Wet, cool and green

It’s been quite a spell since I posted one of these shots. I took it yesterday afternoon just before my child bride returned from the gym. Indeed, no more than three seconds later, the green gate opened, and her red Nissan pulled in and parked to the left where there’s another carport.

There was light rain falling though it’s not visible here.

There’s some big news hereabouts. Just four blocks away from the Hacienda, there’s a major intersection where the four-lane highway down to the state capital collides with a right-angle two-laner that heads to a small town named Tzintzuntzan about 15 minutes away. There are ancient pyramids on the edge of Tzintzuntzan.

But I digress.

The intersection in question has always been perilous. Accidents are not rare. There is no stoplight, no caution signs, no nothing aside from some piddling speed bumps installed just a couple of months ago. We were delighted with that, but the speed bumps are gone now because a massive construction project is under way.

We’re getting a huge roundabout, a traffic circle, a glorieta, whatever you wish to call it. It will slow people down. Mexico is fond of traffic circles. There are some doozies in Mexico City, and one entrance to San Miguel de Allende tosses you around a circle. About a year ago a big lovely, chaotic one was constructed here closer to downtown.

Normally, people pass by my woebegone barrio at warp speed, but this will slow them down. It will make a big change in our atmosphere. We will sport our Big-Boy Pants, and perhaps it will inspire economic growth because people won’t be able to barrel by at 200 mph.

They’ll notice the roasted-chicken restaurant where we eat at least once a week at that intersection, the spectacular building that houses the carnitas emporium, and the pizza parlor. If they hang a right at the glorieta and go down that way a bit they’ll find ice cream and wrought-iron yard furniture and more roasted chicken.

We used to be a separate village, but we’ve long since been annexed to the mountaintop town four miles away, making us just another neighborhood, but our past explains the big, tree-filled plaza and its obligatory church, all just off the highway, unseen.

And soon a glorious glorieta.

A fruitcake* Zapata

nude

MUCHOS MEXICANOS, yours truly included, are incensed at this painting of my father as a raging queen astride a horse with a raging woodie.

That this exists is yet another example of corrupt Gringo culture and mindset filtering south of the border where most of us do not want it.

Shockingly, this painting is on exhibit in the Palace of Fine Arts in Mexico City where it has been the focus on plentiful protests. Good.

That it sits in the Palace of Fine Arts instead of a privately owned gallery, which would be bad enough, puts the government Seal of Approval on it, which is pathetic, but we have ignorant left-wing regimes now on both the federal level and in Mexico City too.

Sad.

In the same vein, Netflix has just released a Christmas special about a gay Jesus. All I can say to this is: Jesus!

* * * *

* Superlative fruitcakes are available at the Collin Street Bakery. I endorse those tasty things. Just keep them off horny horses.

Sick unto death

catrinaFOR MANY years before relocating to Mexico, I was a big fan of the Day of the Dead tradition. In my Houston condo, I had a ceramic Catrina on my bathroom counter, one that a Mexican crafts store outrageously overcharged me for, which I didn’t know then.

It had been marked up about 10 times. Double is the norm. Those crafty Mexicans.

By pure dumb luck I settled in one of the two most popular and highly publicized towns in the entire republic for Los Muertos, as the Day of the Dead is commonly known in Mexico. The other is Oaxaca.

This really tickled me 19 years ago. Now I’m just ticked off. The tourist mobs have grown to stunning levels and, for that reason, this year we are fleeing for the first time.

We’re riding a bus to Guadalajara late next week.

I have not been to Guadalajara since 2000. Our mountaintop town is located about halfway between Guadalajara and Mexico City. Actually, it’s a bit closer to Guadalajara. In spite of that, I have visited Mexico City a gadzillion times, and I have not returned to Guadalajara since my mother (R.I.P.) and my sister visited in that long-ago summer. I picked them up at the airport there, and then returned them a week later.

We’ll be staying in a downtown hotel that’s two blocks from the Hotel Morales, which is where I stayed three nights after flying to Guadalajara from Atlanta on January 19, 2000. It’ll be fun to take a peek into there for ole times sake. I tried to book a room at the Morales, but nothing was available for the dates of our visit.

We’ll be visiting the famous zoo and eating some Vietnamese pho, which I love. Other than those two things, nothing much is planned. We’ll just wander around. This will be our first trip to someplace “new” since our 2013 visit to Mérida. We don’t travel much.

What I remember most about Guadalajara is the atrocious quantity of pigeons that pollute the downtown plazas. I’m not a fan of pigeons, nasty birds.

But there will probably be more tourists here next weekend than there are pigeons soiling the center of Guadalajara. Gotta pick your poisons.

Evening on the plaza

plaza

I WAS WALKING to the Honda yesterday about 6:30 p.m. when I looked over thataway and thought, That sure looks sweet.

Luckily, I was toting the small Fujifilm Finepix camera in my man bag. I pulled it out, pointed, and snapped.

City Hall says our plaza is the nation’s largest after the Zócalo in Mexico City. Maybe it is. Another notable characteristic is that there is no church on this plaza, which is almost unknown in Latin America.

It’s not Terre Haute.