE”.  The rope was those huge faded buoys that separated the shallow from the deep.  The City Park pool had one amazing thing....A high board.  Back then it seemed really high and scary.  Only the most daredevil at heart or the those really young water bugs seemed to enjoy it.  I would make myself jump once a visit.  Since I didn’t go much as I wasn’t allowed to go alone.  “Whatever”.  It scared the shit out of me.  

High boards are gone now.  I can’t remember the last time I saw one anywhere.  Lawsuits, litigation, and carelessness have doomed them.  Just like most of the things we grew up with.  So, I was feeling the need to blow some bubbles and when you live in Terlingua Texas ....bubbles usually a long way away except for Balmorhea State Park.  Built in the 1930’s by those awesome civilian conservation corp dudes. It’s a big natural spring and now is a pool of sorts.  And yes....no lifeguard and a high board.  Seemed like it was higher in the old days but a high board no doubt.  So, just know if you ever get the chance or the need to get that wedgy enema , there is still one out there.

Taxco in the rear view

Well, it's been a wild and enjoyable ride.  I will be heading back to the land of lunacy very soon and I have to say that I'm ready for some Sushi, Chinese food (yes the irony is not lost), and a good juicy cheeseburger.   Those of course will happen in due time.  There is pretty much nothing in Mexico I do not like.  I love the places, the people, the food , the culture and most of all the life itself.  The one thing I do not like is the accepted amount of crime.  Yes the US has it too but I am happy it's not an accepted part of out culture.  This is a picture of "ladrones" or thieves stealing a ton of building material from the roof across the street from my balcony.  There is no telling how many people watched this and nothing happened.  It took these two guys an hour to carry this stuff to a waiting truck in plain view.  I yelled at them a couple of times but they didn't even look up or stop.  So, I hope we never get there with out complacency.   We certainly have out problems and they might be much greater but please let's not forget what our actions do to other people.

Good bye Taxco and my super Mask guy.  I came here 25 years ago in search of traditional dance masks from the highlands and I walked into his little junk shop  after 25 years and he remembered me.   I remembered him too.  After one encounter 25 years ago.  Amigos for life I'm sure.   Vive Mexico.....

Move over Gordon Ramsey

Occasionally you stumble on some little place to eat that you know is going to be special.  Some hawker stall or little food stand somewhere that has just the right mix of smells and looks.  The cook usually isn’t young and they all have that look, “I don’t care if you eat here, fool”.  You just know that they know it’s going to be your lose.  Maria Elena’s was just that place.  The smells where hard to pin down.  Something frying, something boiling, smells of peppers and stews.  Maria Elena was just a bit over 4 feet tall.  Barely able to look over her own counter.  She most certainly didn’t care if you eat at her stall or any one of the others that were yelling at me.   Some of her competitors had their youngest cutest women yelling at the gringo.  It didn’t matter you just knew Maria Elena’s was the place.  Move over Gordon Ramsey, there is a new sheriff in town.

Maria cooked me the best Milanesa I have had in my months in Mexico.  No question.  She brought me the plate and with my first bite I was so happy I forgot about my butt pain from the 6 x 6 inch tiny stool I was forced to sit on.  It came with spaghetti.  Now, I have been to Mexico many times but on this trip everyone seems to serve spaghetti with everything.  They serve it with fish, sushi, meat, tacos, just about everything.  It’s the new black beans of Mexico.   Maria quickly brought me some tortillas and I could feel her watch me over her counter as I let them sit on my table and continued destroying my food.  For some reason Maria was not pleased with my decision to ignore her tortillas.  She came back around the counter and pointed to the tortillas with a less than pleased look.  “Tortillas son aqui”, she told me.  To be honest this woman scared me.  I did as I was told.  I had tortillas and spaghetti and smiled all the way through.  She was finally satisfied that I had it down but continued to watch me from behind her counter.   I was finally able to break the cycle by focusing on how to get a straw out of a half liter coke bottle.  NO, it didn’t float up to the surface every time.  Any of you engineers out there will have to give me a hint.  Regular bottles no problem.  Half liter is a problem.    If you have just a little over two bucks to blow in Taxco.  I would go to Maria Elena’s in the old part of the Las Palmas market.  She is near the back or just follow your nose.

