Tacos in a window

The young chef grills beef, onions and chiles.

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We renew our post office box every year in early January. It costs the peso equivalent of about $15 U.S., well worth the outlay.

I opened the account 21 years ago because the rental where I first lived had no mailbox. The mailman — and it’s always a man — just tossed everything over the wall where it landed on the ground, a particularly bad system during the five months of the monsoon.

Here in the nearby burg where we live now, the problem is even greater. There is no residential mail delivery at all. Mail is dropped off at two or three places, small stores or homes, where the owner has agreed to serve as a pickup point. I’m sure they get paid for that.

So your mail is first delivered to a neighbor, near or far, and you must go to that neighbor and ask for your letters. At times, no one is at home, and you must return. I do not like that system. But I do like my PO box. And I get so little mail that I only check the box twice a month.

But this afternoon we headed to the post office to renew the account. Coming as no surprise, the paperwork was not available, and we were told to return after the 15th.

It was lunchtime, so we crossed the street to an eatery that consists of a few uncomfortable tables and benches in a small space. The grub is prepared in the window over a homemade BBQ grill.

I shot the photo with my phone as he grilled my beef.

Hurricanes & marigolds

On our neighborhood plaza this morning.

It’s an absolutely lovely day today. Yesterday was not.

Hurricane Rick zapped our state’s Pacific coast yesterday, and we received lots of rain as a result. Being a good ways inland means my mountaintop suffers little from hurricanes. Likewise, we do not get tornadoes or serious flooding.

Mild earthquakes are another matter.

In the middle of yesterday’s heavy rain, we hopped into the Honda and drove down the mountainside to the state capital to go shopping and eat drowned tacos at a favorite spot. That’s what they’re called, tacos ahogados, drowned tacos, which is a plate of tacos with a sauce poured all over them. Drowned. Get it?

Shopping done, we drove home, and the rain had mostly ended. My child bride went to the gym, and I sat my aging butt downtown at a sidewalk table with a café Americano negro and my Kindle. There was lots of activity across the street directly on the Plaza Grande.

Workmen at work.

Our town is gearing up for the Day of the Dead. The most noticeable part of it, aside from the cemetery vigils on the night of November 1, is a huge artisan market on the central plaza.

It appeared some weeks ago that it would be canceled due to the waning pandemic, but it’s going to open after all, which is good for local businesses and visiting artisans though it annoys me due to the horrendous traffic caused by tourists.

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During my exercise walk this morning around our neighborhood plaza, I shot the photo above with my phone. That old pickup was loading up with marigolds, the traditional flower of Los Muertos, and some other blooms too, the purple ones.

The main tourist attraction hereabouts, as far as cemeteries are concerned, is on the island of Janitzio in the middle of our huge lake. But this year, again due to the pandemic hysteria, the community on that island is blocking tourists on the big night.

This is a blessing for tourists, though they don’t know it. One of the many other cemeteries in the area is always a better option, and that includes the one that’s walking distance from my house.

Google tofu boy calls 911

I’M A DEVOTED FOE of Google even though it’s hard to avoid online. I have a Gmail address which long was my primary, but I don’t use it anymore though I still have a Google account. It’s very difficult not to have a Google account.

If you don’t have a Google account, you’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. Alas, Google owns YouTube, one of the most interesting, fun and informative corners of the World Wide Web. I love YouTube. If anything has ever been filmed, it’s likely on YouTube.

I never say I’m Googling anything. I do “online searches,” and I use the oddly named DuckDuckGo search engine. It’s very good and not sneaky.

The folks who run Google are the sort of people who are ruining Western Civilization. The same kind of people run Facebook and Twitter, and since one can easily live without those two, I do not have accounts with them anymore. I don’t want to be an enabler.

Enjoy the video even though it’s on Google’s YouTube. Sigh.

* * * *

As I write this late Wednesday afternoon, it’s dark overhead and there are lightning flashes. This should not be happening in March which is the middle of the dry season on the mountaintop. Must be that global warming we hear about, eh?

Does global warming cause unseasonable rain? Lord knows. Ask Al Gore.

Why didn’t it storm yesterday, the last and most riotous day of Carnival in my hardscrabble neighborhood? Maybe it would have canceled the ear-splitting concert we endured last night till 3 a.m. Even my earplugs did not fully suppress the godawful racket.

Living in Mexico is not always a sack of tacos.

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(You may notice that I’ve reverted to a previous look for The Moon. And back are the wise quotes down the right-side column plus links to all manner of fascinating stuff. The same material was available in the last “look,” but it was hidden behind a Menu button. Who bothers to mess with that? Darn few. That’s who.)

Hacienda happenings and pilgrims too

New Image
Some pilgrims travel this way.

HOLA, AMIGOS. It’s a lovely day at the Hacienda, and here’s what’s happening.

I am alone today, abandoned by my child bride who, with her sister and the nephew formerly known as The Little Vaquero, has gone on a pilgrimage. The trio is walking to a town about 12 miles distant.

They left at 10 a.m.

This is an annual event, and hundreds of folks hereabouts do it. But not me. I have no desire to go on pilgrimages. It’s a religious event — Catholic, of course — but that’s not why my trio does it. They just like the walk, which takes about three hours.

They switched to this pilgrimage two years ago. They previously went on a far longer one to a town called Caracuaro to visit the “Black Jesus.”

I once went on that pilgrimage, years back, out of curiosity. The traditional way is to walk, but I drove because I am a lazy pilgrim.

I walked through throngs of other pilgrims in the streets of Caracuaro, some on their knees. I ate tacos and beans, and I came home. It was my only visit. The Black Jesus will have to get along without me in the future.

I said I was alone today, but that’s not quite true. There are workmen here. January and February are when we do renovations at the Hacienda. It doesn’t rain in January and February normally, so it’s a good time for renovations.

We’re having work done on some windows, and there’s painting too. I’ll have a full post on that in a few days because I know you’re curious.

Meanwhile, here I sit, alone, while my pilgrims stroll in the sunshine.