‘Kumquats from Mexico’

The story of my trip to Mexico 2002, the tour bus trip.

Start with a dinner and a show

The long awaited trip to the interior of Mexico started on a beautiful Sunday. The tour bus left from the Tropic Star RV Park in Pharr, Texas. At least the day began better than the night before ended. I already wrote the poem about the wonderful sheets in the motel. What I didn’t tell you about was the café I had dinner before I called it a night. It was a landmark place that has been in Pharr for the last fifty or so years. This was a quaint little restaurant that had a train theme with old train posters decorating the walls. Apparently many trains ran from the U.S. to Mexico from the inception of trains up to about the middle 1970’s. It was clean and had a number pf people sitting at tables. I took a chance and found a table. The menu contained mostly Mexican dishes. I chose a plate hoping it wouldn’t come loaded with hot peppers. As I waited I looked around at the wall décor and train posters. Suddenly a commotion at the cash register snapped my attention in that direction.

I couldn’t see over the tabletops, but apparently a man had collapsed on the floor. Several people went over to help him. He lay on the floor, (out of my sight) but I could hear another man trying to revive him. As I didn’t think it would be too polite to get up and gawk, I sat where I was and listened as the man tried to give him some aid. Finally, the waitress phoned the EMS service. That seemed to take ten minutes of conversation. She kept repeating the same thing over and over on the phone.

Of course, in Spanish, which I didn’t understand, but I was able to get the drift of the situation anyway. By then, my dinner was served. There I was with a lovely dinner plate sitting in front of me and two tables over was a man passed out on the floor. What was I supposed to do? Just eat as if nothing happened, or wait to see if his condition improved or whether he would die where he lay.

I decided that I should go ahead and eat, as I was not involved with his care. It seemed to be twenty minutes since he first dropped to the floor and lay there unconscious. Then, I began to hear two voices. The man who was helping the collapsed man was now asking if he was OK. It seemed as though he began to breathe again and started responding to the questions. By that time the ambulance arrived, accompanied by two police cars. They spent another fifteen minutes checking the man out and loading him on to the rolling cart. The EMS service rolled him out to the ambulance and took him to the hospital. I was finished eating by that time and just sat and waited until they all left. The dinner was good and not seasoned at all with any hot peppers. I was thinking about the trip I was going to take in the morning and wondered if this was an ill omen for the future. I took the incident to remind me of how lucky I was to have my health and to take advantage of any time I still could get around without assistance to travel to where I wanted to go. I would not like to be so elderly that I would have to try on his shoes. I paid for my dinner and the waitress gave me my change. I jingled it in my hand as I went to the truck, considering how it reminded me of kumquats.

I had two choices, either tart or sweet. I decided I would make a positive choice out of what happened at dinner and not even dwell on the possibility of any dubious portends that may present themselves. I said to myself, back, back, get thee away and whisked any negative thoughts out of my mind behind me and went back to the motel. I had no time for anything but safe and enjoyable traveling on my tour trip for the next week.

The border crossing

When the thirty of us tour travelers were compacted snugly on the bus we started for the border crossing at Reynosa, Mexico. We made a quick stop at the money exchange to get a supply of pesos and then another stop at the border for the customs check. Our visas were safe in the hands of our guide, Vincent, and he told us the hoped the guard’s wife fixed him a good breakfast of bacon and eggs so he would be in a good mood. If he was hungry and grumpy he may make the bus unload the entire luggage compartment and inspect each bag. We kept our fingers crossed. It seemed as though the stop took a long time and we peeked and gawked out the windows looking for a sign that would indicate whether he was hungry or happy, but couldn’t see anything. All seemed to be well as the two drivers boarded the bus smiling and our guide told us we were on our way. The bus lurched through the gates of the border and in another fraction of a second we were in Mexico.

Cultural shock met us immediately. I wasn’t expecting it so soon, but right away it seemed to be dustier, dirtier and trashier than I even imagined it would be. The paint on the town buildings was dingy and worn. They all seemed to be in shabby condition clustered behind the edge of the sidewalk. Each town we passed through looked the same in appearance until we came to a large city of at least a half million or more. Like buildings in any town in the world, some sections were in better condition than others.

Our guide, Vincent, told us some interesting things about Mexico as we headed south out of Reyonsa.

Mexico only has one gas company. That is PeMex; government owned Mexico Petroleum. The price is set to one rate for the whole country. It is sold by the liter and is somewhere in the range of 2.50 per gallon, making it close to 4 liters per gallon.

Except for the border towns, all the money exchanged for good is in pesos. American coins are not accepted, as there is nowhere to exchange them. If anyone accepts American dollars the bills can’t be torn or even have a minor rip in them. Not even if they are taped with scotch tape. I even found some of the money exchanges or banks would not accept bills with any dates older than 1999. There are money exchange houses everywhere along the border. The ones in inland towns are a little harder to locate. Banks do not exchange money for the most part. Some banks have ATM machines that will accept American credit cards and dispense pesos from the machines. The usual fee is about 14.00 per transaction. Interesting thing about credit cards, they convert dollars into pesos at the current rate of exchange when the transaction or bill is processed. I was worried that I would have a problem with the exchange, but they never made a mistake. The rate of exchange at the border was 10.16 pesos to one dollar, but in the interior it was more like 10.8 to one. Each house has its own exchange rate depending on the competition in the area. I didn’t have much trouble with the dollar/peso value difference, but I sure struggled with the coins. I guess it was because the pesos come in one, five and ten dollar amounts in both coin and currency.