RIP Old Friend

Taxco was hopping last night.  I’m not sure what the festival was but it was great.  Lot’s of people chasing each other around the plaza with these big animal figures all on fire with fireworks.  A few got away from them into the crowd which made it interesting.  This big tower came alive with fireworks that were over in about 20 seconds.  A crazy amount of work for just a few seconds.  All of it could have been out of a festival a hundred years ago.  

In honor of the festival I decided to make a change.  Brief I’m sure but a change.  I said good bye to a friend that has been with me for about 40 years.  Most of you have never known me without him around.  He was some maintenance and could cause some trouble sometimes, but most of the time he was just there for me.   There was some apprehension to see him go I have to admit, and the feel of him not being there has not settled in yet.  RIP my old friend.  I’m sure we will be seeing each other again up the road.  

The Touts of Taxco and other Mindreaders

Hesitate once, look side to side, have a camera around your neck, or have a map in your hand and they will own you.  It looks harmless at first.  They walk up and point to something or they offer some small suggestion as you walk by.  The next thing you know, they are leading you by the nose.  Mind control?  Maybe.  More likely they have refined the art of contact and often these days they are in disguise.  Touts and hawkers are all over the world.  Come to this restaurant or do you want to know the history of that building.  Maybe it's,  "want some silver at the best price".   They have always been here but this trip they seem everywhere.  The guys in the picture without a tourist vest are touts. Sneaky touts for sure.  They look like grandfathers and are actually controlling the "tour guides" with the vests on.  In fact they intercept the "marks" as they run away from the guys with the vests and shirts and big credential neck tags.  I was sitting the other day watching them work and it is true art.  They read the minds of the tourists in the street and then pounce on them.  Just a word or two then they let them go only to catch them again off guard when they return.  The tourists are primed for the kill.  Sometimes they catch and release then move to the other side of the plaza and fry them when they walk across.  I wonder if anyone ever thinks ..."how did this guy get over here so fast"?

So I would advise, look down, walk fast, stop for nothing, no camera around the neck, bag your souvenirs, and eat early.  I wish you luck.

100 Square Feet of San Miguel

It has been years since I have been to San Miguel de Allende.  So much has changed and so much has stayed the same.  English is heard as often as Spanish and the price of real estate is ridiculous.  The last time I was there it was all coming but had not yet arrived.  What is still there is a charm and vibe that is undeniable.  The city has changed but some parts still retain a sense of how things used to be.  My favorite place is a small plaza tucked away at the end of Recreo and the Parque Juarez.  Blink and you will miss it.  It is about 100 by 100 square with a perfect palm tree gracing the center.  It was the place the washing was done many years ago.  There is still the aqueduct and the washing troughs around the plaza.  It's a meeting place for Mexican tour groups who come to hear the story and see the park.  It  is also my favorite place to site and enjoy the evenings watching the groups come through.

My favorite tour guide is Lonzo.  He pulls out a wolf mask and reenacts the legend of the people of San Miguel.  He also gets his patrons to laugh and sing and do all sorts of things the other guides could not possibility do.  The Musicians are Carlos and his wife, Gloria.  They are there every evening working for a few pesos and enjoying a few minutes of fame.  They also sell a ball or two of cheese there.  In fact I'm eating it now.  So, if you come to San Miguel please wander down the washing plaza and sit for awhile.  Carlos and Gloria may even play you a song.

Taxco .925 pure

I love Taxco.  I have sine the first time I came here more than 25 years ago.  My last trip here was about 9 years ago and little has changed.  The plaza has gotten a face lift of sorts.  Some new paint and a few signs but it's basically the same place it was.  Over run with silver shops on every street.  The are next to each other, on top of each other, back to back, and diagonal from each other.  All offer the best prices on the all important .925 pure silver.  The silver history is an amazing one.  Too long for a post but still amazing on how it all started with an American named Spratling from NOLA.  He was roommates with W. Faulkner in a little apartment on Pirates Alley if you know the French Quarter.  He came here in the late 20's and early 30's and created this industry.  A fair number of the designs you ladies wear in your Mexican silver are his and started here.  His one time lover Donald Cordaroy was a teacher at UT- Austin.  They both collected traditional dance masks from the old days.  That was the reason I came here the first time.  Yes, I'm a mask chaser.  Oh yes, there are a few Halloween stories in there too but that will have to wait.

