Another Sunday drive

Entrance to Tupátaro.

When I was a teenager visiting my grandmother in southwest Georgia, the two of us would take Sunday drives after dinner, which is what lunch was called.

It had a fancier name than lunch because, like Mexicans, our main meal was in the middle of the day. Noon for Georgia and 2 to 4 in the afternoon for Mexico.

In Georgia, we often would stop by my grandmother’s sister’s place, which was just up the dirt road a ways, to scoop her up, so there would be three of us in the Ford. I would be the driver.

Flash forward six decades, and I’m still the driver. Granny and auntie are in their graves. Today, my child bride and I drove down the same route as the last Sunday drive on August 1.

And we ate in the same open-air restaurant, a country spot in Tupátaro which, we decided last time, did not merit a second visit. No matter. We ate there again, and reached the identical conclusion.

Some people are slow learners.

The official purpose of the trip — a purpose is nice but not essential — was to drive past Tupátaro to Cuanajo, just like last time. My child bride is hunting wood shelves on which to display her crochet art. It’s easier and cheaper to hire a carpenter, which is what we’ll likely do, but we drove to Cuanajo anyway because it’s a beautiful drive.

We didn’t find anything she liked in Cuanajo, so we came home, one more Sunday drive under our belts, along with the chicken and mole we ate at that restaurant. And beans. There are always beans.

To lightly paraphrase Joe Biden: If you don’t eat beans, you ain’t Mexican.

The outskirts of Cuanajo. This ain’t Houston, Toto.

11 thoughts on “Another Sunday drive

  1. I enjoy these nostalgia tours dressed up as contemporary events. Any story with a grandmother is a winner. Add in a great-aunt, and you have a home run.

    But I would advise staying away from the restaurant. Two bad experiences in a row is a pretty bad omen. Or a good omen, if you follow it.

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    1. Señor Cotton: It’s good to get out and about in the countryside, especially in these troubled times. I had a wonderful grandmother. The one on my mother’s side was a bit more preferable to the paternal granny, but my father’s mother was a good grandmother too. I just saw her far less often for two reasons. My mother’s parents were half the distance from our home in Florida, and my mother was an only child, very close to her parents. My father had issues with his parents, however, but we did visit them fairly often. They were real church nuts, but not in a bad way.

      The great-aunt was a hoot. Very short, very skinny, smoked nonstop and was constantly downing Coca-Colas. I’m surprised she lived as long as she did.

      As for the restaurant, it was not bad. It simply was not good, so we decided to get it a second chance. Speaking of restaurants, we ran into our mutual amiga, Ms. Shoes, by accident in a restaurant in Morelia yesterday. Her hair is still pink.

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  2. Even in Mexico City, a Sunday drive is a nice thing. First of all, I’m freed from all the ridiculous restrictions of “Hoy No Circula,” a program so complicated (at least for foreign-plated vehicles) that one practically needs a law degree to figure out when it’s legal to drive. Second, the traffic is blissfully, mostly gone. I’m not sure why this is so, as Sunday is the day that’s famous for going to see mom, but traffic is only about a third or less of what’s normal. And when the roads aren’t choked with eight million cars, they are really quite good, and fun to drive around. There are numerous boulevards with timed lights that let you drive for miles at a time without stopping.

    Of course, unlike your own burg, here you can drive for quite a while and you’re still in Mexico City. But there are still plenty of interesting things to see. Last weekend we drove to Coyoacán, charming former home of Diego and Frieda, and a place chock-a-block with young people, due to the nearby UNAM. This weekend we might drive to Tenayuca, an otherwise unremarkable neighborhood which has an Aztec pyramid plopped right in the middle of shoe stores, bakeries, car parts stores, and the like. Your basic suburban pyramid, much like you’d find in any large city, hehe.

    At least in any large city where human sacrifice was once regularly practiced.

    Cheers,

    Kim G
    Roma Sur, Mexico City
    Where I’m strictly banned from even thinking about driving on Saturdays, the one day I’d really like to be able to do so.

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    1. Kim: True, traffic is noticeably less in Mexico City on Sundays, but the other six days of the week are what have canceled my desire to ever drive there again. Or even go there.

      And who is this “we” you refer to? Gotta new beau?

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