In the End...An Epilogue

Tulum, Quintana Roo, Mexico
22 de Noviembre de 2009

In the end I spent about 25 full, wonderful, very satisfying days in Mexico. Almost all of them were spent on the altiplano. I´d always wanted to live in Mexico City and this was the year I did it. It just confirmed what I´ve felt for some time. As much as I love the beach, life in those towns is downright boring. That is not the case in Mexico City. Somewhere in that giant monster of a city, or its environs, is where I´d like to be.

Through a few connections that I made on my last visit to the city (May 2008), I had ¨friends¨ to do things with. And with those friends I made more. In the end I was invited to two dinner parties, two house parties and from one of those house parties an invitation to go out on the town. It´s the first time in years I´ve rolled home at 3:30 am. I even got an invitation to Huatulco, on the Pacific, for sometime next spring. Twist my arm!

In the end I spent two weeks off the altiplano: a week traveling from DF to Cuernavaca, Tasco and Acapulco, and another week on the Caribbean coast visiting one of my teachers from my days living in Playa del Carmen.

In the end I wrapped up my stay with a long weekend on the beach in Tulum, two hours south of Cancun!

In the end I met loads of Mexicans, but very few non-nationals. Until I got to the Cancun corridor, there really weren´t many. All of which was fine by me because it forced me to rely on my Spanish. Indeed, days would go by without English. This does not by any means indicate 
I´ve become fluent. Hardly. It´s just that I am more comfortable in the language and can navigate my way around language potholes.

In the end I can say that November is an astounding time to visit Mexico. There are few tourists, the weather is great and it´s sunny all the time.

In the end I averaged $18,.13 per night for hotel rentals. And I didn´t slum it. Four nights were at a beach hotel in Acapulco and in Tulum I had a cabin right on the Caribbean for three nights.

In the end, as is always the case with Mexico, I´m already planning my next get away. Huatulco in the spring and Mexcio City, again, for its Bicentennial in September 2010.

In the end I can say more and more that Mexico, of all the places I´ve been in the world, is more and more my adopted country and where I want to live out the rest of my days.

In the end, it was great!!!!!!!!

Mexico: an Evaluation

Tulum, Quintanta Roo, Mexico
22 de Novmimbre de 2009

The week that I left home for Mexico there was an article in the local newspaper with this headline: 14 BEHEADED BODIES FOUND IN ACAPULCO.

I want to use the word Sensational to describe this, but even that word is insuffiencent. What a gross injustice it does to Mexico and to Mexicans.

The thrust of the article was that 14 bodies had been found, all beheaded, but a close reading would tell you that it didn´t actually happen IN Acapulco, but nearby, in a much smaller community. Yes, there were beheadings, but this was yet another in a LONG list of horrors that have befallen people who get involved in the drug cartels. These beheadings, these nasty, nasty drug deals, not only horrify Americans, but Mexicans as well. BUT THEY DO NOT HAPPEN TO TOURISTS.

As a result of this type of yellow journalism plastered all over foreign newspapers is that the average joe tourist in Iowa is just plain staying away. Yes, it IS true that Guererro, the state in which you´ll find Acapulco, is one of the most dangterous in the country, but THE TOURIST IS NOT THE TARGET, nor is the average Mexican.

Last spring, when the Swine Flu first emerged, it was Mexico that all eyes were on. There were cases in the USA and in the rest of the world, but it was Mexico that bore the brunt of the damage. Mexico was at center stage. And it wasn´t only the American press that presented a grim pictuer. I was in Peru at the time and Peruvian headlines were in a panic. All flights were cancelled to and from the country. Each day a new report would tell of another infected person who´d just come from Mexico.

Mexican health occicials did what they thought best at the time. The country virtually shut down for two weeks. Almost all restaurants closed. People were laid off. A local friend lost his business as a result of this. He was never able to financially recover from the shut down.

And tourists stayed away by the hundreds of thousands. Spring into summer, and then autumn. Tourism was at an all time low. By summer whole resorts had shut down. People were laid off and many have note been able to get rehired.

2009 was not kind to Mexico.

Savvy travlers, of course, knew otherwise. What did a drug cartel have to do with the average tourist? Nothing! Did tourists get H1N1 by visiting Mexico? Yes, but probably more likey now, now that we know about transmission. so tourists did come and are returning., but probaly not in the numbers to totally rebuild the Mexican tourist infrastructure. That will take time.

And why? Because world press had nothing better to write about than sensationalized stories that do little more than scare people away.

I´ve been a long time visitor to Mexico. Not once have I had a problem. Not once have I been physically assaulted, robbed, shot at or caught in a crossfire of rival gangs. I take the usual precautions, ask a lot of questions, and watch my back.

One thing I won´t do is give in to fears. I love Mexico and have always made it my mission to to inform others of its safety. And I´ll make it my mission to return again, and again, and again....