Taxco seems to be completely up hill.  Is that possible?  Any engineers out there?  Yes, all uphill.  The streets are extremely narrow which accounts for the VW beetles humming around.  Beetles make up the majority of taxis in Taxco.  It would be good research to find out how many people you could cram into a beetle with the front passengers seat out.  They are all that way.  No large families please. I was pleased to see that the Berta Bar is still here on the plaza.  Spratling and his design pals used to hang out there in the 30's.  "The Berta", drink was fashioned then.  To me it's a foul tasting concoction of mess but you have to take one for the team if you get here.  Great food and people watching from the balcony restaurants that line the plaza.  If you get here quick,you will see me there tonight.  Taxco.....Almost completely pure.

Death by Healing Hands

Leaving Zihua today for the the last time was hard.  I had gotten used to a long deep massage every day on the beach.  Sure, sometimes it was a little noisy and chaotic but other times it was peaceful and serene.  I had already scoped out the true pros and knew just where to go.  Today however I decided to spread the love around and choose a different place.  My world will never be the same again. Never.

This place looked very good and I had recommendations even.  So, give it a try?  Sure, why not.  I have learned a few things in my massage frenzy on La Ropa beach which I will share with you soon. Back to the story.

She looked sturdy enough to give a deep pressure massage.  Even a little too sturdy.  She had on Sandals and some kind of jean shorts.  Yum.  That was not standard massage pro attire but the she did pitch me on the table and make the little face donut with ease.  Somewhere between the face donut and her hands touching my body, the fun stopped.  The first contact was a light hand on the back and then she went immediately to my legs.  Good I thought, as I had told her my legs needed more work than anything.  Two pushes, a slap and an elbow and I was over on my back.  The pushes and slaps were not even on each leg.  A random thumb here and there and that was it.   After she very awkwardly got me on my back.......very awkward is the key here, she returned to my foot.  Yes foot.   Only one...maybe she saw an alinement issue.  She preceded to jerk the crap out of my right big toe.  It had to stretch at least an inch.  I grunted then attempted to gouge her with my now inoperative big toe.  No luck.  Next she moved back to top and put a towel under my neck.  For some reason she careful wadded the towel up to make a 45 degree down slope.  How nice was this?  Constantly having your head roll over the left side was not my idea of finding inner peace.  After another random thumb on major bones, she decided my right arm needed lengthening.  She grabbed a small sandy towel and took hold of my wrist moving my arm in a circular position.  Good, Something that I recognized.  Then without warning or compassion she jerked my arm out of socket so hard my head came completely came off the table and my entire body was half off the table.  Sensing I needed another millimeter or two she did it twice more.  I couldn't even get back on the table before she yanked me off again.  Maybe she thought she got a little out of line because this was the only time she tried to do the same thing to both sides.  Sure it sounds funny now but you lay there with your head downslope and wait for what you know is coming on the other side.  Stressful I'm telling you.

It went from there to the head again.  This time she put a rag over my eyes.  As I lay there I could hear the sound of bottles being opened in the dark.  Suddenly, I was being poisoned by some oil she had but in her hands that was now clamped over my nose and mouth.  Burning and choking me into submission.  When that was over she took a clorox wipe and cleaned my face.  Clorox I'm telling you.  Then she placed some smelly tissues over my whole face and wet them with something horrible.  I was sure she was measuring my for a death mask.

Then it gets scary.  I felt her thumbs on my man nipples.  What the hell?  Is this turning kinky?  No, she decided that I needed to have my nipples shoved down into my rib cage as hard as she could for a couple of minutes.  She must have mistaken my wiggling as joy because she refused to stop.  Hearing my cries of pain must have been the signal she learned from her Taliban teachers to begin the sternal slaps.  Sternal Slaps are a new one for me.  It would not be the first new one.

With those complete.  She moved back to my head and securely place each of her rather meaty thumbs into my ear canals.  Could she push hard enough to make them touch?  Well, she was close.
Please keep in mind that I had this death mask of stink over my face.  The smell was secondary to the mind numbing pain of the ear gouge.   The ringing and headache were still there when she must have noticed a lump on my right thigh.  OK.  I used to be a professional athlete of sorts.  Years of chasing that little yellow ball around.  I developed some Quads over the years.  For some reason this lady decided that she didn't like that muscle and it was her job to try and dissolve my Quadracip muscle with her elbow.  Unbelievable.  NO IT BAND rub here.  It was full on destruction of tissue.   And again, she only felt the need on one side.  Small favors right.    OK.  I know I"m boring you but I would like to finish with another new technique at least for me.  This one I will call the J.J. WATT running rib spear.  She made two fists, knuckles out and took a little run at me with some good forward motion.  The "spear", hit me mid axillary line about 5 inches below my arm pit.  That would be the side of your rib cage if you haven't gotten that Grey's book out yet.    Keep in mind I am still in death mask.   Amazing.  I will leave out the "rumble", sand towel and ankle crusher to save time and get to the lessons learned.

