Ruminations of an Expatriate

Here’s a few shots of the waves which attract surfers to Puerto Escondido.

I will have my pictures of my Puerto Escondido trip developed tomorrow and will begin posting them soon.

I think I’d mentioned that I ended up staying at the Mayflower, just a couple blocks from the bus station, around which there are many hotels, cabanas, and such. The Mayflower is a combination hotel/hostel, thus there are lots of young folks staying in the dormitories, including lots of crazy young fellows. I opted for the hotel side of the operation and paid $230 pesos per night for a private room, two double beds, and a small terrace from which I had a nice view of the sea and where I could work on a tan (today’s exchange rate $10.69 pesos to $1 USA).

Though I did no serious research, the lowest room price I saw written on a wall, or otherwise advertised, was $150 pesos, including hot water and TV. The TV at the Mayflower picked up four stations, but WiFi is available throughout the place.

I think I mentioned the fellow from B. C. and the fellow from Seattle, who once owned land within 10 miles of where I spent my last thirty plus of my pre-expatriate years, who were staying there. There was another very interesting fellow also staying there.

Lee has spent his thirty eight years in the Kentucky/Ohio area. He speaks with a light drawl; and has worked as an automatic transmission mechanic and builder, apparently of some renown, beginning as a child helping in his father’s shop. His skills afforded him and his family a comfortable life. He claims to have been paid in “six figures” to do what ever he did with automatic transmissions, which included building customs transmissions for high performance cars. The shop in which he has worked provided minor sponsorships to NASCAR teams.

A year or so ago Lee’s wife and only two children were killed in an auto accident, three months later his mother died. Soon he was drinking to excess, gaining weight; and became increasingly despondent, even considering suicide, he reports.

About five weeks ago Lee walked into work; announced that he was leaving for a while; flew to Puerto Escondido; and took a room at the Mayflower, where he has become quite a fixture, even dating one of the housekeepers. I never did ask him why he chose Puerto Escondido. The day before I left, Lee reported that he had rented a home in town and that he is considering relocating permanently.

Lee told me, while eating toasted squash seeds, that at 38 his life has been turned upside down, he is happy in Puerto Escondido, and that he’s going to make the most of the opportunities. He indicated he is considering relocating there.

Meanwhile, yesterday I took the bus from Puerto Escondido to Pocutla, about a hour and a half East, and a taxi from there to Puerto Ángel to take a look at the place. Later, I return to Pchutla for the bus to Oaxaca.

Both the Puerto Ángel bay and town are much smaller than Puerto Escondido. The bay is surrounded by rocky hills, against which the waves crash, except for two fairly small, sandy beaches. There is a very small Mexican Naval Base there, and a pier at at the foot of the bay that seems very much over sized for the small harbor. The pier provides a favorable fishing spot where I watched a young fellow, with a treble hook set up on a hand line, snag and land three fish in three casts.

The beach front restaurants carry even more of that flavorful, funk factor than do those in Puerto Escondido, many simply palapa extensions from the proprietor’s home. It is really is quite a charming little fishing village; but no match for Puerto Escondido, flanked almost entirely by wide beaches and with lush vegetation backing the beaches.

Puerto Escondido

Other things I like about Puerto Escondido are that it’s very clean, it’s very relaxed, the folks are friendly, and it is a very beautiful place.

Revisiting the above post some hours later I realize, though the title refers to thoughts in the plural, I left but one. So here’s another.

Plumb and Level

I realized today why plumb and level costruction is so important in USA construction, and why in Mexico it’s generally not so important.

USA construction typically uses factory made, perfectly squared materials, plywood, sheetrock, and OSB for example. To facilitate the application of the factory squared panels the frame must be square and plumb.

Here in Mexico, buildings don’t generally use the factory squared products, but are constructed of cocrete; masonary; mortar; and finished in stucco, which hides almost any imperfection. Concrete and/or mortar can more readily account for plumb and/or level imperfections.

Mezcal

There is lots of Mezcal produced in Oaxaca, and one sees lots of fields of Maguey plants, even high mounttain patches, and roadside distilleries, touting their finest, all along the bus routes through Oaxaca. The Maguey is a variety of the Agave genus, which the reprobates amongst my five readers (which I suspect is in the strong majority) will recognize is the plant from which Tequila is rendered.

