Ruminations of an Expatriate

A week ago Saturday I drove through San Bruno and Luz del Barrio, through San Andres and a couple of other small pueblos, to the end of the road.

I have since been wanting to take a walking look at the San Bruno and Luz del Barrio colonias and what lays beyond. So Saturday morning, in need of exercise on a sunny morning, I headed West on Calle Sayago toward San Bruno. At Calle Avilla Camacho I crossed and continued West on Av. Martires del 28 de Agosto.

I really had no idea that I would end up two and a half hours later in Rancho Viejo, where, as it turned out, serendipity awaited. First, though, my walk.

San Bruno and Luz del Barrio are pleasant neighborhoods which radiate up the hillsides from a narrow creek valley. The area, I would say, is populated by working class folks, as most homes are modest. Being more recently developed, in some areas the neighborhoods lack some of the sidewalk, drainage, and roadway amenities enjoyed in the earlier settled areas of town.

Leaving Luz del Barrio the road climbs through a landscape of small holdings with pastures stretching uphill into the forest. The forest is quite different than that in the Coatepec, Xico, and Teocelo areas, as there is no dense under story of coffee bushes and banana trees. Large trees, oak and cedars amongst others, form a dense canopy which shades the under story, thus limiting the vegetation.

The road narrows as it climbs and is periodically lined with stands of timber bamboo, the really big stuff, that have been planted as sight-obscuring, impenetrable hedges along the occasional developed property. Piles of detritus, prolifically produced by the bamboo, accumulates at the side of the road, impinging the upon the roadway to the point where traffic must pass over it.

The roadway hairpinned down the other side of the hill, periodically passing an imposing masonry arch at a finca entrance; across a small creek; up and over a couple of more hills; and finally dropped down to to the settlement of Rancho Viejo. The pueblo resides within a bowl surrounded by hills. It is quite picturesque and is free of the traffic and haze which generally characterizes Xalapa.

Having walked, I was later told, about six kilometers I was ready to sit down for a bite and a beer. As my luck seems to very often have it, just as I was entering the center of Rancho Viejo I encountered an open air restaurant attached to an imposing brick home surrounded by lush gardens . Being a dunder head, I don’t remember the restaurant’s name, but do remember that it is open only on Saturdays and Sundays.

The restaurant, housed in an attractive wood-framed structure with nice views of the gardens, was staffed by four very pleasant young women, at least some of whom I took to be sisters. I imagined they were a bit surprised to see a sweaty gringo amble in. They were very patient with my many questions.

The specialty of the house is fresh trout, and I do mean fresh, offered in 15 or so different preparations. I thought it appropriate to go for the Trucha Rancho Viejo.

The trout are grown in tanks, aside a river about four kilometers away, by the father of at least two of the women in attendance. There is a photo of the fish tanks on the wall.

The lunch, accompanied by two Indio beers, included a grilled trout, gutted and boned but with head and skin, laid opened on the plate with half covered in a slightly sweet, slightly nutty crumble of cheese and I don’t know what else, with the other half covered in rice with peas and carrot chuncks. Cucumbers in mayonnaise was served on the side and the preceding chips were warm, fresh out of the fryer.

I asked about bus service back to Xalapa; paid the bill; walked out through the garden; and, again as my luck often has it, as soon as my foot hit the pavement a bus appeared. I jumped on and headed home.

It was another of those serendipitous travel experiences into which I often happen.