The day before the tour started I drove to the border just to see what was there and when I saw so many exchange houses I thought I was looking at a lot of restaurants and wondered why so many advertised they served goats. I had the term goat (which is cabrito) confused with exchange house (which is cambio). That was funny when I learned the difference between the two words. Lesson one, and I hadn’t even crossed the border yet.

As we crossed over the Rio Bravo River our guide told us a sad story. Besides the river that creates the border between the two countries there is a canal for irrigation about a mile away on the Mexico side, which we also crossed. He told us some devious men would tell people who wanted to enter the U. S. they would take them there. They charged money, sometimes it was all the unsuspecting people had to get them a ride in their trucks. When they crossed the canal the drivers would let them out. The people would think they were in the U. S. only to find they hadn’t even crossed over the border river, but were still in Mexico at the canal a mile away. They would be left with out any money or ID. It is really sad to think that shady, untrustworthy men would prey on their fellow countrymen like that. But, borders are borders all over the world and it happens everywhere. The truth of the situation is pretty tart kumquats.

The outskirts of Reyonsa had many American businesses that located to Mexico to take advantage of the local labor. Many computer companies and car manufacturing companies have subsidiaries in Reyonsa.

We settled down for the ride through the high desert countryside and passed through a few little towns before we came to Monte Morales. The town is named for Jose Maria Morales y Pavon who was one of the noted founders of freedom for Mexico. He fought to liberate Mexico from Spain in the 1700’s. There is a statue of him on the hill overlooking the city that shows him holding the broken chain of slavery. He was passionate about every Mexican owning his own piece of land. Pretty impressive, to be sure, speaks well of the fervent nature of the Mexican leaders and the freedom they envisioned.

Oranges and Kumquats

Mexico’s oranges are far better than the ones that come from over China’s seas, or even from the U.S. for that matter. I never expected to see such large orange groves after we passed through the dusty streets of the border town of Reynosa. We passed many groves on our way into the highlands on our way to the interior of Mexico.

Before we came to the groves that lined both sides of the highway, we passed through many miles of scrub brush and Joshua Trees. Numerous times the landscape was fenced to provide munching areas for the goats. I thought maybe the goat farmer was the rich man in town, but in fact, the whole area turned into green trees before we reached Monte Morales. The grove owner was the rich man in town. The orange fruit hung heavy on the branches and I drooled just a bit looking out the bus window. Boy, I sure would like to have one or two of the bright round fruits to munch on myself.

I was not to be disappointed, as we stopped for lunch at a pre-arranged restaurant made by the tour. As the dust cleared on the main highway in the middle of Monte Morales town the La Ponderosa was a welcome sight. In the distance we could see the mountain range of the Sierra Madres looming over the bank of haze that clung to the valley floor. Lunch was a buffet of wonderful Mexican dishes and I spied the fruit bowl at once. Big slices of juicy pineapple, papaya and several melons greeted me and I temporarily forgot about the oranges in the groves. I made my selection of the lunch buffet and went back to the dining room to eat. The rest of the tour people were seated at large round tables and the waiters were busy carrying drinks to the guests. It was coffee, tea or orange juice.

Not just a glass, but huge pitchers were set on the table for us to help ourselves. At first I was hesitant to try the juice as the orange juice we have in the states is very acid and upsets my stomach with just a sip or two. But, after watching all the oranges in the groves wave tantalizingly to me for miles I just had to have one sip. Well, not only did I have one sip, I had two. Wow, no acid. The juice was sweet and cool. I cleared my parched throat and I drank the whole glass. By the time lunch was over I had several glasses and I think with the others at the table we managed to drain several pitchers.

I could see the dessert table along one wall set up with more oranges in the peel and several luscious cakes. I went over and found to my surprised eyes beautiful peach and chocolate mousse cakes. I had to have a piece of each. The chocolate was good, as Mexican chocolate is pure and not cut with cocoa. But, the peach mousse was divine. I asked the waiter if I could take a piece with me. We had to overcome the language barrier. It was, no English and very little Spanish. I tried to gesture to him, pointing to the cake and saying ‘autobus’, but that did no good. When I tried ‘plato, to go’, that did the trick. He understood the ‘to go’, but little else. He went back to the kitchen and returned with a paper plate and served me up two large pieces of peach mousse cake and put a piece of foil over it. He also said I could have as many oranges as I would like. I took three. I sure was happy and munched on mousse cake as we made our way over the mountains to San Luis Potosi. I saved the oranges and ate them at my leisure, carrying the last one all over Mexico and finally ate it as we neared the border on our way home.

The tour group had to hurry back to the bus, so I didn’t have a chance to go into the bakery that was next to the restaurant. It probably was a good thing, as I would have wanted some of everything they had. I had my chance later in Mexico City when I found an exquisite bakery of fine cakes next to the hotel in the Zona Rosa district. I didn’t even see the bakery until I was outside on the sidewalk. I was too busy adding several pieces of red papaya to the plate of cake to realize there was more to feast on just outside the door. I didn’t make that mistake twice. I was more vigilant to what lay in wait for my palette the rest of the trip. I wasn’t about to miss any more chances to pick from the kumquats offered up at each corner.

On our way out of town we could see the many packing plants that processed the oranges. They didn’t even bag them, but loaded the loose fruit into big trucks, filling each to the brim to haul the orange jewels to various parts of Mexico.