I asked a fellow at a beach-side Puerto Escondido restaurant, where I sat for an hour drinking margaritas and watching the comings and goings, as to the difference between the Maguey and Agave. He told me they are the same plant and that the difference in flavor between Oaxacan Mezcal and the Tequila of Jalisco derives from the different environments in which they are grown. Though I appreciated his answer, being a skeptic, I remained unconvinced. I did a Yahoo search and found the following excerpt at this site:

They both derive from varieties of the agave plant. Tequila is made from only one species of agave, the agave tequilana Weber (blue variety). Mezcal, on the other hand, can be made from five (!) different varieties of agave. The production processes also vary, tequila being distilled twice and mezcal being distilled only once.

So it’s the differences in the variety of Agave plant and and the distilling process differentiate Tequila and Mezcal. I know from my distilled spirits research (which resulted in the construction of a valved reflux still from which I produced moonshine) that Tequila and Mezcal are distilled using “Pot Stills”, which is just what you probably will imagine. A large, usually, copper kettle, in which the fermented “mash” is heated to the ethanol boiling point; a vapor-tight kettle cover from which emerges tubing of increasingly small diameter, often including a variety of differently shaped copper structures between the kettle and cover which provide a bit of reflux action; the tubing is then configured as a condenser, often a copper coil immersed in a container through which water continuously flows, causing the ethanol vapors to condense in the tube, from which the product is collected. Distilling twice, as with Tequila, removes more of the non-ethanol chemicals; and, thus produces a purer product. But with pureness comes a reduction in flavors.

Perhaps you also know that to truly be called Tequila, it must to have been produced from 100% Blue Agave. Both Mezcal and Tequila are made from the juicy, pulpy base of the Agave plant, which resembles a large pineapple and from which the succulent leaves grow. I was told that the plants mature in seven to ten years. When mature the leaves are cleaved from the pineapple with machetes; the pineapple is removed, trimmed, heated for a time; pulped, fermented, and distilled; and that which will become the more expensive stuff is placed in barrels, which impart colors and flavors that intensify over time. The four year old Mezcal is quite dark and very flavorful. The clear stuff may have been produced last week.

I was told by the fellow at La Casa de Mezcal in Oaxaca that worms are placed in Mezcal bottles as a marketing gimmick which apparently works in the gringo market, and that Mexican do not include worms in their blends. The only place I’ve seen Mezcal with worms is in tourist areas.

OK. I’m reaady to pass judgement. Puerto Escondido is the best beach town I’ve visted.

For your reference I can report I’ve visted a number of Dalmatian and USA beach towns, a number of North Yucatan beach towns, Cabo, Cancun, Ixtapa, Playa Baracoa Cuba and probably others I’ve forgotten.

I had breakfast yesterday morning with Dennis, from B.C., and Nicholas, from Seattle, at one of the cafes along street fronting the beach.

I asked the waiter for his opinion as to the best place from which to take photos of the area. Without hesitation he pointed to the luxury hotel looming on the hill above, and answered from the hotel’s roof top bar.

I returned to my room to change into my walking shoes, and headed for the hotel.

Upon arrival I explained to the desk attendant my desire to visit the roof top bar for a beer or two and to take photos of the town. Being a bit early for the bar, and she being not certain of the propriety of my request, made a call to check.

Soon a genial fellow arrived to size up the situation and, I think, me.. I explained my desire and he responded “adelante senor, es en segundo piso”.

I climbed the stairs to the bar, with chairs still upended on the tables, and encountered two pleasant women who had already been informed of my purposes. I downed a Bohemia and a Leon, two of my favorite dark beers, and shot some panoramic photos of the beautiful setting.

The long, sandy, crescent beach, is lined landward by low rise hotels, many with a flavorful funk factor, and scenic restaurant palapas, all respectfully set back from the periodic caprice of the sea.. Each end of the beach is flanked by natural rock barriers which protect the small harbor. The sea at the base of the harbor is relatively calm, and the adjacent beach is a family affair. While the sea breaks along the side of the harbor in large, crashing, tubular waves popular with surfers. It’s all, like, very tubular, man.

It is indeed scenic here. This an authentic beach town where Mexicans vacation. The town feels very relaxed, the tourist area is well kept and clean, and there are no high-rise, beach front hotels. I like it here a lot.

Having fulfilled my photo mission I headed off in search of some beach sandals, as the sandals I brought had rubbed raw a spot on the top and one toe of each foot within the first fifteen minutes of wear.