Tips on Massage on La Ropa Beach, Zihuatanjo, Gurerro.

1. If they are wearing sandals......You may end up like me

2. If they are wearing jeans or demin......You may end up like me

3. If they do not run out after you to get you in.....You may end up like me

4. If they want to give you a "happy", they mean 500 pesos not 50

5. It's always better to have two different competitors side by side.  They work harder.

6. Always have the exact change.  They can't seem to find change when needed.

7. Don't wear anything you really like to a La Ropa Massage.  It will be oiled up enough to start a fire.

8. If you find yourself haggling over the difference between 200 and 250 pesos?  It's time to go to the bar.  $ 2.79 US is not worth the battle.

I'm pretty sure that my massage lady was just there delivering concrete to a work crew and saw the opporuntity for some quick cash and some vicious man hating.   I'm pretty sure because no one that worked there knew her name?  If you see this face or those feet....go to the bar instead.  Off to Taxco now.  Viva La Vida.

Hurricane Survival Skills

Extreme.  One word.  It says a lot.  It can mean a lot of things.  Behavior, food, sports, or that kinky stuff.  I'm not talking about that poo haa stuff here.  I'm talking about extreme weather.  The TV channel kind.  Surviving in the most extreme conditions.  Man type stuff.  Such was the case in Zihua last night.  Life or death....spill or be spilled.  Hurricane Eric unleaded it's fury on the Pacific coast of Mexico.  I was in it's path.   Without the survival skills learned from an old Bear Grylis rerun I would not have survived.  The last bit of Mt. Gay Rum had to be protected at all costs.  Red Solo cup....tiled pool....life in the balance.  Using the local flora and fauna I was able to fashion  a shelter for the mixture using leaves and sticks.  Torrential rain pelted me as I constructed the drink saving apparatus.   Life on the edge can often be challenging and rewarding.  Confronting nature's wrath is tough but worth it.  

Millions of Gatos

Back in Zihua means back on La Ropa Beach.  Which means cheap massage.  When school is out, which means millions of kids, which means crowds of every variety.  In August, which means "temp...feels like 106 today".   So deciding to follow the advice of a new friend, Francisco who is the manager of La Perla restaurant, Los Gatos Beach was today destination.

Arriving I found the entire state of Guerrero had decided to come to Los Gatos Beach today.  The beach is tiny with only a few yards of sand before it hits rock and corral.  I'm not sure how those folks even got there since I was told there were no roads to the beach.  Hum.....maybe a "gotcha gringo" on that one.  The recommended restaurant was found and Marco the waiter turned out to be Antonio not Marco.  Los Gatos was the most crowded beach I had ever seen.  We are talking density of humans per square foot.  Amazing.

 Full bands, guitar players, hoola hoopers, musicians singing BREAD classics and a one man band.  It was all there.   But a short time in that chaos was enough.  It was a hike out in my cheap Mexican water shoes in "feels like 106 Temperatures".   Back to the AC on La Ropa and all that goes with it.   If you get a chance to go to Los Gatos beach some time.  Don't.  

Tortilla Security

Latin Americans take security very seriously.  Lot's of bars, broken glass shared fence tops, and a few spikes thrown in.  In my favela experience over the last few weeks I have found that every single rooftop in Guanajuato has a barking dog.  In San Miguel there are fewer dogs but more outside cameras and locks.   A safer place?  Maybe.  At least my small B and B is safer with the addition of a new twist.  A security pig named Tortilla.  Tortilla is the most sociable local I have found on this trip. Always wanting to come in and hang around.  He seems to have a fondness for my traveling sandals. That could be an indication of a lot of things.   Now not knowing much about pigs other than what a guy learns from a good BLT.  I have to say that a couple of times he scared the shit out of me.  You see Tortilla does not like to be rushed and certainly do not push him from behind.   Lucky for me he doesn't like large rustling plastic bags.  Right now he is standing guard outside my door.  Occasionally giving it a nudge just to see if it's closed.  I can sleep well tonight.  Tortilla is on the job.