Mother of Mountains

She was beautiful, primal and proudly stuck her breast-ly peaks skyward, paying homage to the Universal Cosmic maker of all creation. She had ranted and raved, rocking in her bedrock and with several bursts of gigantic orgasmic quakes came jutting out of the ground in vertical shafts of solid granite. She had birthed the mountains in a line from upper Mexico to southern most coast tens of thousands of million years before man was even to set foot on the land. She lay on her back clothed regally in a dressing gown of green vegetation. She seductively showed us where she was adorned by cactus jewelry that dotted her layered grey perpendicular skin as the bus gently undulated through the gorge of her vast middle section. We slid through the opening that made the legs of her range accessible and came out on the other side to negotiate across her bedspread that was decorated with scrub brush and Joshua Trees.

We dropped onto the southern plain as the sun was dropping in the western sky. We stopped for a break at the intersection where the mountain road met the main highway to Mexico City. She left us treats in the gas station convenience store as if to thank us for the homage we paid her.

Mexican candies. I filled my lunch bag with the caramel and milk confections and boarded the bus. As the sun dipped over the horizon, I too, dipped into the bag and found ‘kumquats’ wrapped inside the rattlely candy wrappers.

Little Square Houses

Just as we passed on the highway all the way from the border, we met more of the same small dwellings in the towns and along the road in the middle of the mountains. Only this time they were perched on the side of the rocky hill tops and not anchored to the desert floor. Cement houses, built from cement blocks, not adobe. Each one was the same at the last. They were small 16 to 20 foot square blockhouses. It seemed the plan went something like this: First you obtain a piece of land; mostly bare dirt with a few scrubby bushes on it. Then you acquire a load of cement blocks. When you finish your one story room, you leave all the rebar sticking out of the roof. (If the rebar shows out of the roof the house is considered not finished, therefore it is not taxed.) When you become able to purchase another load of blocks you add another story to the one you built. (I never did find out how they built the stairs to the second story. I never saw any on the outside of the houses). Providing you became more affluent you could add arches or courtyard fence and a couple more rooms on the first floor. Perhaps even add a third story. I’m sure that would be a great status symbol. This could be finished off with a coating of cement mortar plastering. Most of the building stopped at that point.

I could only guess by that time the owners were either broke or ran out of goats to pay for the goods. Most of the houses only had one doorway and one widow. Most were without doors and window glass. Most of them were never painted. Some that were had a coat of white with the edge of the building outlined in another color. Others that dotted the landscape were brightly painted white with “Carta Blana’ emblazed on the outside of the walls. It seemed that the beer company and the tenants bartered to exchange a free paint job for free advertising. I was told this when I asked about not seeing any billboard signage on the highways.

The houses were clustered together in groups and stood with bare yards for the world to see. Some were accompanied by trash and clutter; some were tucked neatly behind plastered courtyard walls.

He close to the middle of town, the closer packed together they became. If there was a church in the middle that meant it was the middle of town. Once or twice we passed an open sided tin roofed building on the highway where someone was roasting goat. I could see the smoke curl off the grill and the empty tables waiting for the lunch crowd to assemble. What a take on ‘lunch on the patio’. Open sky and dirt floor went perfectly with the warm weather and beautiful day. Truly plain and down to Earth, but we went by so fast I never did find out if they served the roasted goat with kumquats in his mouth.

Our first night

I snoozed as the bus made its way through the velvet darkness toward San Luis Potosi. The twinkle of lights nudged me back to wakefulness to watch the city come into view. It seemed to take forever to drive across the town of a million people and arrive at the Real Plaza hotel. However, we soon arrived out of the desert to be greeted by uptown accommodations. The hotel was eleven stories high. We were all lodged on the seventh floor. After we were given our keys, I took my bags to my room. I had a corner room that overlooked the city. Being it was a corner I had two windows. The room contained a giant bed that would have slept six people at the very least. I briefly looked at the bath as I freshened myself and went back downstairs for dinner. It was late so I only had a plate of fruit and the complimentary margarita the tour provided.

Singing for their supper

Entertainment was arranged by the tour for a group of musicians to sing and play for us. The group was comprised of six adults and two boys about eleven or twelve years of age. They were from a school and the uniforms they wore were conquistor-ish in appearance. The group won many awards in competitions for their performances. They had many ribbons adoring the backs of their uniforms to show the honors they won. They played guitars, an accordion, bass, violin and the boys used tambourines and a drum of sorts. They sang very spirited songs in Spanish. They moved about the room playing a song or two then shifted to another section so the rest of the tour group could see and hear them. When the musicians reached the area where a small sideboard table held some of the dinner plates the waiters cleared from the table, one of the musicians looked down at the plates. As they were still singing a song he continued to play and look down at the plates on the table situated by his right side. The next time he looked, the song had just finished and the group was in the process of moving to another area. In one slick swooping movement he swung this instrument to the left side of his body, reached with his right hand and swiftly picked up a piece of left over food and popped it into his mouth and walked off with the rest of the players. Just as if nothing happened, he began to play and sing again with the group. I think I was the only one that saw his sneaky action. I wondered to myself; was he really that hungry, or was it that he couldn’t resist a tempting morsel so close at hand? I never mentioned it on anyone. I wasn’t sure if it was a breach of professional etiquette as the rest of the performance was polished and expertly rendered. Were the players really singing for their supper or did they have to rely on scraps from the dining room? I was a stranger in a strange land and even though I didn’t know the local customs, even swiping a bite of left over food seemed a little out of place. Oh, well, I guess a person has to select his kumquats where he finds them.