More later.

I arrived in Puerto Escondido this evening about 8:00 and checked into the Mayflower hotel, a short walk from the bus station and right on the edge of the tourist district. A fact mitigated by it’s 230 peso per night rate.

I haven’t explored much yet; but, so far, it seems like a nice place. I will, of course, report in more detail upon my return home and when I have had my photos developed.

I can report, though, there is a fellow staying here from Vancouver, B.C., not far from where I lived most of my life in Washington state.

And to top that fact, there is another fellow staying here who lives in Seattle, works under contract for Microsoft, and until recently lived in Olympia, WA, the city of my birth.

Even more amazing, he used to own land in Matlock, a few miles from where I spent the last 30 years preceeding my expatriation

The encounter brings to mind my 2000 Dalmatia trip during which I ran into 7 gringos, five of whom were from WA state, 3 from Olympia.

Please keep in mind I am posting with my phone, and exercise understanding patience with editorial problems.

I left Xalapa this morning at 11:00 for Veracruz, having bought bus tickets yessterday from Xalapa to Veracruz and from Veracruz to Oaxaca, where I arrived about 9:00 tonight.

I had decided to not buy a ticket from Oaxaca to Puerto Escondido, in case the bus from Veracruz was late. A wise choice as it turned out. The result, however is a night in Oxaca.

As it has turned out I encountered a lovely hotel, with only about ten rooms, just a few blocks from the bus station.

I am posting this from my hotel room using my phone. I will take some photos of the hotel in the morning and post them later.

I will be leaving the day after tomorrow for Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca to continue the trip that was interrupted by my misfortune in the Oaxaca bus station.

I will try to keep you informed of my travels.

I had mentioned in my Another Visit to Migración post that, after completing my errands and feeling quite satisfied, I decided to stop at the La Capella restaurant and treat myself to lunch. I had often passed the place but never stopped to try it.

As I put it in the post:

The food was great, the service excellent, the decor beautiful, and the folks there very friendly. The walls of the restaurant are adorned with paintings of exaggeratedly fat, cartoonish subjects. I asked if I might take photos and was told of course. I also asked about the pantings and was informed that they are by a Columbian artist named Botero.

La Capella is located at 103 Avenida Xalapeños Ilustres, across the street from the cathedral in San Jose. The tables are outfitted with crisp white tablecloths and the dining room floor is of rich, dark wood.

I had a 10″ Pizza Capella which included vegetables, sausage, and mushrooms served on a round wooden platter for $84 pesos. The restaurant also offers a variety of pasta dishes from $50 to $100 pesos, fish, chicken dishes, and beef steaks, including gringo cuts. There is also a bar upstairs, which I did not visit, as it opens at 8:00 PM, but was told by the staff is quite nice.

It really is a very nice place with a warm and friendly staff. If you’re in town, check it out.

This morning at about 6:45 I noticed the door to my apartment rattling and felt the building shaking. I went out into the building passageway and asked a neighbor I encountered there if she had noticed the building shaking and she responded that she had not.

I have just read and AFP news service report that “A strong earthquake measuring 6.4 magnitude struck the Oaxaca region of Mexico early Tuesday, the US Geological Survey said.”

The USGS reports the epicenter as 23 NW of Arriaga, Chiapas at 6:50 AM local time.

This site displays a map and provides a means to report if you felt the temblor.

Speaking of earthquakes, I lived for most of my life near coastal Washington State. Just off shore is a subduction zone where the San Juan tectonic plate is forced beneath the North American plate. The friction generated by the grinding of the plates builds great force which is occasionally relieved through greater than normal movement of the San Juan plate, and, thus, begetting an earthquake.

Here are my observations of three earthquakes within a three year period.

At 6:19 the morning of June 10, 2001, while reading the morning news at my PC, I heard a slight explosive sound and felt mild shaking, followed by a lull, followed by a louder explosive sound and brief hard shaking. For the third time in slightly less than 2 years, I have experienced an earthquake.

The USGS reports the quake at a 5 magnitude and centered 24 miles below the surface, just a couple miles North of my home. So that’s two of these three recent earthquakes centered within 5 miles of my home.