The Clave Azul Boozeria

Every once in awhile you stumble on a place that you can't describe to anyone.  Usually a dive by most standards or whatever the new term is.  It always seems dark and smokey smelling with some electic owner or bartender hanging around.   He is usually drinking and being loud and nuts.  Well, the place for that is the La Clave Azul in Guanajuato.   It's up this narrow alleyway off the Plaza San Francisco off of Juarez street.   The alley is unmarked and you could not roll a wheelchair up the thing.   Restaurante-Taberna the card says.  I would say it's a Mexican Boozieria.  They serve tapas that are huge for free and the best tortilla soap I have ever had.  Ever.

When you go you will most certainly meet Pompeyo.  The owner, greeter, womanizer, comedian, and friend to all those folks who are capable of spending 9 hours in a bar.  Move over Sam Malone, there is a new Cheers in town.  

For Momies Everywhere

I miss my Momie a lot sometimes.  Today was one of those days.  Sometimes it's hard to think about how you want to be remembered.  Again, today was one of those days.  I can assure you that being dug up and put in a glass case in a black room with some dude making a few pesos off of me is not the way.  NOW, that said, who would not sort of enjoy being remembered after the big moment.  Really.  Maybe for the hair or the trousers or the dental work.  Thanks Dr. H.    So today I was searching for momies and found some.  The fact that I was given a senior discount without asking only added to my enjoyment.   If you come to GTO you have to take a look. I mean anyone would.  Just up the hill from Benito Juarez is the Momie Museum.  Take any bus with momies on it.

The last shot is a view off of my balcony after switching from the shit smell hotel on the jardin.  The Guanajuato Film Festival is in town with red carpet and everything.  I guess they got the good rooms at the Posada Santa Fe.  I'm now in the Casa Azul around the corner.  The curly headed 10 year old Salvador is taking care of everything.  I mean it .  10 years old.  So, tip one up for your moms tonight where ever they are.  Cheers.

My quest for Culture

Another great day in GTO.  Getting ready to head out soon and thought I should get some culture thrown into the mix.  A day at the Diego Rivera museum proved interesting.  The most interesting part of it had nothing to do with Diego.  The Black and White piece shown?  Photo or painting?  Well I guess yo would have to guess painting because it looks so much like a photo.  Fine.  It's a paining.  Juan Carlos Manjarrez is the artist and he is amazing.  The painting is about 8 feet by 8 feet.  He is a master of tones and shades.  Mostly all black and white.

The other is equally interesting.  I found this display I will call the "wall of nameless frames", not in the Diego Rivera or any other famous galleries or museums in GTO.  You have to go down Benito Juarez about half a mile from the Theater.  Turn  into a small doorway and go into the closed courtyard.  It is elegantly displayed on the wall there.  Right above the trash cans.  Oh, you can also pick up some quick, "comida chino" on the way to the piece.  These frames or drilled into the wall, high above the floor in the lone Chinese Eatery.  My kind of art.  The art of nothing.

Baggage Bobsled Guanajuato Style

Living with a view is a wonderful thing.  The lights of the city or the vistas of a mountain valley always get me going.  The views from the Casa Pipila high on the hill in Guanajuato is right up there with some of the best ever.  That is the good news.  Now for the bad news....Just two words sums it up.   "ASS KICKING".  Say it with me...."ASS KICKING".   Heart pounding, leg burning, knee melting ass kicking.    As my stay at Pipila was winding down,  I was pulled into the mind numbing fear of how I was going to get my truck load of crap out of there.  It was a huge climb to the road above.  We are talking some altitude here.  You have to lift and carry going up right?  Physical Science was not my specialty but I do have more pain receptors than the average Joe.  The other option, a Frans Klammer type downhill run down the super steep, rock covered, uneven steps of the Hahnenkamm of Guanajuato.  (1976 Winter Olympic gold medal run.  Innsbruick, Austria).  Come on sports fans!   I chose the later and put my fate in the hands of gravity.

Downhill momentum can be a wonderful thing, sometimes.  No doubt locals trying to come up the alleyways on this run would think differently.  It was a high speed, mostly out of control, bone jarring bounce to the bottom.  Fear of death aside, I had made the right decision.