Independence past and present

We were walking in the morning to see some of the historical building and cathedrals in San Luis Potosi. Each state of Mexico (there are 31 of them) has a governors place and a cathedral in each capitol city. We made the rounds looking at the wonderful architecture, which was a blend of Spanish and French influences of the early and late 1500’s and 1600’s. The plazas were grand, the building facades ornate, the churches divine and the palaces magnificent. We arrived at the governor’s palace and tuned the corner of the square to admire the bell of independence that hung from the steeple of the mansion. Copies of the original bell were made from the same mold and one placed in each of the capitol palaces. Every year after 1810, on Independence Day, Sept 16, they would ring the bell at the same time in each state to celebrate the defeat of Spain. We were in the midst of listening to the talk our guide was giving us as I was taking pictures. Vincent told us if we see any of the police or federalizes to be sure not to take their pictures. Out of courtesy I put my camera away when I noticed several fully armed federal guards at the front door. I continued to look around and saw many protest signs plastered on the front of the palace. Under one of these signs was a man wrapped in rags or old clothing. He was lying next to the building under a banner sign in a dirty frayed blanket on the stone sidewalk while the guards stood only a few feet away from him. Oh, my, I thought, a homeless man. After we had our tour of the inside of the palace we came back out in the street again. I asked one of my fellow tour companions if she saw the homeless man. She spoke Spanish and told me he wasn’t homeless, but was a protester striking against the abusive tactics of the police. She said the government was hoping the tourists didn’t read Spanish and were not aware of the situation or the protests that were published on the walls.

Gulp. Seal my lips. So, we just stood around trying to be casual and oblivious to the obvious while our guide continued to talk. I was glad when we continued down the street to our next viewing. It was just a little unnerving to be in a foreign country and speak out of turn or get caught up in something our American noses didn’t belong in.

I made a conscious choice not to pick up any kumquats out of his grimy tin cup that morning and thankfully went on my way.

On to Queretaro

Under the aqueduct

We snaked our way through the city streets and when we arrived on the outskirts of town we stopped for a rest room break and candy binge. The cold front must have sneaked in the back door because the dust was blowing a gale and pushed things out of its way, including us. We got off the bus and were blown like rag dolls into the building. The dust was so thick on the highway we couldn’t see anything. The dirt seemed to be making a rapid migration to the next state taking anything in its path with it. Somehow we made it to the next town of Queretaro in time for lunch.

The wind was still blowing, but the city had enough houses and trees to hold the ground in place. We ate at a place called Wings. It reminded me of Luby’s without the buffet line. They had one, but it was not in use when we had lunch. It was modern, fast and clean. The food was very good.

The humor of the name was that it was named after the Red Baron. I thought it was pretty catchy. We could see the aqueduct in the distance from the edge of the hill we stood on. Close to the restaurant was the Bullring that would seat thirty thousand people. That’s way too many people in one spot for me. After lunch we drove down to the aqueduct. This was built for the Governors’ wife in the 1700’s. She wanted fresh water to use in the house and for her bath. The governor had it built to carry water from the springs in the hills to the Palace. It was over a hundred feet high and ran for many miles from the hills to the center of the city. It is not used today and only a portion of it remains. It has been repaired many times to keep it from falling down into a pile of rubble. They have installed a fountain at the end of it to make it look like the aqueduct still carries water to the fountain. In fact, the fountain has a pump that circulates its’ own water. Clever.

Ring a bell for me

We continued our city tour by going to the Chapel of the Bells. Our guide told us that Cinco de Mayo (May 5) is celebrated for the defeat of France in 1865 when the Mexican people rebelled and executed Maximillian when he tried to become the King of Mexico. They weren’t having any of his nonsense since they just declared independence from Spain in 1810. They chopped off his head on the hill of the Bells. He was 33 years old. His wife, Carolta, returned to France and tried to rally up some troops. She went so far as to appeal to the Pope, but he told here there was nothing he could do. She remained in France until she died at the age of 80. She went mad and raved around incoherently until the very end of her days. Just before she died she calmly said, “Where is my husband?” Then she keeled over dead.

I didn’t go up to the chapel, but preferred to feast on the garden landscaping in the park it was located. We were told the place gets its name from the fact when nothing was built on the site you could pick up rocks and hit them together and they would chime like bells. I wonder if the sword that met Maximillans’ neck had a ring to it? It must have had the deep ring of freedom to keep the celebration of Cinco de Mayo going for nearly three hundred years.

On to Mexico City

It took the rest of the afternoon to reach the outskirts to Mexico City. It took another two hours to cross the city, then more time to feel our way around in the dark to reach the hotel. I think it was the lights of the fountains that were the beacons in the night. They were beautiful. They were located in the middle of each intersection of the main boulevard of Avenue de Reforma. Hotel Artisos sat on the avenue in the Zona Rosa. I gathered that meant an area of restaurants and shops next to the hotel on that block. Kinda, sorta, but I got the drift anyway. By the time we reached the heart of the city the streets were lined down each side with trees. The wide promenade walkway with flowers and statues to the many historical heroes and gods was located under them. Some of the buildings were glass skyscrapers and almost reminded me of Houston. After checking in our hotel rooms on the eleventh floor, a few of us decided to venture forth to find out what the ‘Zona’ had to offer.

