putting it together

OK.  This is not consistent with the theme I promised yesterday -- changes on the beach -- but it is about change for the better.

As a result of my failure to ensure my truck was locked in San Miguel, I ended up losing several items.  Most I had already replaced -- or decided to do without.  Who needs a thermal sleeping bag in Mexico, any way?


But there were two items that needed attention.  The antenna for my Escape and the top portion of the bracket that holds the truck’s battery in place.


The antenna was easy.  It was in stock when I stopped at the dealer last Friday.  I handed over 370 pesos and the parts guy installed it with a handy little wrench (accessories included).


Not that it much mattered.  I use the radio primarily as a CD player.  But I now have the power to not listen to the equivalent of Mexican country-western music.  We do not get a wide variety of stations here.  Searches for Mostly Mozart go unrequited.

 

The battery bracket was far more important.  When I bought my new battery in San Miguel, the shop sold me a bracket that the mechanic described as “good enough.” 

You can see what “good enough” means.  It was far too long.  And instead of being straight, it was bent in two levels.  And obviously not for my flat top battery.


As a result, it would rock back and forth loosening the screws.  If I had not checked it now and then, it could have loosened enough to pull away from one of the battery cables.  Hardly disastrous.  But it was annoying.

 

So, this morning I stopped at the Ford dealer to retrieve my prize for 200 pesos.  When I got home, I pulled out my wrenches and did a bit of  switching.  I now have a battery that will stay in place.  Until the next time I forget to lock the truck.


And why am I telling you this?  Probably because I have heard a long line of sad tales about bringing vehicles south of the border.  The usual anecdotes center around parts never being available and costing the equivalent of a week stay at the Mayo Clinic.


That may  have been true once.  Since NAFTA came into effect and after Mexico joined WTO, automobile parts flow across the Mexican borders like American retirees.  And once the duties were reduced, the costs for parts came down dramatically.


As would be expected in a society where the middle class makes up 40 to 60% of the population -- and where that middle class purchases the same middle class vehicles that are familiar north of the border.


I am glad I no longer drive my red BMW convertible.  I would probably have a different tale to tell about parts. 


But I would undoubtedly have some far more interesting stories to tell about life.

patton is my co-pilot

I have now been back in Melaque for a full week following my tour amongst the highland clans in San Miguel and Pátzcuaro. 


A bit of reflection may be in order.


The beach is about as constant as the moon.  It has its phases.  But they are predictable.


So, I was a bit surprised to see a few of the changes when I came back.  Such as the roads.


Melaque’s roads (“street” would be far too high-falutin’ for the paths on which we drive in my area of town), under the best circumstances, are passable.  Passable to the extent that John Ford could have used them in his westerns without a good deal of set dressing.


Very few are paved.  Most are just sand with a few rocks thrown in for a bit of sophisticated décor.


It is the sand sections that present the summer problem.  Because summer means lots of rain.  Sand, rain, and vehicles are a great mix if your goal is potholes.


I returned to Melaque on the departing edge of a tropical storm.  The main road that leads from the highway to my house is usually a bit rough in the summer.  It is primarily stone with about a 200 foot section of sand.


When I returned last Thursday it appeared that the Wehrmacht was setting up defenses against a belated attack by George Patton.  The buses, trucks, and cars had churned up the sand into potholes deep enough for the edges to bang against my truck frame.


200 feet.  Five minutes to cross.


I wanted to get a photograph to send to the Pentagon for future war planning.  But, when I returned on Tuesday, the grader had already created the impression of a passable road. 


It looks as if a Cessna 150 could do touch and goes on the surface. 


If you wait long enough in Mexico, things change.  Sometimes for the better.


In this case, the potholes were filled with sand -- just waiting for the next rain to reprise our little bit of Third Army history.


But the rain brought some other changes, as well.  And we will get to them with some better photographs.

when the magic goes out of the jack

About three years ago, while I was making plans for my move to Mexico, my brother convinced me to buy MagicJack to make “free” calls through my computer to any number in The States and Canada.

He was a true believer.

 
I remember leaving a party at my boss’s Portland condominium.  While walking along the streets, my mobile telephone rang.  It was my brother.  The clarity of the call convinced me he was calling from Bend.