This time the whole thing latest just a few seconds but the shaking seemed more intense than the shaking of the two other recent earthquakes. Shaking during the July, 1999 quake lasted for perhaps 20 seconds but was not as intense as it was this morning. While the main effect of the February, 2001 quake, centered 30 miles from here, was rolling of the earth for perhaps 10 seconds. It was quite a sensation, while standing on the earth, to feel as though I were on the rolling sea. I do not recall hearing creaking from the house framing during the other quakes, just rattling of glass in the cupboards and such; but this time the roof framing was creaking to the point that I headed for the door.

I remember that in the wake of the quake of July, 1999 I wrote:

It has been a disappointment to me, over the years, that I had never yet experienced an earthquake. Having not yet been born, I had missed the, 7.1 magnitude, 1949 Puget Sound earthquake that cracked the state capitol dome and the streets in the Olympia neighborhood of my youth; and I had left for the East coast a few years before the 6.5 earthquake in 1965.

Believe me, there is nothing like three earthquakes in two years to assuage such a disappointment.

During the bus ride return from Oaxaca I snapped this photos through the bus window with my phone and now that I have received my new laptop I have been able to download them.

The bus passed miles upon miles of hills covered only in forests of these cacti, which I think is Organo Cephalocereus columna-trajani, and a variety of ground hugging shrubs. I have since read that this variety of columnar cactus grows to 33 feet in height and 16″ in diameter.

So as to provide a contrast below is a photo of the richly vegetated hills of Veracruz stare not too far across the Qaxaca state border.

Sorry about the lousy photo quality.

I walked the couple of blocks to the Tavola Trattoria last evening to enjoy one of their excellent pizzas.   As is usually the case, since I generally eat earlier than do folks here, I was the only patron.   A fellow walked in, asked the waitress if the owner was available, and struck up a conversation with me while the waitress  went looking for the owner.  He explained that he was there to confirm arrangements for his musical performance at Tavola later this month.

The fellow, René Hernández, and his wife, Angélica Almanza, compose, arrange and perform original music as Radio Berenjena here in Xalapa.  You may read about them and listen to samples of their music at their My Space page.

I don’t think I’ve ever reported that here in Mexico, at least here in Xalapa, in Merida, and in Oaxaca, when folks enter a restaurant it is customary that they bid the other diners  a “buenos dias, buenas tardes, or buenas noches, as appropriate, and a buen provecho”.

You may remember the photos and commentary I posted relative to the construction of an addition to the apartment building where I live, here from December and here from last month.

The guys doing the work, with whom I have become quite familiar as I always stop to watch and ask questions, will tomorrow morning begin pouring the second story slab and the beams which will support the third story.

El jefe told me that they will be using a concrete pump truck to place the concrete, which is how concrete is typically placed on larger USA construction projects or in instances where the form work site is inaccessible to the concrete batch truck. As I had previously mentioned, to this point every bit of concrete placed in the project has been mixed by hand and placed in the forms using buckets.

The photo above shows the form work and reinforcement. The tops of the polystyrene plastic blocks, we know as styrofoam, are at the level of the bottom of the second floor slab. Their use enables the workers to pour the beams and floor slab in one pour without ending up with a floor slab thicker, and much heavier, than necessary. Once the form work below, shown in the January report, is removed the blocks will also be exposed, and removed.

The photo at right shows a roll of reinforcing mesh that will be spread across and a couple inches above the styrofoam blocks, mid-height in the finished floor slab.

This morning as I left for a bit of shopping the roll was laying in the street out front, with about seven fellows considering how to lift it up to the second story. When they saw me they asked me to lift for them and laughed. I don’t know how much the roll weighs but it took about seven of us to just lift it off the ground.

Ultimately three beams, perhaps 4″ x4″, were laid up against and lashed to the structure with tie wire. We moved the roll near to the beams at street level, stood the roll on its end, laid it against the three inclined beams, and slid the roll up to the fellows above, using poles to push it the last couple of feet beyond our reach.

When I went up on the roof this afternoon to take these photos I caught the guys taking a break playing cards in the shade.

Speaking of up on the roof, I thought I’d show you the roof of the apartment building. The large black tanks hold water which is pumped from street level. The water line serving the apartment building, with more than twenty units, is about 1/2″ diameter, whereas, typically, the line serving a single family residence in most USA cities would be 3/4″, and probably 2″ for an apartment building of the size where I live. Because the water mains in the streets here, and elsewhere in Mexico, are much smaller than the typical USA main, which are of at least 6″ to adequately supply fire hydrants, each building has an elevated tank into which the water is pumped and fed into the building through gravity. Here, with construction of masonry, thus less concern of fire, there are no fire hydrants.