Shopping rush before Christmas

Ah, shopping Mexico style. We sat in an outside café while we ate and took in the sights. It was a classy café because the waiters were dressed in black pants, white shirts and aprons and busily rushed to meet our needs. They should have, as they charged a ten-dollar table fee. The night was gorgeous and warm. We watched the street vendors who set up their goods on blankets spread on the sidewalk. They were sprawled everywhere. It was two days before Xmas and they were making the last frantic sales they could. Boy, some of them really worked the merchandise trying to make a sale. They sold everything imaginable and then some. Most of it looked like cheaply ‘made in china’ quality stuff. Some had watches, perfume, clothes, bags, junk, leather goods, socks, books, music CD’s, jewelry and everything else a mall or dollar store would have except the expensive storefront.

Running around them were the first of the only street beggars I saw on the trip. Little children from the age of four or so up to the age of 12 were carrying piggy banks. The mother sat in the corner of the building alcoves with a baby snuggled in a shawl around her neck while the family of three to six brothers and sisters worked the streets.

The place was crowded. The vendors were knee deep on both sides of the sidewalk for several blocks that went under the bridge of the highway and came out in a courtyard that had the entrance to the subway in it.

After we were jostled enough to meet our holiday cheer we retreated back to the main street. I did not miss the pastry shop featuring the fancy baked cakes located in one of the restaurants. I earmarked that one for the next day, as it was closed when we walked back to the hotel. They had luscious looking cakes of every flavor and color to make the eye and mouth water in anticipation. I let the one in the town of Monte Morales get away from me, but I wasn’t about to leave Mexico City without these kumquat goodies.

The Grand Tour

Mexico City was big. It was sprawling over the hills and valleys with 20 million people. I was dirty. Trash was everywhere, with people just walking over it. If each person were to pick up three pieces of thrash the city would be clean. It wasn’t too bad in the ritzy neighborhoods, but the outlying areas were a mess. We did the rounds of the governors’ mansion, cathedrals, government buildings, parks and the opera house, until the whole city began to look like the city we had been in the day before. Only Mexico City was grander, more opulent and had more buildings and trash.

Our destination was the Governor’s Mansion. True to form, the Mexican Military guarded the doors. Standing with rifles in hand, the men and women soldiers were standing at attention, positioned in crisp columns on each side of the entrance. I couldn’t resist wishing them a “Feliz Navidad” greeting. After all it was the day before Christmas. Some acknowledged, quite surprised we even spoke to them. We didn’t find any protestors lying around the sidewalk. That was a good sign. We were lead past the open inner courtyard and up the staircase to see the murals painted by Diego Rivera. He was commissioned by the governor to portray the history of Mexico. Mexico certainly has had a rich passionate past. Of course America has too, but I think I feel more drawn to the passion displayed in its portrayal than the stilted version of our English/American war. The colors in the murals were as crisp and brilliant as the day they were painted. They showed richly woven patterns of the history of Mexico from the time of Quetzalcoatl to the struggle of the classes after the revolution in the 20’s and 30s. They were huge. Painted on the walls of the second story open corridors that were built with the arches facing the inner courtyard. My eyes could not see from one side to the other without moving my head up, down and sideways to get the whole picture. They were superb, to say the least. There were about ten or so of them. Every available wall space between the doors had some sort of portrayal of history. We weren’t supposed to take pictures with a flash because the flash would ruin the paint, so I bought a package of postcards with pictures of the scenes on them. The genius of Diego Rivera’s art certainly impressed me. This man had vision and expressed it with eloquence and grace. He was married to Frieda Kahlo, who was also an artist. There was a movie made recently about her life. No wonder she loved him. Here we go with the passion thing again. But I can understand the zeal the two complimented each other with.

We saw another one of his creations when we went to Chapultec Park. It was the fountain of Tlaloc. He was the rain and agriculture god of the ancient Aztec culture. He carries the corn seeds in one hand and ears of corn in the other. It represents the planting and harvest, the cycle of life from birth to death. The fountain shows him in a running stance with the water jets shooting from the top of his head. I really liked the fountain, as it was made from about a million mosaic pieces of colored tiles. It had a lot of the early history of Mexico depicted with the mosaic tiles on various sections of the figure. The fountain was located in the lovely park that also housed a section with amusement rides like we have in the six flags type amusement parks in the states. The park was spotless and very well groomed with grassy grounds well clipped under lots of shady trees.

The bus across town

The view from the bus as we crossed the city was varied and interesting. One little vendor booth that was set up on the sidewalk was nothing more than a table with a little lady sitting behind it under an umbrella. The lady was sitting behind a mound of chicken parts, some cut into pieces, some whole, lying on the tabletop. The chicken just lay out exposed to the elements, uncovered, un-chilled and hopefully un-spoiled. As it was December, I didn’t notice any flies or bugs, but it was creepy to think of the various strains of food poisoning lurking in the moist crevices of the chicken pieces. More wondering. Did the population that ate food like that have a cast iron immune system, or did the use of hot jalapeno peppers to kill most bacteria that harbored itself in the flesh? So much for the tern fresh as it made me shudder just thinking about eating some. Shudder, Ok…. order more fruit for the gringo.

Other sites met our eyes at each intersection. People were selling everything from window washes to bottled water, lotto tickets, candy, and balloons. For the holiday season there were giant sparklers. The vendors passed between the cars waving the goods around, poking it in the windows trying to make a sale. At least they weren’t carrying piggy banks.

