The hermits have emerged.
Darrel and I have spent the last week sequestered almost as tightly as monks in a smaill cloister.
It was our own doing. Even though the Mexican government requested people to avoid large gatherings out of a misplaced fear of the Flu that Dare Not Speak its Name, our avoidance of crowds had far more to do with getting tasks completed around the house -- and looking after the ailing Professor Jiggs.
We decided that today was the day to break out of our Alamo.
I need to register my FM3 in Manzanillo within 30 days of crossing the border. The clock is ticking.
Unfortunately, the feverish porcine crisis has created bureaucratic problems. Like all governmental offices, immigration is closed until later in the week.
But I had two other tasks. The first was to obtain a Constancio de Domilio from the local council. It is an official document verifying that I live where I live. A utitility bill will usuially satisfy the immigration authorities, but I just like the sound of it: Constancio de Domilio.
I should have known that the office would be closed today. But we tried. I will return on Wednesday or Thursday -- whenever the powers of local government are once again dynamoing away.
But I did complete the seconmd task -- getting the requisite number of black and white photographs that make me look like the morgue pictures of an executed World War II dictator. Either that or a standin for Nick Nolte's latest DUII arrest.
Darrel had not yet had an opprtunity to see the commercial section of my new home town. I showed him around the shops. We bought from the mundane (a laundry basket) to the sublime (a refill of my blood pressure medicine that cost $56 in the States, and $3.69 here).
The photograph at the top includes several of the businesses I frequent regularly. (I promise more on that in the future.)
But no visit to the commercial section would be complete without a plate of locally-made tacos. Darrel is quite a Mexican food aficianado. But even he was impressd with the simple goodness of our small plate of refreshments.
I suppose it is apparent that I would be thrilled if my brother and his family, and my mother, decided to join me on this little adventure I have plotted. So far, he still talks about returnuing to the States on the 14th.
Time may be running short for all of us.
Darrel and I have spent the last week sequestered almost as tightly as monks in a smaill cloister.
It was our own doing. Even though the Mexican government requested people to avoid large gatherings out of a misplaced fear of the Flu that Dare Not Speak its Name, our avoidance of crowds had far more to do with getting tasks completed around the house -- and looking after the ailing Professor Jiggs.
We decided that today was the day to break out of our Alamo.
I need to register my FM3 in Manzanillo within 30 days of crossing the border. The clock is ticking.
Unfortunately, the feverish porcine crisis has created bureaucratic problems. Like all governmental offices, immigration is closed until later in the week.
But I had two other tasks. The first was to obtain a Constancio de Domilio from the local council. It is an official document verifying that I live where I live. A utitility bill will usuially satisfy the immigration authorities, but I just like the sound of it: Constancio de Domilio.
I should have known that the office would be closed today. But we tried. I will return on Wednesday or Thursday -- whenever the powers of local government are once again dynamoing away.
But I did complete the seconmd task -- getting the requisite number of black and white photographs that make me look like the morgue pictures of an executed World War II dictator. Either that or a standin for Nick Nolte's latest DUII arrest.
Darrel had not yet had an opprtunity to see the commercial section of my new home town. I showed him around the shops. We bought from the mundane (a laundry basket) to the sublime (a refill of my blood pressure medicine that cost $56 in the States, and $3.69 here).
The photograph at the top includes several of the businesses I frequent regularly. (I promise more on that in the future.)
But no visit to the commercial section would be complete without a plate of locally-made tacos. Darrel is quite a Mexican food aficianado. But even he was impressd with the simple goodness of our small plate of refreshments.
I suppose it is apparent that I would be thrilled if my brother and his family, and my mother, decided to join me on this little adventure I have plotted. So far, he still talks about returnuing to the States on the 14th.
Time may be running short for all of us.