The smaller white tank you may see at the center of the photo holds LPG gas. Periodically the gas delivery truck will stop by, one of its operators will climb to the roof, drops a rope to the other truck attendant to which he ties the gas delivery hose, and the fellow on the roof pulls up the hose and fills the tanks.

In the distance may be seen the top of the Catholic church in th next block.

This morning at 2:15 I departed the CAXA bus station here, aboard an ADO GL bus, for the five hour trip to Mexico City, where I visited the USA embassy to apply for a new passport.

I arrived in D. F. about 7:20 and caught a cab for the half hour trip across the city to the embassy, arriving just a few minutes before the passport office opening at 8:00 (it closes at 10:30 AM, by the way.)  I explained my business to a friendly member of the Mexican embassy protection police, who directed me where to wait.  It was considerably chillier there than here, owing, I suppose, to the higher altitude.

Within ten minutes the guard indicated I should enter the building.  The security was a hassle but everyone I dealt with,  except for two they were all Mexicans.

I had visited the State Dept. web site, downloaded and completed the applications, and confirmed which documents and photos I must submit with the application.

All was in good order and by 9:30 I was done.  Not wishing to do the D. F. tourist thing, I caught a taxi out front and was back at the TAPO bus station a bit before 10:00.  Being hungry I chose to buy a ticket for the 11:00 AM bus so I could have breakfast.

The TAPO station, through which I traveled on my way to Guanajuato, is constructed in a circle with the various ticket counters arrayed around the inside of the circle, corresponding to each line’s departure platforms along the outside of the circle.  At the center of the station is a circular array of food vendors with an internet cafe at the center.

I arrived back home by 3:30 and expect to receive my passport through a courier service within three weeks.   Mexico City is huge and there is lots of traffic.  Maybe one day I’ll work up the courage to visit for a couple of days.

You may remember that my report of my visit to La Casa de Mezcal included a report of my encounter with Christopher, 27, who plays trumpet in a “banda” and his buddy Marcos, 21, who is stationed with the Mexican military in Chihuahua. Both fellows are from the pueblo of San Pedro San Pablo Ayutla, about a four hour bus ride through the mountains, pretty much due East from Oaxaca, where they had invited me to visit.

So on the morning of Monday, January 21, I arose early; enjoyed a breakfast of a tamale Oaxaquenos, juice, coffee, and bread; and walked the eight or so blocks to, what the locals refer to, the “second class” bus station. And the place is a riot.

The station, from which locals depart for an amazing variety of destinations, is constructed in a huge semi-circle, with ticket booths arrayed along the outside of the arc corresponding to departure points arrayed along the inside of the arc. The bus yard, through which I walked to reach the station, is unpaved, quite rough, and dusty. There were a number of pretty rugged looking dogs foraging through the lot.

There are in the station a number of shops, food vendors, and even an internet cafe. There were a number of fellows at each gate hollering out the destinations served from their gate. Everyone was friendly and helpful.

Entering the station I made my way from ticket booth to ticket booth asking for directions to the one serving the Ayutla route, which I eventually encountered. I bought my ticket and went out onto the platform to await the bus to wait with others.

There was a very friendly fellow waiting next to me, with a new chainsaw, who was returning to his home pueblo, beyond Ayutla. He works in the forest and uses the chainsaw to cut boards from the log, he cuts, I discovered after striking up a conversation. There was also a fellow that drug a queen sized mattress onto the platform, which fortunately did not go into the bus which I eventually boarded. With the exception of one young fellow, none of the other waiting passengers reached my shoulder in their heights.

The bus arrived fifteen or so minutes late and within five minutes of frenzied action everyone had their bagged stowed and was seated in their assigned seats. Larger baggage items were loaded at the rear, through what you would probably know as the emergency exit of a school bus, with the largest items hoisted onto and lashed to a large luggage rack on top. It was a riot.

Those who know me, know that this is the type of authentic travel experience I particularly enjoy.

During the few minutes before the bus departed a fellow boarded to sell small plastic jars of cream he claimed would relieve pain and cure just about any other ailment. I asked if the cream would help chapped lips, to which he responded “claro” (of course). I bought a jar for $10 pesos and slathered a bit on my lips, chapped, I assumed, by the dry air. Only after the application did I read the list of ingredients, which included, amongst other constituents, coyote fat. The green hued cream was effective.