On another busy street corner we passed a woman that was selling some giant sparklers. Sitting beside her was a young boy about two years old. He was playing with some toy. On closer inspection he was tethered to a pole with a rope around his waist to keep him from tumbling out into the street.

Besides the marketing she was doing she had a shawl with a baby in it tied to her neck and waist. I never found out if they were able to sustain by selling goods on corners.

As the bus maneuvered through traffic, it was changing lanes just at the same time as another car was headed for the same space. The bus being bigger than the car made into the space; just missing the fender of the car by an inch. Sitting in the back seat of the bus gave me a close up view of what was going on. The driver was mad and honked his horn and gunned the car to pass the bus. Guess what, it was a police car. He pulled the bus over the side and the drivers got out and held a fifteen-minute discussion between them. We never found out how they resolved the problem between themselves. It could have been that they were given a ticket or maybe it was settled with a cash payment on the spot. We would never know.

Down the middle of some of the main streets that weren’t built with fancy medians ran the subway. It was built by Canada, as the American and French companies told the Mexican government it could never be constructed with the problem Mexico City had of being built on top of a lake and over the centuries the water was till down there. Mexico City has a great subway system that runs on top of the ground then dips under the streets to stop at various points along the way. It is electric and runs on giant batteries. There are about 10-15 cars to a subway train, all painted bright orange red. There is a driver that runs the subway train. It also has rubber wheels that run on a metal track.

The Opera House and the vendors in the square

White in Mexico City we went to see the Opera House. It was built in the 1900’s and took 30 years to complete. It is the only one in the world that has a Tiffany glass curtain. We were scheduled to see the Folk Lore dances the next evening and we all looked forward to seeing the inside. Due to a scheduling change we had to see the dances at another theatre and missed the tiffany screen.

We continued the tour going to all the wonderfully constructed buildings that lined the square. The morning brought more and more vendors to set up their stands in the plaza. Business for the day before Christmas would be brisk.

Temple Major and the plaza

After we came out of the Governor’s Mansion we were guided through the shopping crowd to take a glimpse of the Temple Major. Great, I thought. I had been anxious to see more of this ancient site. Time was not in my favor and I could only take pictures of the corner they exposed from the edge of the plaza by the church. Most of it was underground and the Museum held a vast amount of treasures I couldn’t even get close to. I stood there sadly and watched my opportunity diminish before my eyes. I am going to come back I told myself and take days to look. They found the site by accident in 1965 when a telephone crew was digging lines and found some ancient statues. Of course the church was built on some of the site and most of Mexico City has covered the rest with current living. Who knows how much they will be able to uncover. We did see a model of the site at the Museum of Anthropology. That was another place I could spend a week. We only had an hour to see everything. That was sad too. I spent most of my trip carefully watching where the places were located than I wanted to see more of and made mental notes on how to get back to them when I should return in the future.

Set up in the main plaza in front of the church, palace and temple were many vendors. A couple of the more interesting stands had skulls with feathers, bone rattles and bones made into necklaces and bracelets. Old traditions die hard, so to speak, and live and breathe in close proximity of the church. I decided not to visit the cathedral, as beautiful as it was and went instead to find some more Mexican candy. I asked in my crude Spanish where I could find some. I was directed to a large tent across the street. When I got inside the door, I was overwhelmed by the variety of goodies. They had fresh candied fruit, which they make only during the holiday season. I could recognize some of the fruit. They had pineapple, orange peel, apple, jacana, papaya, mango, cactus and figs. They also had some I never had seen before. I bought some of everything, except the cactus. It proved to be so delicious; I wished I had bought more. When I paid, I couldn’t even understand how much she wanted so I held out my hand and she took what she needed. She could have had all the change I had because I was so excited price was no object. I also found a cup with a carved likeness of the moon goddess that was cut into pieces, Coyolxauhqui and a journal calendar book. I didn’t realize until later it was all written in Spanish. I wouldn’t have missed the sale for the world as I couldn’t communicate well to ask prices, but the couple selling the goods must have had the same problem because they relied on a 6-year old boy to do the transaction for them. I found a number of other goodies and made my way through the tent in record time and managed to board the bus with my bag of candied kumquats without being the last one in my seat that time.

We were on our way to the next stop. Getting out of the shopping crowd was a task, for the traffic was blocked for miles. Vendors were stretched down the street for miles, set up on the sidewalk and even out into the street. The crowd as packed on the streets, sidewalks and every square inch in between them. I was I glad I was on the bus. I don’t even go to Wal-Mart during the holidays let alone trying to maneuver through crowds that size. They were selling everything you could imagine. One boy was making spiral slices out of fruit. Another man was making fruit cups and juice. There were taco stands and other food. There were men who had armloads of puppets and dolls. There were many varieties of clothing and hats spread out on blankets and hung from hangers off racks. There was perfume stands and other cosmetics. It just boggled the mind to see so much stuff. A lot of it reminded me of cheap made-in-china nick knacks. But it was a time of year when parents were buying presents for their children and they needed one for each day from Christmas to Jan 6. The twelve days of Christmas. We finally made our way out of the market area. As we went down the streets, each time we turned a corner the stands had thinned out and made way for the statues of Mexico’s heroes, gods and goddesses and beautiful fountains. We rode past the zoo, the military academy, through the rich side of town. We passed shops that featured fine Italian leather shoes, suits and high fashion clothes. Right next to the stores the sidewalks were covered with trash. I never saw so much litter on the streets. By the time we reached the next destination I thought I was getting used to seeing so much trash lying around. I wasn’t prepared for the garbage and the flowers.

