Ruminations of an Expatriate

One of the many things I like about living in Mexico is the presence of bodega de semillas (literally warehouse of seeds). Being an old hippie, before I moved to a rural area thirty some years ago I shopped at food co-ops where I could buy grains, flours, oil, dried fruits and other food stuffs in bulk.

I shop at this bodega de semillas which sells all sorts of products in bulk and has a troop of young folks in aprons loading products into plastic bags for the customers. The shop sells all sorts of flours, grains, pulses, herbs and spices, candies, nuts, pastas, TVP, dried fish and shrimp, packing, rolls of plastic and foil wrap, paper and plastic bags, a wide variety of dried chiles in the bags you may see in the photo, and all sorts of other stuff. It’s a riot.

I bake my own bread and eat rolled oats each morning, so when I need to resupply I head on over to the Bodega de Semillas at Sayago and Revolucion. I usually wait by the large plastic garbage can full of flour until one of the attendants takes notice and asks what I need. The attendant rips a couple of plastic bags off one of the rolls hanging at various locations around the store and begins loading the doubled bag with a scoop. Once the attendant believes she has loaded the bag with about the amount I ordered she heads for one of the many scales with a scoop full of product in case she must adjust the amount in the bag, tops off or subtracts from the product in the bag, ties the top of the bag, marks the price on the bag, and asks “algo mas”.

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.

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.

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.

A few days I ago I posted this photo of a caterpillar I encountered on the wall of the apartment building where I live.

A comment posted this morning by moonrock motivated me to take a look through the internet to try to identify the creature.

I found this site with a photo and a bit of a description which identifies it as a Saddleback Caterpillar. And this site with photos of the moth it is to become.

Here’s a photo of an interesting caterpillar I encountered crawling on a wall of the apartment building where I live.

Some may remember I posted a report of My Walk to Rancho Viejo, there weeks or so ago. I had headed out on a walk to explore Colonia San Bruno and ended up, after four kilometers of climbing up and over a couple of hills along a winding road, at Rancho Viejo. Quite sweaty and thinking of a beer, as I entered the pueblo I found myself at the gate of a wonderful restaurant specializing in fresh, locally grown trout. It was one of those serendipitous travel experience that seem to arrive when one sets out with no plan.

Like the space cadet I often am, I failed to remember the name of the restaurant.

This afternoon I drove to Los Paredones, the wonderful restaurant in Rancho Viejo, for another trout lunch and Indio beer. This time taking my pen and pad.

As it turns out there are a number of restaurants in Rancho Viejo serving fresh trout, none that I saw offering the amenities and ambiance of Los Paredones, though with lower prices, I suspect.

Rancho Viejo, as I learned from Maximino Salazar, a trout grower and owner, with his family, of the restaurant, is located in a valley transversed by two small rivers, Rio Pisquiac and Rio Xoco Yolapan, neither of which ask me to pronounce. The rivers names are Nahuatl, the indigenous language of the Aztecs still spoken in areas of Central Mexican. The tranquil and sunny valley consists of a patchwork of pastures and forests containing Oak, Cedar, other tress of which I am unfamiliar, and a fairly open shrubby under story. The area brings to mind the hill farms flanking the “hollers” in the Appalachian mountains. It provides a tranquil relief from the traffic and smog of Xalapa.

Maximino, who indicated I should call him Max as no one knows him as Maximino, informed me that Rancho Viejo resides upon the sight of a former hacienda owned by a Spaniard, of the name Rodriguez, to whom the land was granted by dictator Porfirio Díaz. Rodriguez lost the land during the land reform movement following the revolution that deposed Diaz.

Max indicated that most development in Ranch Viejo has occurred during the last four years. He also invited me back to visit him in his house for coffee and conversation.

I hope locals, and those visiting Xalapa, will pay a visit to Los Paredones. The very reasonably priced ($65. pesos for a trout platter of about 15 varieties) food is as fine as I’ve eaten; the family operating the place is very warm and friendly; the bathrooms are modern and spotless; the service is great; and the ambiance provided by the open air, wood frame structure surrounded by gardens is relaxed and pleasant. The restaurant is open only on Saturdays and Sundays and you should plan to get there by 2:30 or so, as by 4:00 the placed was packed, including the unroofed adjoining patio, upon which tables were set as the guest arrived. To get there take Sayago, pass through San Bruno, and take the left fork at the road to San Andres. Its over just a couple of hills from San Bruno. The restaurant is on the left just as you enter centro Rancho Viejo. You will not be disappointed.