The bus traveled along the floor of the valley within which Oaxaca resides through Mitla and then began its winding climb into the mountains on a two lane, modern quite smooth roadway. The surrounding hillsides remained quite arid until perhaps a half hour out of Ayutla when Pine forest became increasingly dense. The hills surrounding Ayutla are entirely forested and the vistas from Ayutla are stunning.

A bit before Ayutla the bus pulled into a Pemex station and I saw my opportunity to use a bathroom. The driver and attendant assured me I had the time. While exiting the bathroom I heard the bus horn blast and saw the bus pulling out. I ran and jumped onto to the platform of the moving bus. When I arrived at my seat I encountered a very sweet looking girl, of about nine years I supposed, occupying my seat and looking up at me with a very sweet smile. I grabbed my bag, assured the girl’s father that there was no problem, and moved to the very back of the bus where there was an available seat next to the chainsaw owner.

To get there I had to climbed over five bags of something lined up in the aisle which had come aboard with an older gentlemen maybe twenty minutes earlier. I had been in the seat only a few minutes when the bus stopped again to disgorge a couple of passengers and to take on an older gentleman, and older woman and a younger woman. There being no seat for the older gentleman, I got up, crawled over the top of the bags in the aisle, gave up my seat to the older fellow, and spent the remaining fifteen of the trip standing in aisle.

Arriving in Ayutla the bus attendant and the chain saw fellow both informed me that I had arrived at my destination. I disembarked to encounter a couple fellows loading metal onto a pickup and asked where I might find a restaurant. They pointed to my immediate right to a bar. I ascended two stories to a bar with stunning views of the mountains, ordered a beer, and asked the young attendant where I might find accommodations. He directed me to “centro”.

I finished my beers and headed off toward “centro”, which consists of a few stores and a few cocinas, into one of which I stopped for three beef tacos and an orange soda. The friendly woman staffing the cocina directed me to the town’s three hotels, and that’s using the term “hotel” extremely loosely.

I rented a room at the hotel I judged had the nicest views. The room, with the bathrooms around the corner,was $80 pesos, which I can say is the cheapest room I’ve ever rented. I rented a room in a flop house in Denver in 1977, to take a break from my cross country freight train trip, for $5 USA, the story of which I will spare you; but adjusting for inflation I assume the price today would be equivalent to more than $80 pesos.

Later I walked back toward centro to a restaurant/bar I had seen on the way to the hotel. It was a wonderfully decorated place with very good food and great, friendly service. The menu included fresh, locally grown trout.

Unable to contact the fellows I’d met in Oaxaca, owing to a lack of cellular service in the area, I arose early the next morning, having learned the day before the “cooperativo” left for Oaxaca at 6:00 AM and 1:00 PM. I walked down the hill from the hotel and as soon as I hit the main road along came a cooperativo (a Dodge van). I hollered “Oaxaca”, the driver pulled over, confirmed that I wished to go to Oaxaca, loaded my bag in the back, and directed me to the one remaining seat in the very back. The van contained about ten sleeping folks. About four hours latter we arrived in Oaxaca.

Ayutla is a dusty little burg straddling the roadway snaking through the mountains; and other than the grand mountain vistas, and the great restaurant, and its friendly inhabitants, in my judgment, it has little to recommend itself. But traveling there and back was a grand adventure.

Yesterday morning I, rather sheepishly, visited the immigration office here to report the theft of my FM 3 visa and inquire as to what was necessary to obtain a new one. You may remember that just a bit more than two weeks ago I had renewed my visa. Consequently I was a bit embarrassed to return so soon.

I explained my situation to the woman who helped me and apologized for my carelessness. She told me “no te preocupes” (don’t worry) and asked if I had a police report relative to the theft in Oaxaca. I answered that I did not, as I assumed that my property would not be found. She told me that she must have such to reissue my visa. I asked if I must return to Oaxaca, the prospect of twelve hours on a bus just to retrieve a police report being not at all appealing. She directed me to the Agencia de Ministerio Público, in the San Jose area a few blocks from the immigration office.

So off I went to the Agencia, and upon my arrival I explained my situation to a very kind woman and asked with whom I must speak. She directed me to a young fellow who very kindly informed me that I must go to the Agencia Segunda off of Avenida 20 de Noviembre. I hailed a cab and for $20 pesos was dropped at the front door.

