Insights & Observations

By Joe Stuver

Memories of Mexico

One of my most-favorite things in Mexico was hanging out with my family of friends in the little village of Jarratadas. Like most small Mexican villages, it is a place of happy, laid back, hard working folks.

The sounds are happy too: of birds singing, kids playing, music, and the soft tones of people visiting. I think that perhaps those people are happier than many of us.

While respecting most of their good neighbors, there was also room for giving others a load of good-natured crap, pretty much like back home. I get my share too, from the girls. As the people got used to me, I received waves of greeting in passing.

I actually enjoyed the Mexican people more than I did the mostly-Canadian residents at my digs. I heard many bitter complaints from them, the worst being “when the hell are these people going to learn English.”

I thought dang, we’re in paradise, and you’re complaining?

Another of my favorite things was to take the girls and kids out for supper. They don’t get to go out a lot, and were always happy and excited about the prospect. My jeep, loaded Mexican car pool style, with Mony riding shotgun and Vicky, Flor and Natalie along with the three kids in the back. I left our destination up for popular vote. The girls were always dressed to the max in celebration of actually going out. I was the envy in every restaurant we visited. That meant, however, I also spent lots and lots of time waiting for them to get ready. I wonder, again, how much of a man’s life is spent waiting on a woman, or women in my case? It was kind of like herding cats, but the rewards spoke for itself.

Much of that envy disappeared when Dom and Cedric, perpetual motion machines, made their noisy entrance. Cedric has taken the crown of horrible from his older brother, by no means an easy feat. Cedric knows just how far to push his aunties, fleeing even as they are removing their footwear for paddling purposes. He gallops off, stops and mugs for them a bit, and then continues on. Mony, who never struck her girls while they were growing up, is in far over her head, but when Momma Vicky comes along with fire in her eyes they know the jig is up.

On one occasion Cedric swept my jeep with a large toy truck, leaving tire prints in a circle. I objected strongly. A few minutes later, the little imp latched on to one of my legs, looked up into my eyes, and said, “I love you, grandpa Joey.” Dang!

Spanish is a sweet language, especially when coming from those gentle, fun people.

The only thing that bothered me was that in Mexico there are no child seat laws, so I took special care driving. One has to have their heads on a swivel at all times, not just because of the vehicle traffic, but because of motorcycles, with the drivers steering them up the center of the two lanes at high rates of speed.

The traffic lights are very long between Puerto up the coast to Punta Mita, which means there are also plenty of vendors, street performers and handicapped beggars.

Jugglers mounted on unicycles dominated this year’s performers though. Several sported casts on forearms from falls, but they persevered; either that or go hungry.

There are also plenty of transit cops. Although they didn’t bother me when I was in the company of locals, I am fair game when alone. I sacrificed 1000 pesos (dang) to a pair of crooked cops, for the infraction of turning when the signal light was flashing yellow. The girls and Angel threw a fit when I told them I had simply coughed up the money, rather than going to the police station to pay a fine. They hate crooked policemen with a passion, and begged me to call them if the situation arose again. Mony went to school with the chief of police in Puerto, and the girls and Angel had connections up the coast.

With my back pain, I was limited in what I could do, but I made do quite well. I would venture over for breakfast with the girls at Angel and Vicky’s, or eat at a nearby, happy little street side restaurant, owned by an elderly lady and her two daughters. I got treated well indeed, but I also got treated well everywhere I went.

The kindness of the Mexican people still tugs at my heart, and again reminded me of the good folks in my own community. I pulled into my favorite beach, known and frequented mostly by locals. There was a car parked between me and the beach. When the driver, a middle aged fellow who spoke no English, saw me pulling my walker out, he motioned me into his beach-side spot, while he backed up some distance to another parking spot. It was my favorite spot. I could sit and read in the sunshine, and occasionally glass the waters for whales. Humpbacks go to the area to calve every winter.

As I departed one restaurant, the owner gave me her phone number, so I could call and let her know I was coming. That way she could pull a couple of street side tables out of the way for me to park, without having to walk so far. The food there, as everywhere, was very fine. Mony and I shared enchiladas, Chile rellenos, and Mexican beef, at a cost of around $4.00.

There were other kindnesses too, on a near-daily basis.

Most of my main meals included shrimp, cooked in various wonderful ways, fish or seafood soup. The waiters at the restaurants I had frequented over the years remembered me, and treated me well indeed.

The girls, to make a bit of extra money, often made caviche or fish tacos, and invited me as the official taste tester. It was tough duty, needless to say. I also got to witness, first hand, the considerable work they put in. Carrots, celery, cucumbers and cilantro were carefully cut in strips, and then cut again horizontally into small pieces. There was also onion, tomatoes and other chopped, very fresh vegetables, along with fresh limes of course, and again of course, with homemade picante and salsa.

Yummy!

My days were mostly of sloth, and spent reading on my patio, or other quiet endeavors as the pain in my back was also awful. I’ve always considered myself fairly tough, perhaps a 9 on a man’s score and a 5 on the tougher women’s species, but it has been pretty bad for some time.

After returning, after a couple months of Catch 22 with the hospital, I qualified for a trial run with an electrical spinal therapy treatment, where they run wires up your spine and hook them up to a battery back to interfere with the pain. And it worked!!!

Coming: More memories of Mexico, and my return to frozen Montana.