After you meal take a drive through Rancho Viejo, (tkae a left when leaving the restaurant parking area) where you will not encounter a typical centro plaza. There is a gorgeous river stone and mortar church on the right not far from the restaurant and picturesque farms along the road.

I had Trucha (Trout) Rancho Viejo, grilled trout laid open on the plate, complete with head, and covered with a crumble concoction containing Macadamia nuts, a bit of sugar, and I don’t know what else. The fish was accompanied by rice with peas and carrot bits, traditional hereabouts; cucumbers slivers in a mayonnaise sauce; a cup of soup; and chips, salsa, and a somewhat spicy chip sauce of mayonnaise, ketchup, and I don’t know what else.

A few days ago I posted pictures of the work of constructing an addition to the apartment building in which I live.

The workers are now placing the reinforcement bar for the beams that will support the upper floors and placing the form work for the second floor slab itself.

Above is a shot of some of the construction workers after work on Saturday afternooon enjoying a few hands of cards. I have become quite familiar with the fellows, who, I think, consider it a bit odd that a gringo would take such an interest in their work.

The photo at right shows the form work for the second floor slab. The posts are slender tree trunks which support wooden boards laid on edge, over which are placed thinner boards upon which the second floor slab will be poured.

Again, every bit of concrete used in the construction is mixed by hand on a concrete slab, using shovels, and placed into or onto the forms using five gallon buckets.

And here you can see a typical rebar bundle for the beams that will span from column to column and which support the upper floor walls.

The rebar is laid up essentially in the same manner as it is in the USA, but here the bundles are put together on site using only hand tools and manual labor. Often in the USA the rebar bundles are assembled in specialized workshops and shipped to the site for placement.

In the USA workers use special twister type pliers to secure the tie wire that is used to connect the pieces of rebar together. Here the fellows use a piece of rebar that is bent at 90 degrees and sharpened at one end to twist the wires that connect the pieces.

I find it all quite fascinating.

Those who know me, know that I am irreligious. That is, I find no use for religion in my life, being more grounded in science than in mysticism.

I am, however, not the least bit antagonistic toward those who find their religious beliefs to bring comfort to their lives. I have, in fact, been known to take on evangelicals expressing bigotry toward Mormans and intolerant gringos expressing their bigotry toward gringo Protestant missionaries here in Mexico. Neither do I believe that any religion is more valid than any other, believing them to all be equally invalid.

Having dispensed with such qualifications, I wish to tell you of my Jehovah Witness friends.

About three months ago I answered my buzzing apartment intercom to encounter a pleasant female voice asking, in very well spoken English, if mine was the apartment in which an English speaker resides. I responded that, yes, I speak English. To which she responded that she would like to speak with me for a bit . I answered of course, “uno momento por favor” and headed for the front gate.

There at the front gate awaited a quite fetching young Mexican woman, with whom I had spoken through the intercom, and an elderly Mexican woman who, I soon determined, spoke no English.

Introductions were made, I asked what was up and soon realized that the folks were Jehovah Witnesses “spreading the good news”, as they put it.

Immediately I very politely informed Erika and her companion that I am almost 60, have given much thought to religious matters over the course of my adulthood, am not in the least amenable to any type of proselytization, and didn’t want them to waste their time on such a hopeless prospect as myself.

None-the-less, the young woman, Erika, launched into her pitch, assuring that she was not intending to try and convert me. She asked me to read a propaganda pamphlet she left with me and asked if she could return in a week or so to talk again. I took the pamphlet and indicated she was welcome to return.

A week later Erika returned with an older Canadian fellow. I again immediately and politely assured them that I was a hopeless prospect. Erika asked what I thought of the pamphlet she had left during her last visit. I answered that I couldn’t read past the first page as I considered it to be nonsensical propaganda.