I again explained my situation and was told to return at 1:30 when the person who could provide me with the necessary document would arrive. Being a bit unsure if I understood correctly, I returned to the immigration office where a woman kindly wrote the name of the agency for me. Assured that the Agencia Segunda was the correct place I returned a bit before 1:30.

Soon the woman who would help me arrived and shortly I was asked to enter her office. I explained my situation and she assured me that she would help for a $100 peso fee; but to do so she would have to state in the required document that the theft had occurred in Xalapa, and assured me there would be no problem in doing so.

I thanked her profusely and within ten minutes she had prepared the document on her laptop. Midway through my wait she began speaking impeccable English. Curious as to what types of matters she and her compatriots tend to, I asked “what do you do here”. She responded “I work here”, and laughed heartily. I explained that I was using “you” in the sense of the agency and she explained what they do there.

Having the necessary document and very pleased that I needn’t return to Oaxaca for such, I began my walk back to Centro. I stopped for lunch at the La Capella Italian restaurant, which I had often passed but never entered. It was a very pleasant surprise.

The food was great, the service excellent, the decor beautiful, and the folks there very friendly. The walls of the restaurant are adorned with paintings of exaggeratedly fat, cartoonish subjects. I asked if I might take photos and was told of course. I also asked about the pantings and was informed that they are by a Columbian artist named Botero.  (Since my Dell has only a 10 gb hardrive there is not room to load the software necessary to download photos from my phone so I must wait until I have a new computer to post my La Capella report.)

On the walk home I stopped at a bank to pay the visa replacement fee and a photo studio for photos I knew the immigration office would need.

All and all it was a wonderful day.

This morning I returned to the immigration office, submitted the required documents and photos, again the woman helping me told me to not worry, completed the necessary paperwork, had me sign and apply my thumb print to a blank visa, and told me to return next Friday to pick my visa. I was in and out in twenty minutes.

I can also report that I have visited the USA State Dept. website where there are instructions as to how to report a stolen passport and the required form. I completed the form, printed it, scanned the printed form, and both express mailed it to the Wash. D. C. and emailed the scanned copy to the USA embassy in Mexico City, where I must present myself to apply for a new passport. This morning I received a very kind response from the passport consular at the embassy offering any help necessary. Once I receive my new credit card, which I am expecting within the next couple of days, I will bus to Mexico City to make the application.

It really has been all quite painless.

I was sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Virginia just finishing up the Casa de Mezcal post when a couple of husky young fellows entered and sat down on the couch adjacent to where I was sitting. I do not have wireless reception in my room so I hang out either the lobby or restaurant to take care of my internet business.

I noticed that the young fellows were speaking English really well and remarked on its quality. One of the fellows answered that he was born in Chicago and the other in American Lake Idaho.

The fellow from Chicago, Hector, indicated that he plays drums in a Duranguemse band, Autoridad de la Sierra; and the other fellow, Piko, indicated he worked security for the band. Either one of the fellows could work security anywhere, given there sizes.

Hector explained that Duranguemse, named for the Mexican state of Durango, is a genre developed in Chicago and consists of electronic keyboards, a tuba, other brass instruments, and an accordion. Hector also remarked that Chicago is a “magical” place for music.

The shot above is of the band’s logo on their tour bus.

Another interesting encounter on the road.

Being a committed reprobate, you know that when I happened upon La Casa de Mezcal, I had to enter. What ensued was one of those serendipitous travel experiences into which I often stumble when traveling without specific plans.

Actually there are quite a number of mescal stores here, as it is a product for which the area is apparently famous.

Upon my entrance, Jose greeted me warmly and described the six different mescal options from which I could choose. The choices differed in their ages and, thus, their colors, as the color, as well as various flavors, are imparted by the wooden barrel in which the liquor is aged. I opted for a shot of the “anejo” variety which has been aged for twelve years in Oak (Roble) barrels and is of a rich dark color and very smooth flavor. Jose explained that the younger mescal is harsher and is of a much lighter color.

La Casa de Mezcal is richly finished in wood, as you may see in the photos, with much of the wood intricately carved and with raised panels of Cedar surrounded by stiles and rails of lighter Pine. It is stunning.