Xochimilco Gardens

It means the ‘place of the flowers’. Any name that has ‘x’ in it is a feminine gender, pronounced as ‘sh’. This is the place where the boats take passengers along the water canals to see the flowers on the banks. The boats were decorated very brightly and held about 20 passengers seated along each side. The boat handlers pushed the boats with long poles to navigate them between each other and the shore. This is the last place that the water canals of Mexico City are visible. Over the centuries the lake has been filled in purposely to make solid ground to build the city on. It was winter so the banks did not have lots of flowers displayed. In fact, it had very little in the way of any plants or flowers at all. It smelled of stale water that had been used for more things than drinking out of. The banks also had a number of little houses with families living there. They had docks with their private boats. The people waved as we glided by. As we were enjoying what view there was to see, along came a boat with a couple of men. Someone from our boat shouted, ‘corn, corn!’ Sure enough, as the boat came closer we could see a large metal tub of water with many ears of corn cooking in it. Someone on our tour called out to order an ear of corn. The man reached into the pot with a large fork and skewered an ear. He then impaled the corn on a large dowel rod stick and sprinkled it with hot sauce or hot pepped salt. Pretty clever. He passed the corn on the stick over the side of the boat to our drooling customer and the sale was complete. Then another boat approached, they were loaded with Mariachi players. They boarded out boat and stood on the bow singing and playing for their supper. They worked for tips and must have made some sort of living doing it. They had a couple of guitar players, accordion, bass and they all sang. They were spirited and lively and added a bit of dash that the shoreline lacked. The other boats that approached were salesmen that had blankets and other goods. One man with the blankets took them all out, one by one and unfolded them so we could see the designs and folded them back up with out getting them in the water. He had flamboyance about him, but never made a sale. All the while we were navigating the canals I noticed a little old lady sitting in one the boats in our group. She sat very patiently with a whole display rack of jewelry in her lap. No one even bought anything from her. When we docked the boats and unloaded our tour group, I followed her to her vendor booth on shore. I stopped her and asked to see her jewelry. They were small beaded bracelets, of which I didn’t need, but I felt so sorry she didn’t make a sale on Christmas, I asked how much and what did she think would be the best for me. She held one out that I thought was good and paid her for it. All this time another lady was watching us that I took to be her daughter. I then gave the little grandma a big hug, which made the woman laughed with glee. That made me feel good, and hopefully the little ‘auwella’ (grandma) had a brighter day. As we were boarding the bus again, there were vendors by the door. Oh, yummy, more Mexican candied kumquats. I didn’t miss my chance to get more candied fruit. Now I could munch my way through Mexico City to the next stop.

The vendors

All over the city were hawkers and vendors on every corner. Some in the middle of the street between cars and more stands on the sidewalk. Some were selling bottled water, some were washing windshields, some were selling lotto tickets and some were selling fireworks, mostly giant sparklers. One little lady was sitting in the middle of a median with a shawl around her head and shoulders. Nestled in the shawl was a baby. That wasn’t very notable as we saw many ‘mama’ peddlers with shawls and babies, but, this one had a two or three year old child sitting next to her playing with a toy. To keep him from running out into the street, she had him tethered to a stake in the ground with a rope around his waist. It made me wonder if these ‘mamas’ had a home to go to after making sales or did they just huddle in an alley somewhere during the night. I thought about this because the night before we encountered the street urchins begging for money in Zona Rosa. On our way back to the hotel from eating we saw them with their mother (the mama with the shawl and baby) down an alley way and they were huddled in a corner.

All of the small cement brick houses I saw along the countryside melded into the city landscape until the commercial buildings took over made me wonder even more what kind of houses do they have in the city? Sometimes we did see houses surrounded by patio walls, or upstairs apartments over stores, and even modern wealthy homes in the rich part of town, but what did the poor street vendors live in? One of the questions to be answered on my next trip, or may never be answered.

Christmas day

We headed to Cuernavaca and Taxco. The bus passed through the southern part of Mexico City while the trash still floated and swirled endlessly with the passing of cars and floated up to settle on the fences and into the cracks in the sidewalks; only to be picked up again by the air waves from the next car. It wasn’t until we left Mexico City lying in the mist of the morning and climbed the ridges of the surrounding mountains that we also left the trash to find a spot to settle in for itself. The mountains were pristine and full of pine trees. Commanding a view over the whole area was Mt. Popocataceptal one of the still active volcanoes’ that hovered over the area. It was covered with snow part way down its slopes. It was grand. As we crossed the ridge to descend into Cuernavaca it still stood in all its glory for us to see.

Cuernavaca

As messy as Mexico City was, Cuernavaca was the opposite. Pristine with sidewalks freshly scrubbed, tree trunks painted white and buildings in rich clean colors. They even sculpted the trees down the main highway with faces to welcome visitors. That was really cute. Even though it was Christmas day and most of the inhabitants were home celebrating the day we could see there was extreme pride in the community. We went to one of the churches and peeked in as mass was being preformed. Outside the nuns were setting up a table of wares. There were all sorts of cakes and ‘pan’ (bread) choices. There was even Pulque. Bless the nuns; they made Pulque. That is an alcoholic beverage made from the Muguey cactus plant. I had a taste of it when we went to Teotihaucan, so I bought a bottle and sipped on it for a while; but ended up bringing it home with me. I don’t think it was one of my favorites. As I looked over the neatly groomed gardens that had wonderful flowering trees of African Tulips I caught sight of the top of the church door. There was a niche over the door that held carved skulls and crossbones. No one ever explained that one. But I am sure the skulls were for the death/life cycle in the deeply ingrained Meso-American culture and wondered if the crossed bones had to do with the Spanish influence or the ancient Aztecs.