The Canadian fellow began presenting the usual insipid arguments against the Theory of Evolution. I assured him that there is absolutely nothing he could possibly say to me to dissuade me from believing the fact of evolution. He asked “why is it referred to as the Theory of Relativity?” I snorted my disdain at such a pathetic argument, feeling it not necessary to be as polite to a Canadian interloper as, being an interloper myself, I feel it necessary to be toward locals. So off they went in rather short order.

I did not hear from Erika again until a couple of weeks ago when I was hailed by a pleasant female voice as I walked along the street. I turned to discover Erika and two comrades following. Erika asked if she might again stop by for a chat and assured her she was welcome.

A week later Erika again buzzed through the intercom and I went to the front gate to find Erika and an older woman from Michigan. Off we went to a local restaurant for coffee.

During the ensuing conversation I again assured them that I was useless as a prospect and that it was useless for them to try to convince me through the citation of Bible verses, as I did not in any way believe the Bible to be the revealed word of God. It is a book, I averred, written by who knows who, who knows when, and motivated by who knows which of the seven deadly sins. I bought them lunch and they went on their way, feeling quite unsatisfied, I suppose.

Earlier this week Erika called and asked if we might speak again (Mondays are her day for my neighborhood) and I answered that I would meet her at the front gate. She was accompanied for this visit by her brother.

So off we went to a restaurant downtown for coffee, and essentially the same conversation I had before with Erika and her various compatriots. Again I assured them that I’m not into mysticism and to please hold the Bible verses. Both Erika, an accountant, and her brother, Hiram, an electronics engineering student, are quite pleasant. After I convinced them that their efforts were useless the conversation moved onto more interesting topics.

When living in the USA I gave none of my time to vendors of religion or insurance, sending them on their way as soon as I learned their purpose.

What can I say? I’ve plenty of time on my hands and I’m interested in meeting and getting to know locals.

As I mentioned a few days ago that I would , I spent new year eve at the Tavola Trattoria restaurant and stayed out later than I have since my thirtieth high school reunion ten years ago. I had spent my previous two new year eves here at home.

When I arrived at 9:30, no other customers had arrived and didn’t begin to arrive until after ten. Generally speaking folks here begin their partying or music events later and stay at it later, including the children, than that to which I am accustomed. (Many nightclub music performances don’t get underway until 9:30 or 10:00.) By 10:30 two of the three Tavola seating areas were full of celebrating families.

I spent the evening at a table with the restaurant owner, her mother and younger sister, a gringa from Chicago who teaches English here, and a friend of the owner and her ten year old daughter Nelany, a Hawaiian name meaning tranquil sky, as her mother informed me.

The was much dancing, which the young children seem to particularly enjoy; a delicious four course meal of appetizers, ravioli stuffed with four different cheeses and spinach, beef roast and mashed potatoes, and double chocolate cake; champagne; and sparklers for the strike of midnight. We were each also provided a glass with twelve grapes, one for each month. One makes a wish while eating each grape.

During the evening about a third of those present continually had their cell phones open, sending and receiving felicidades to and from their friends and families. At one point, Nelany asked her mother for her phones and her mother pulled three phones out of her purse, two of which were Nelany’s and only one hers, she assured me. She indicated that Nelany is familiar with all of the phone and her home computer functions while she, herself, was capable of only making calls and sending email.

At midnight the sparklers were lit and everyone in the restaurant got up and circulated to wish every other patron a happy new year, a wish accompanied by hugs, kisses, and hand shakes.

It was a wonderful evening.

There is apparently not the fondness for new year fireworks here, as I remember there is in Merida. There the explosions continued through the night. Here I heard only a couple of reports.

I should also note that the Chedraui store where I shop frequently put out racks of red and yellow bra/panty sets a week or so before new year eve.  I have since learned from reading “What I Do All Day” that the underwear is worn for luck, one color for luck in love and the other for money.

The owner of the apartment building where I live is adding more apartments. The construction site is what used to be a parking area where I was able to store my pickup. The work began in the Summer, and every day since there have been from two to more than ten fellows working on the project.