He wasn’t.  He was calling from Japan.  Using his MagicJack.  I became a true believer.


The little USB device I plug into the side of my computer has been one of my best purchases.  I am not much of a telephone person.  After five minutes I am usually ready to get off.  But it has kept me in touch with family and friends.


Until today.  While attempting to set up a conference call with my broker, the USB decided to do its South Carolina impression by seceding into two parts.


That is it at the top of the post.  If you look closely at the smaller piece, you will see something that looks like dirt.  It isn’t.  It is pitted corrosion.  I can only imagine what the electrical parts inside of the device look like.


As much as I like MagicJack’s product, their service department is a bit primitive.  It is cutting edge as far as technology goes.  But it is primitive in its customer service.


I discovered I could get a replacement USB for about $20.  But the FAQ section did not inform me how that could be done.


With a bit more digging, I discovered MagicJack uses a “chat” method to answer such questions.  I will spare you the details.  After 45 minutes of typing and waiting for my “service representative” to respond, I thought I was done.  (Italian customs agents could learn some new techniques from this process.)


When the confirmation email arrived, I discovered that the shipping address I had clearly described as needing all of the lines I had provided was stripped of all numbers.


For a moment I thought how convenient it would be to merely drive down to the nearest Best Buy and purchase a new device.  But Mexico is teaching me patience.  I am certain if I just wait it will arrive without any problem.


But, just in case, I found a workaround.  MagicJack has a new service called MagicTalk that does not require a USB device.  I will use it until my replacement arrives.


And the magic will return to my calls.  Unless San Miguel is a vortex that sucks the magic out of the rest of Mexico.

photoless tuesday

When I left for Manzanillo this morning, I thought I would be telling you a tale this afternoon about how all the parts to my Escape have been restored.


Instead, I will tell you another tale.  And not an exclusively Mexican tale.


Even though the battery bracket was supposed to appear mirable dictu at the Ford dealership today, it did not turn out that way.  I was there; it was not. 


Of course, I received the usual apologies for my inconvenience (I had none because I had to be in Manzanillo today in any event) and an assurance that it would be there in the morning.


I will wait until Friday and make a day of it in Manzanillo.  There are a couple of films I would like to see at the fabled Cinepolis and its eight screens.  And Friday is a traditional movie day.  Not that I am a traditional guy.


In an attempt to make my venture today a little more fulfilling, I drove around the peninsula where Manzanillo’s expensive hotels flock together.  Not only was the view spectacular, I saw two signs that set off my irony alarm.  The alarm that reflexively makes me grab my camera.


I grabbed -- but no camera.  Not in my back pack.  Not on the truck seat.  Not on the floor.


My first instinct was that I had left the truck unlocked and the camera had joined the long parade of possessions that have now been redistributed Robin Hood style.  But that made no sense.  Nothing else was missing.


Then it hit me.  I probably left it on the back seat of Lou and Wynn’s truck when we went to Sunday dinner.  And so I did.


That means no ironic photographs.  No great sunny bay vistas.  Nothing -- except the same sign that annoys me when I see it in public buildings.


Tomorrow I will retrieve the camera.  And maybe we can then have some discussions about the realities of living on the beach.

coming soon to a computer in your neighborhood

Blogs should never be shills.


It’s a rule.


OK.  A rule I just made up.  And now I will break it.


One of the things I have missed in Mexico is access to a good movie source.  Of course, there are the pirated DVDs in the local markets.  But I have already discussed why I do not buy those.


During the early part of the year, I had heard rumors that Netflix was going to start offering services in Mexico.  That was good news for me.  During my six-month sojourn to The States last year, I subscribed to Netflix.  Its streaming video offerings were a bit limited.  But they were high quality versions of some very good films.


But promised services here in Mexico often remain merely promises -- awaiting some future date for delivery. 


But not this time.


This month Netflix is starting its services in Latin America.  Brazil already has the service.  On Wednesday service starts for Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay.    Later in the week, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Venezuela, and Chile come on line.


And then on Monday of next week -- drum roll, please -- Mexico (along with Central America and the Caribbean) will be potential Netflix customers.  If I have read the announcement correctly, the subscription will be $99 (Mx) a month -- about what I paid in The States.