I was a low life, flat lander again.  No more steps, slopes, or climbs for me.  I now even look at the step in the bathroom with some reservation.  Level is difficult in a city like GTO but I'm dedicated now.   Flat is beautiful.  Well, in most things.   So, when you come here, and you really should because there is no place like it, bring a good pair of shoes, extra nitro for the ticker, and a flashlight.  Power doesn't like the hills either.  

Buen Dia Guanajuato

I have not written much about Guanajuato, the city.  The truth is there is so much to write about.  It has to be the most beautiful and romantic cities in Mexico.  Narrow alleys and sidewalk cafes.  Good food and a level of energy that is not found everywhere.  It's easy to just find a bench somewhere and sit and watch all of it come to you.  Sitting on the steps of Theatre Juarez is one of my recommendations.   One of the best restaurants is just 50 yards down the road.  Grab one of the two outside tables and watch the street come to you.  That is my preferred hang out now.   These minstrels walk and sing in the streets.  You follow them through the narrow alleys and stop at wide places.  They will blow some sangria at you for a few coins from a ceramic bong looking thing.    Most groups will finish at Callejon de Beso.  Alley of the Kiss.  This alley is so tight that two balconies almost touch on each side of the street.  You can lean over and get kiss.  Yes, there is a love story involved.  

The World's least interesting Man- Women's Shoes.

He can make sandals grow taller.

He once played Mixed Doubles with a partner in Heels, and they won.

When he passes a shoe store...the heels bang on the glass.

Women stand on their tip toes when he walks by.

Christian Louboutin  asks him for advice.


"I don't look at women's shoes often, but when I do,  I prefer Stilettos !

He is....the world's least interesting Man.

Which way is NAPA?

As I was sitting and contemplating the origins of life.  I was also thinking about home.  The burring question in my mind was simple.  "Why does wine in Mexico suck like a 12 HP Black and Decker Shop Vac?"  Why?  I mean they have the arts, culture, good food, and the second richest dude in the world at times.  The city I'm in, Guanajuato, has every imaginable fine restaurant and hotel.  The most romantic city in Mexico by far.  So, it stand to reason that they would have good wine.  HELL, the Spanish from across the pond have good wine.  LIPS knocked down some liters of same on trips to Pamplona.  (Louisiana International Pleasure Society).  So what happened?  It must be some trade agreement.  They don't even have wine from Argentina most places.  Don't they speak Spanish?  Only Mexican wine or Chilean varieties.  Now that gives me a wine woodie,  Chile can stomp a pretty good grape but that quality doesn't seem to get to Mexico.

The best wine I have had in Mexico was in Zihau and it was from California.  How it got to Mexico one can only guess.  I imagine a portly woman with bottles of Sonoma duct taped to her thighs pushing the big red customs button in the Mexico City airport.  I just don't know why they choose to torture themselves.   I am far from a wine connoisseur.   How far you ask?  How far is NAPA.  No, I'm not, really.  I'm drinking a glass  of Chilean swill right now.  Perhaps it's because I'm afraid to drink the tap water,  I do not know.   So, Mr. Trump if you build that wall please put a hole in it somewhere around Nogales and let them run a few cases on down here.  It may eliminate the need for a wall.  Our South of the border friends, and they are friends, may be just looking for a semi with good legs, and some hint of pear.  

Callejon of Death

Hope was fading now...I had reached the point where the will to live was almost gone.  The narrow callejon and the twisting hand made concrete steps had sucked it out of me.  My lungs were on fire, my knees were like mush.  Pain, over all over, consuming PAIN.  I had been lost now for over an hour.  Climbing up and down the narrow alleys on this uber steep hill.  The route I had taken down to the centro was now a faded memory.  I leaned over the rocky wall  trying in vain to catch my breath.   This was it, I thought.  There was nothing in the tank.  The disappointment of reaching the very top staircase where my host's manager said, "it's easy from here", played over and over in my mind.  I made it to that spot again with monumental effort.  Only to be completely lost from there.

Of course this was the rocket scientist from New York, who saw me sitting in front of the Statue Pipila for over thirty minutes.  Never in that 30 minutes did he make the connection that I might be the gringo with the moving truck full of shit, that he was waiting for.  I had to go over and ask him.