It is, after all, my adopted home.

Acapulco--A Day on the Beach

14 de Noviembre de 2009
Acapulco, Mexico

Tuesday. November 10th. In another life I´d be working on this date. In ths new life, though, I´m sitting on the beach in Acapulco, facing La Bahia, Acapulco´s gorgeous, wide bay. There´s not a cloud in sight, a light breeze keeps everything in balance. The thermometer on my day pack reads 100 in the sun, 85 in the shade. It´s my second day here and already my skin has begun to turn brown. This is not hard to take.

I came early to the beach, rented a lounge chair, reacquainted myself with esential beach personnel--Casi who fields me Diet Cokes for twice the going rate. Jose, who sold me a tour the day before, and who watches my stuff when I´m away from it. For three hours I´ve been in an idyll of indolence--dosing, reading, listening to the surf--¨the pulse of the earth,¨ Steve says, then cooling off in the sea.¨ By noon I need to do some cerebral jumping jacks.¨By noon there´s a good deal of beach traffic. Beach vendors hawk everything. Indeed, you never have to leave the beach. For the most part it´s easy to ignore them if no eye contact is establised, which is what I´ve done all morning. Now, though, I decide to take a closer look.

It´s lunchtime, but there´s no way on God´s good earth that I´d eat anything being sold from the vendors. One man offers me a plate of fresh oysters, Several others are selling quesadillas stuffed with cheese and chicken served with a green salsa. A woman has a pail of shrimp.

These guys have been walking up and down the beach for who knows how long, under a hot, hot sun, carrying their food in baskets balanced on their heads. Yeah! Right! I´m almost going to eat an animal product served under these conditions. I´m already on an antibiotic from something I ate a few days earlier. I´ll stick to water and Casi´s Diet Cokes and the fruit that I brought with me.

There is food that I do consider, though. Fresh watermelon, mango, pineapple, attractively sliced, and served on a skewer--almost like a giant fresh fruit popsicle.

¨Helados. Muy ricos.¨ Yes, I could go for an ice cream. They guy who´s been carrying his homemade creation in a copper container tells me he has lemon, coconut and pumpkin. This isn´t really ice cream but, rather, gelato--a type of Italian ice cream made from water. It´s worth the risk. He steers me towards the pumpkin--calabaza--which is a generic term for all mmbers of the squash family. He offers me a spoonful. I stop. ¨Yum,¨ I tell him. ¨Yum¨ doesn´t exactly transate well into Spanish. There´s delicioso or saboroso, but YUM conveys so much more. I take his biggest offering and savor every bite. I rub my stomach and tell him it´s delicioso. He seems quite pleased. I´ll buy from this guy again!

I´m hardly stressed, but if I were there is plenty of beach massage available. My expereriences have lead me to be a bit wary of massages. Sometimes, but not often, massage = sex. My friend Glenda can attest to that.

We were in Indonesia, summer, in the 90´s. We´d hired a car and driver for the day and by the end of the day I wanted a massage. They´re always so cheap in the developing world.

¨Joe," I ask, ¨Where can I get a massage?¨

¨Oh, Mr. Daniel, I know a good place.¨

English isn´t his strong suit, but he gets by. I encircle my left pointer finger with my thumb then insert my right index finger into it. ¨No sex, Joe. No fucky.¨

He seems somewhat shocked. ¨No, Mr. Daniel. No fucky.¨

He brings me to the massage place. I should have known. I was far less savvy in those days. No one speaks English. A big hulk of a guy is at the front door. The woman behind the counter opens a book and shows me a collection of woman. I´m to choose one of them. Dah!

I pick one, she´s called for, I follow her. She starts to take of my clothes. Her clothes. I tell her I want a massage. Nothing more. I lay down. She massages my legs, then moves her hands way too far up. I push them down. I´m not relaxed. Five minutes into this I figure it out. I gather my clothes and leave the cubicle. I try to leave the facility but hulk gets in my way. I pay the equivalent of $10.00 and get out. I´m back at the hotel way too early. I tell Glenda the story.

The way I look at it I had two choices: turn this into drama or a $10.00 joke. I choose the latter and still have fun telling the story.

I fend off a lot of masajistas, all of whm want to show me how their fingers will feel on my shoulders. ¨No toca,¨ I tell them. ¨Don´t touch.¨¨

I say no to all massages!

Too many kids are selling things. Kids who should be in school. Ever the teacher! They hawk gum, key chains, hard candy. I feel badly for them. They´re poor and someone has sent them out to do this. From these kids I do buy a thing or two--all consumables. Who needs a key chain?

Another girl, too young, with her mother, is selling gaudily designed wind chimes of dolphins, bears and birds.

Dolphins, bears and birds? Who thought to put this combination together? Who buys this junk?