The work began with the demolition of the areas of the parking lot slab where footings would be poured and a small structure that existed on the site. Demolition was completed by a group of fellows with hammers and chisels. No machinery was used.

There is almost ubiquitous here during weekdays and Saturdays the clinking of hammers on chisels and the thump of sledge hammers colliding with masonry, as workers demolish or remodel existing structures.

Keep in mind that labor here is inexpensive so everything is done quite labor intensively. I believe the minimum wage for construction workers here is about 47 pesos per day, roughly the equivalent of $4.35 US.

These photos show typical construction in Mexico, which consists of concrete columns, spanned by concrete beams, and topped with a structural slab floor or roof. The columns you see here will support the load of two additional stories and a roof. You can also see that lumber supports have been placed against the columns, upon which the beam forms will be placed. The spaces between the columns will be filled with either brick or concrete blocks, which will be finished with a layer of stucco.

Every bit of concrete that you can see in the photos, and a substantial quantity which can not be seen, has been mixed by hand and poured into the forms from buckets. The concrete is mixed on the existing concrete slab, where gravel is placed in a bowl shape; sand, cement, and water are added; and workers with scoop type shovels do the mixing. Such is how concrete is typically mixed here. A couple of days ago there was a group of workers mixing concrete in Calle Calijero, one of the main drags through the Centro shopping district, with which to patch a relatively large portion of one side of the street which had been excavated.

Right after celebration of Revolution Day on November 20 Christmas decorations began appearing in Xalapa. Here are a few shots.

Here’s a rather obscure shot of the tree erected in the small plaza across Calle Enriquez from the state government building.

I ran across this great sculpture of an electrical lineworker and groundworker while walking the other day and thought my friends at McCleary Light and Power might enjoy the photo.  By the way guys, that’s a 75 kva transformer hanging on the pole.

The sculpture is  across the street from the main local CFE office and service compound.   As far as I was able to determine, except for the wires above, it is almost totally composed of concrete, even the rope held by the groundworker, who, by the way, is  holding a flashlight directed above.  As you can see at the bottom of the photo, the sculpture sets in the midst of a fountain.

Utility poles here are typically of concrete, thus the workers climb the poles using a couple of  straps into which they insert their feet and alternately slide the ropes up the pole.

CFE, Comision Federal de Electicidad, is the publicly owned utility responsible for the generation, transmission, and distribution of electrical energy throughout Mexico.

I think CFE is a good example of how a publicly owned enterprise, providing an essential public service can act to advance societal objectives, such as economic development and providing jobs.

Here most everyone uses LPG for cooking and water heating, and there is no space heating needs.  My latest bill, for the period of Sept. 28 through Nov. 29, is $191.78 pesos, about $17.75 USA at today’s exchange rate.  I consumed 244 kWh   during the period, with the first 150 Kwh charged at .637 (about 5.9 cents USA/kWh)  pesos per kWh  and the other 94 kWh at .751 pesos per (about 6.9 cents/kWh).

I have pretty much finished the Tavola trattoria web site, though I am still awaiting the menu items the owner wishes to note.

Here are a couple of images of the cards the owner produces to promote the coming musical offerings.

Last year I posted this photo with a bit of a story of the fellow, Jesus Villalobos Germiniano (what a great name), in Parque Juarez whom I visit periodically for shoeshine and conversation.

This morning I took some sugar cookies to Jesus and had a shine. I periodically take him cookies or banana bread I’ve made.

Jesus always asks where I’ve been since I last visited. I told him of my walk to Rancho Viejo and my drive the previous weekend.

Here’s a shot of a shoeshine lineup in Parque Juarez. Jesus is the fellow at center with the light colored shirt and white belt. You can see the canopies over the chairs contain campaign advertisements, though I don’t get the idea that the shiners necessarily support the candidate advertised on their canopy.

You can see just this side of his stand the lawn chair in which Jesus sits while awaiting customers. When I arrived at his station this morning there was a fellow in the chair and another waiting, while many of Jesus’ competitors were without customers the entire time I was there.

As Jesus was finishing up the shine he pulled this model of his shoeshine station out of a bag and presented it to me. Like the box above, he crafted the station from cedar in his carpinteria at his home in San Bruno.

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.