Back to the story.  Your mind runs through all kinds of emotions at the end.  I was thinking of those Mount Everest guys and how similar our thoughts were.  Except I never found that peace and crap.  I was worried and scared of how the rats would treat me.  I never knew a rum bottle, a diet coke, and a small container of milk could be so heavy.  Should I drink the rum and just drift away....  Then I heard voices.  A woman and a small child approached down the narrow gutter I was in.   "Buenos tardes," she said as she passed. She then turned and said that I was going to right way... Down.  NOOO.  I summoned up the energy to tell her that I was lost and looking for some Irish guys B and B?  "Oh, said smiling.  She pointed down the fork of the path that I  had not taken earlier.  "Cerca", she said with a smile.  How near I wondered.  I willed myself to rise one last time and stumbled down the path.   During my battle this afternoon, I tried without success to keep the strategy.  "Never give up altitude".   Going down again was a huge and perhaps final mistake.

Nothing, there was nothing but a dead end.  Should this dirty little place be the end?   With all my strength, I tried to gain my "other" final resting place again.  One step at a time.  Visions of blind and unknowing effort filling my head.  Everest again,   just above Camp 6,  elevation  28, 754 ASL.  One slow heavy step at a time. Some guy crossed himself as he passed me on his way down.  Not a good sign.  Hugging the corner I looked up a another set of uneven steps and saw the woman again.   She looked at me and through the coughing spells , I could see her saying 'NO"?, I'm sorry.  She came down to me and I tried to describe it again.  CASA DERMOT or something.  She thought and asked the woman she was talking to and they both started to smile.  Not at the thought of taking my cash and milk when I died I hoped.  The woman said she thought she knows now.  She even offered to carry MY bag.  Just give me a necktie and a doorway please.  We made it to the top of those stairs and then she lead me down another alley.  Even though it was downhill I tried several times to stop and die.  She would not allow it.  She even smiled back at me and said, "good exercise".  We finally came to another tight alley and she pointed down.  This was it for sure.  I had a spot picked out at the bottom of this drop and that was it.  Limping down, I realized this was it.   She had a huge grin on her face as she waved.  Wait,  "I Love You", was the only thing I could think of in Spanish past Gracias.  I would have offered her a kidney if I knew the word, how about putting your children through college.  In a flash she was gone.  Maybe I will run into the Patron Saint of the West Side of Big Ass Hill.  Again.  Tonight I am recuperating.  Warm Rum with Diet Coke and Milk.  The Angel of Death may still be near.

Can We Find a Better Way?

A festival in town.  Old people, children, and everyone in between are laughing and singing.  Thousands are enjoying the food, music, balloons, and generally having the time of their lives.  It goes on everywhere.  All over the world.  But for how much longer?  

IS THIS REALLY THE DIRECTION WE WANT TO GO?

Let's find a better way.  NOW.

Nacho and the Game

It usually starts around 6:00 PM just below my window on Purchecho street.  I know it is starting because I start hearing the random scream and yell.  That is about the time I make my way to the box seat I have on the balcony.    The street is narrow and slopes drastically to the busy main avenue below.  The game usually migrates from in front of the little store front to my section of street after a few minutes.  You see the slope and the tradition that the younger kids have to fetch the ball, makes it dangerous for the rookies near the fast moving avenue.  You have to take care of your players as any good manager would tell you.

Everyone has their favorite players, right?  Maybe it's a Rolando, Romo, or LeBron.  I could have chosen the tall lanky guy of about 15 with his signature behind the back moves.  Or the shorter kid with the perfect knowledge of how to play the ball off of the side of the buildings.  Sure they would be solid choices.  However, my favorite guy is Nacho.  Nacho is a solid young man of about six.  He is in the green Jersey with a 9 on the back today.  Nacho has considerable skills for his age.  The older boys know it too.  He mans up with the best of them.  Taking a ball in the nuts or mouth without much more than a whimper.  Occasionally his shoe will come untied which requires the service of an older teammate to fix but Nacho can hold his own.  Why even today during the game he withstood a wicked ball to the face that sent him to the cobblestones.  He also endured a sneak attack from yellow kid.  Yellow kid always wears yellow and is dirty as they come.  When an errant kick flies into the old ladies
garden, it's Nacho who is elected to knock on the door.    Pound for pound my Nacho is the meanest dog in the fight.  When the ballots come out I urge you to consider Nacho for the all La Loma Team.