We went on to see the outside of Cortez’s palace as we left Cuernavaca to go to Taxco. I could have spent more time exploring the city, as it was one of the prettiest we visited. We passed acre after acre of cultivated roses. That is a big industry in that area. I found out later that the city also had underground catacombs and visitors could see the bones stacked in the hallways whose families could no longer pay for their burial plot. This practice isn’t isolated to Mexico, but is also prevalent in Italy, Spain and France. I’m glad we passed that one by.

Taxco

Taxco is the silver mining capitol of Mexico. It also has some the finest silver craftsmen in the world. As we approached the town the red tiled roofs shone brightly in the sun. They covered houses that perched on the hills for miles. Up one side and down the other was a sea of red. We were shown the areas where the silver mines were located and when that area played out the next mine sprung up next to it until that vein was cleaned out. Of course, part of the plan for the tour was to stop at one of the nicest silver shops located along the highway. Wow. What a shop. The salesmen waited in the back until we could get a good view on the feast laid out on the tables. Statues, jewelry, cups, icons and figures of all shapes and sizes were available. As soon as the bus crowd started touching and feeling the goods the salesmen swooped in for the final sale. I had about as much fun shopping for jewelry and I did for the candies. I found two beautiful necklaces and several pair of earrings. I drooled over the figures made from obsidian and silver with inset stones, but had to pass them up. Bummer, but I already had spent 350.00. They gladly took my credit card having the set up to process it. They wrapped up my treasures and I could have sworn they tucked some kumquats in between the tissue paper.

Christmas Day Dinner

The bus took us down the road just a short way and pulled into a real nice restaurant. They were waiting on us for Christmas dinner. They had a buffet table set up with every kind of food you could think of. Lots of salads, fruit and turkey and roast graced the table. The tables for us were long tables and it took three of them to seat our group.

I had used the ladies room so when I got to the dining room everyone else was seated. I found my place and sat down. In front of me was a beautiful gold metal plate. I thought it was very gracious of the restaurant to serve us on gold plates. I made some remark to the person next to me about the plate and she laughed. They were just for show and when we went to the buffet table our eating plates were there. I felt so embarrassed that I didn’t know that I must have turned several shades of red. The food was wonderful. Especially a pasta salad that was so divine I had to have several helpings. When we couldn’t stuff another bite down the tour hustled us out into the parking lot to board small taxis to take us up to the top of the hill where the church, city square and more silver shops were located. The streets were winding and narrow cobblestone, but the taxi zoomed up them in record time. The silver shop at the top of the hill had a display of silver crafted competition pieces behind glass cases. They were wonderful. The silver competition is worldwide with the craftsmen from Taxco winning a good majority of them.

I did find a figure of a Mayan head that I was able to bargain the price on. I think I was the only one in the group that bought anything and as the last one out the door I got the bargain price. Most of the others went to the church, but I decided to walk back down the streets to the bottom where the taxis were stationed. There were lots of wonderful shops and houses. They all sat on the side of the hillside leaning on each other as the street wound around downward. There were gates leading to patios with walls holding pots of mutli-colored flowers in bloom. I found a really cute shop that was decorated like a cave with the silver jewelry displays arranged to appear to be hanging on the walls of the cave. When I made it down to the taxi stand I had a hard time trying to get across to the driver I wanted to go across the canyon to the restaurant on the other side where the bus was located. I thought I would never get the communication through, but finally someone helped me and told the taxi driver what I wanted. No problem then and he whisked me across the bridge in five minutes. I thought I would be the last one on the bus, but when we arrived there were some of the group standing in the parking lot. I acted like nothing had happened and stood an enjoyed the view with them until the rest of the people arrived. I hated to be the last on the bus and make everyone else wait on me. That only happened once the whole trip.

Taxco is a long way in the mountains and we had to drive out the way we came. It was long and winding through the mountains and we managed to get back to Cuernavaca before dark. I enjoyed looking at the sculpted trees with faces on our way through the town to head back to Mexico City. It was dark when we crested the top of the ridge and the millions of lights from Mexico City twinkled at us from below. It seemed to take another forever to get to the hotel.

San Migel de Allende

Our next destination was the city of San Miguel de Allende. We drove up the hills and nestled in a large valley was the sprawling town of San Migel de Allende. It was an arty place with an art institute and many shops with art goods in them. There was a large wonderful plaza with two churches. I found my way to the open market and spent some time browsing the many shops. We only had a few hours to visit, so I almost ran at break neck speed to see everything. On the way back to the bus I found some of the others from the tour and we all ate at the local grilled chicken restaurant that cooked the chicken in a rotisserie oven on spits. It was juicy and flavorful. While we were eating the delivery truck came and unloaded a bunch of gray plastic totes that were full of raw chickens. The guys slid them across the floor and into the back room. Wow.

We ended our trip by bussing back to the US. I may continue the story more, but not much happened on the way home.