And jewelry. Did I mention jewelry? So much, almost all of it handmade, although the occasional vendor comes buy with a stash of nice Mexican silver. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings made from beads, seeds, shells. Nice stuff if this is what you´re looking for, which I´not. I still have a long necklace I bought from a very old, very poor woman in Paraguay.

Out in the bay fisherman are at work. A fast boat carries a tourist on a parchute. Light flickers on the surf--the top of each wave glitters with diamonds. A jet ski slices the bay. A few people walk the beach. A woman with a bikini she´s been poured into, breasts bursting the seams. A fat European in a Speedo three sizes too small.

But it´s a quiet day, really. Acapulco, mid-week in November is very much off season. What a great time to be here. Cool beans, I think. I´ll do this again.

More vendors with piles of beach supplies: sand tractors, pails and shovels, life jackets, water pistols, sun glasses, hammocks, sandles, bathing suits, beach blankets, straw hats and bags that do look good enough to buy. My neighbors on the beach, a young Mexican family, buy life jackets for the kids. The mother buys several straw bags. ¨One for the beach and one for home,¨she tells her husband. She bargains the guy down to 140 pesos each. A good deal.

On my other side all the females of another Mexican family are having their hair braided. Lucky vendor. She´ll take in a fair wage today

Lots of people are selling locally produced 0% UVA protection sun screen. Coconut oil, sold in three different hues--amber, light amber, dark amber--the way we buy maple syrup. Turtle cream and carrot oil, too. I buy a bottle of carrot oil for 40 pesos, down from 60, and still wonder why.

I have a book to read, and crosswords to do, which I do when I slip out of slumber. But if didn´t have something to read I could buy magazines and newspapers from several vendors. Not much in English, though.

I could do all my Christmas shopping is the span of two hours. Onyx dolphins. Wooden aligators. Painted sea shells. And those dolphin/bear/bird wind chimes. Everyone would want one of those. But I resist. It´s hard, but I resist.

Sadly, there are also the desafortunados who ply the beach. One man hobbles on the soft sand. He´s got one leg and it´s not easy navigating with a pair of crutches. Another man, young, shows me a note: ¨I can´t talk. Can you give me money?¨ He walks with a limp and is disabled in other ways. I pull out my change purse for both these men.

After a few hours I´ve had enough. This is getting old. I´ve established way too much eye contact and am being victimized in a way. I´m also tired of writing, not to mention I'm just plain hot. I put away my writing gear, swim a bit, rearrange my lounge chair and regroup for an afternoon of nothing. But I´m easily distracted. Overhead, a low flying airplace buzzes back and forth. It´s low enough to hear its loudspeaker:

¨Esta noche. Esta noche a Parque Papagayo. Un circo fantastico! Treinta pesos para adultos, Cinco pesitos para los niños.¨ Thirty pesos gets you into tonight´s circus at Papagayo Park.

I´m tempted. Not so much for the circus, but for Mexican carnival food. I love Mexican carnival food. Deep fried bananas served hot and oily with a generous dollop of sweetened condensed milk. Esquites. Corn off the cob served with mayonaise and salsa. All yum!

Ahead of me, a young family plays in the surf. This children all wear life vests. This is dangerous water--deep with a strong undertow. There was a photo of a bloated cadaver in this morning´s paper of a young man from Mexico City who'd been dragged out to sea on his 21st birthday. The children stay very close to their parents.
My mind wanders. They are young and old, these vendors. Unemployed. It´s tough work walking this beach all day under a fierce, hot sun. How many ¨no´s¨ do they get in a day before they make a sale? Where do they live and under what conditions? I´ve seen the slums of Acapulco. They´re not pretty. I wonder just what kind of life these people lead off the beach.

These are all honest trades. With the right amount of capital and the right kind of guidance, some of these folks could do quite well.

By 4:30 I´ve had enough sun. I´m dehydrated and sick to my stomach. I pack up and start my return to the hotel.

Still, even in my lethargic state, I keep scanning the beach, looking for the ice cream man. I would love one more, giant sized, pumpkin ice cream. But I guess that will have to wait for another day.

Day of the Dead--Mexico City, 2009--Photo Essay

Day of the Dead

Mexico City, Mexico

October 31--November 1, 2009

Candy Skeletons

Fun skeletons were everywhere.

El Pan de Muerto--Day of the Dead Bread

An Aztec Ceremony in the Alameda Park honoring their dead--October 31, 2009

antheon Dolores--The Main Cemetary

in Mexico City. Tombs were decorated with marigolds and thousands of people

were present.

Mariachi Bands played music for a price. It was a joyous occasion.

Ofrendas--altars honoring the dead--were in homes, hotels and even on the street.

The city was a beehive of activity in the days leading up to the Day of the Dead--November 1st. This was not a sad time, but a time to remember those who had died and to laugh at death--to tell death that there is life eternal on the other side.