Right now he is driving to the goal...driving....GO GO GO   OWWWW GOOOOOOOAL!!!!! SCORRRRRRRRE!  

Hold that Delivery

I was walking down the street yesterday and saw this casket delivery truck waiting to unload.  Counting the boxes I realized that it would take just over 10 of these trucks to account for the men and women in Blue who have been killed in the line of duty in our country.  I usually never comment on a political situation in social media.  Now, I'm making an exception.  Just once.  Being out of the country, the majority of the news comes to me from the internet and a little from TV.  Everything out there is some kind of race article that seems it's only purpose is to make headlines and work up hysteria.  I know for a fact that, "Black Lives matter".  I know that and I always have.  Never once in my "Mesquite" upbringing or my living in Terlingau (black population, 3. ) did anyone say Black Lives don't matter.  Not once.  So, I'm completely sure in my heart they matter.  But I'm also sure that White Lives matter, Native Americans matter, I think a few Asians would like for their lives to matter.  Maybe the the guy doing the rock work on your patio matter too.  There are people in this country that don't want their lives to matter and we make them matter anyway.  So WTF.  How much more stupidity can we absorb from a few wanting some headlines.  Enough.  

Now for my rant.  I only know a few things for sure.  Taxes are too high, there is some really bad chardonnay, ear hair can't be stopped, no one cares about Taylor swift or deflatgate. and we owe a debt to law enforcement officers in every city, town, rural nowhere in this country.  We owe them a debt.  Plain and simple.  Are they heroes?  NO. not all the time.  Some of them are flat out gold plated heroes.  They are doing a dangerous, difficult, and mind bogglingly unappreciated job.  Nothing less.

I have been a paramedic for over 30 years.  Not on the streets all that time but a lot of it. Maybe the world is a safer place when I off the street. Who knows.  It's a job I've done around the world.  I can tell you this.  In all those times, hundreds of calls in the worse conditions, I have never gone in first when they were there.  They do shit you can't even imagine.  Deal with people our society would not even agree to believe exist.  AND they do it every damn day of the year and you never ever hear about it.  Unless, something goes wrong.  If we could "get it right" as much as they do everyday around this country....we would cure cancer, decrease big government, teach dogs to talk, and have the cowboys win another Super Bowl.   You don't need to buy them coffee to feel better.  Just give them the respect they deserve for what they do.  The bad ones need to go and the good ones need to know that you understand they are not part of that.   I've had some shitty bank tellers in my years, but I don't refuse to sit next to people that work at a bank.

If you have a minority friend, tell them how you feel.  We all have to change.  They have their feelings and fears too, If you don't have a minority friend....find one.  If you have a redneck friend, educate them and listen to their story too.  Let's put the casket truck out of business for everyone, especially the men and women in Blue.   If you agree with this message, you don't have to do a damn thing with it.  In fact, get off social media and find something productive to do.  Adios.  

Commando in Mexico

Right when you think you have identified the things to worry about in Mexico you get "holed below the water line" by something domestic.   Cartels in your neighborhood....sure no problem.  Explosions in the distance...I can live with that.  My bank card getting cut off...not going to ruin my trip.   BUT...the laundry lady losing my underwear?  That could spell disaster beyond my most uncomfortable imagination.  Not one pair, not my spares....all of them.  I decided it was a good day to clean the hamper.  Commando for a morning.  Sure... even feels a little sporty.  Not my first time mind you.  I went sans" ropa interior" for a while when I heard Bjorn Borg did it.  Now however I am bit more reluctant.  When I picked up my laundry from Lavanderia Anyelin I had no reason to believe that it would be missing a garment or two.  After all, Señora Anyelin and I have a close working relationship.  So my return to her shop was something South of awkward.  Especially when I had no idea how to say underwear in Spanish.  Thanks to modern technology my translation app didn't let me down.  Her response was less than fulfilling to say the least.  You don't want to hear her mumble "no se" when you have already walked a mile or so from the plaza in old jeans.  She assured me or at least I think she was, that she would find them and I could pick them up in the morning.  I took this photo this evening after the bad news.  Señora Anyelin is the one in the red sweater.  I'm hoping she is asking the group about my ropa interior.  So for now...it's Commando.  I'm hoping I don't have to get into the tiny backseat of a taxi. If you know what I mean.