I asked Jose if it would be alright if I took photos (always the polite thing to do, I think) and he, of course welcomed me to do so, and began showing me around. He took me into an adjoining room where a couple of young fellows were quaffing the youngest variety of mescal offered, blanco. I excused myself as I wished to take a photo of a particularly stunning carved door, and they asked me to join them, which I of course did.

Marcos, twenty one and stationed with the Mexican military in Chihuahua, and Christopher, a twenty seven year old musician who plays trumpet in a fifteen piece “banda” (which I understand is a genre) playing mostly Mexican music, had already had a few shots.

Both Marcos and Christopher live in San Pedro San Pablo Ayutla, a pueblo of about 300 folks a three or four hour bus ride pretty much due East of here. They told me that in the area of their pueblo gold ore is mined and that the area was never overrun by the Spanish conquerors.
Marcos was a bit inebriated, though not obnoxiously so, but persisted in tapping my arm when he wished to gain my attention and continuously repeated himself. Christopher, on the other hand, was very polite and very interesting.

Christopher told me that in the process of excavating for the foundation for a house he was building he unearthed a gold horse and a gold cup, which he says are of Aztecan vintage. He asked that I not mention the fact to anyone local and if I might be able to help him find a buyer. I told him I would look through the internet for buyers of Aztec antiquities and call him with contact information.

OK, I can hear you all now. And I admit, I am somewhat of a sucker for such things. But tomorrow I am taking a bus to the pueblo to visit, and to stay in what Christopher told me was his three room hotel. I have confirmed with the desk clerk at the Hotel Virginia, where I am staying here, that the pueblo (which does appear on my map) is quite nice and that there is a hotel there. Other than that I don’t know.

You may never hear from me again, but I’m up for the adventure. Meanwhile enjoy the photos of La Casa de Mezcal.

The police here, who are far fewer than in Xalapa it seems, carry only a “night stick” and handcuffs. None that I have seen carry a sidearm or rifle. All of the many police persons in Xalapa carry side arms, many carry rifles or shotguns and some carry six foot long metal truncheons, though I hasten to add that the police in Xalapa are not the least bit menacing.

There are very few buildings here of more than two stories, and few of even two stories. I was told by Jose, of the Casa de Mezcal (of which I will tell you), that Oaxaca is located in a seismic zone, thus the low rise nature of the buildings. Xalapa does not reside in a seismic zone, thus there are many multi-story buildings, particularly in Centro.

The streets and sidewalks in Centro Oaxaca are wider than their counterparts in Xalapa, thus, coupled with the fact of lower buildings, it is lighter and more airy at street level.

Damn there are a lot of churches here. It seems that every couple of blocks one encounters an opulent cathedral.

While I recommend that anyone visiting Oaxaca visit the Zocolo, and park oneself in a chair at one of the restaurants to experience the comings and goings and to make appropriate donations to vendors, I recommend a walk along Calle Las Casas for a tour of the local shopping district. Calles Independencia, Hidalgo, and Guerrero are the streets heavily traveled by tourists, but the other areas of town are quite loevely.

There are many folks in the Oaxaca area, so I’m told, who primarily speak Mixe, an indigenous Aztecan language, of which there are two dialects in the area. The woman making tortillas in the Restaurant Centro, where I had both breakfast and lunch today, told me that she doesn’t speak Spanish well, but speaks Mixe. Likewise, Marcos and Christopher, whom I met in the Case de Mezcal, told me that perhaps twenty percent of those in their home pueblo, near to here and where I will go tomorrow, don’t speak Spanish.

There is a beautiful building fronting on the Zocolo of which I asked Adan, the waiter at the restaurant on the Zocolo where I had a couple of beers yesterday, if it was a government building. He told me that is used to be the state government building; but the state government offices have since been dispersed to different buildings around town, as the Zocolo building had been the site of so many disruptive, often violent, demonstrations.

There is a Jardin de Entobotanico here, to which I walked this morning. Tough I was able to look through a couple of windows in the surrounding walls, it is closed on Sundays so I was not able to visit. Given that I will leave tomorrow at noon, a visit to the Jardin will have to wait. The pictures you see here are of the entrances to the jardin.

I enjoy nothing more than being on the road, encumbered with few plans, learning of new places and people, who are generally eager to answer my many questions, which I generally precede with a “disculpa, una pregunta por favor.” My entreaties are almost always answered with a “no te preocupea” and an answer is gladly proferred.

Also, traveling with no plans enables me to take advantage of such serendipitous opportunities of which I will next report to you.