I will sign up – if only to test the one limitation I think I will have in Melaque.  My internet speed here is rather slow.  Even though I have the highest speed service that the rather antiquated telephone lines will allow, I have trouble with internet calls and video streaming now and then. 


But there is a work-around for that, as well.  I will simply have to plan ahead and download the movies in full before I watch them.


So, next Monday, I will pull out my credit card and set up another monthly billing.  And we will see whether Netflix can fill my film jonesing.

beached on the internet

“There are still things I would like to do, but I want to be on the road by 6 AM to get back to Melaque.”


I was telling a friend my well-laid plans about leaving the highlands in the early morning to get back to Manzanillo to pick up mail and buy parts for the Escape.


”Steve, you know none of that is going to happen.  This is Mexico,” said she.


Smugness and hubris are always paid in cold coin.  In this case, through the instrument of the laundress.  When I stopped by the laundry on Wednesday evening at 8 to pick up clean sheets and towels for the condominium, I was told, with great sorrow and ceremony, that the laundry would not be ready until Thursday morning.


And that is why I was on the road to Melaque at 11, instead of 6.  I could have fit in a trip to Costco by driving to Morelia and catching the toll roads all the way to the beach.


But I decided to see a bit more of the village country around Lake Pátzcuaro by driving around the east end of the lake and up through Zacapu.  I now have a long list of places to revisit when I return.


I made rather good time – as drivers can on the toll roads.  The posted limit is the equivalent to 66 to 70 miles per hour.  I was doing 80.  And I was passed by about three-quarters of the cars.  It is almost like Germany in Mexico.


Of course, I did not get to Manzanillo in time to do any of my chores.  And it was just as well.  When I got back to the duplex I discovered my modem had taken French leave.  Or, more accurately, it had crossed over to the other side.  Probably, another storm victim.


With the assistance of my land lady, I arranged to pick up a new one in Manzanillo this morning.  And a fruitful day it was.  A new modem.  A stack of mail (even though my magazines have now gone missing for four months).  $150 worth of good food (including a package of cherries).  And a new antenna for the Escape.


The only thing I could not get today was a bracket for the Escape’s battery.  But it is supposed to arrive on Tuesday.  All things in time.


Not bad for my first day back at the coast.


My modem is up and running.  But I think I will take a break from writing for the weekend.  I want to sort through my notes and photographs for the past two months to see if there are some tidbits I have left unserved.


And we can then resume our sojourn on Mexico’s coast.  It has been a busy two months.

my patina on copper

For those of you who asked me if I had (or would) visit Santa Clara del Cobre.


I have.


And it is a very good place to wrap up my trip to Pátzcuaro because it pulls together some of the history pieces we have been discussing this past month.


Wednesday was my second trip to Santa Clara.  Felipe showed me the town earlier in the month -- at the start of the town’s annual copper festival.


For those of you who do not know, Santa Clara de Cobre’s fame rides lightly in its name.  Not Santa Clara, the star-studded saint.  But, cobre.  Copper.


And therein lies the tale.


You will recall that the people who lived in this area when the Spanish arrived were the Purépecha -- and still are.  One reason their empire thrived and why it survived repeated attacks by the Aztecs was their ability to forge metals.  Farm utensils.  Jewelry.  Military weapons.  In fact, weapons forged in the area of Santa Clara may have been used to slaughter 30,000 Aztec prisoners after one of those battles.

 

The Purépecha closely guarded the secret of their metal work.  And far better than America kept the designs of the atomic bomb from the Soviets.   But, as we know, that advantage was never put to test against the Spanish tribe and its Indian allies.


When Nuño de Guzmán began his terror campaign, the Purépecha fled.  And the foundries fell silent.


Only upon the arrival of Don Vasco did the bellows start up again.  Don Vasco’s plan was to designate a special craft for each village.  For Santa Clara, it was a no-brainer.  These were copper people.  But it was all to be in service to the Spanish Empire.  No more weapons, thank you very much.


Instead, the main copper item to roll out of the new craft shops were Spasnish cazos.  Or cauldrons.  You can still see the same design in daily use throughout Mexico – usually at a butcher shop.  The cauldron is filled with lard, heated, and strips of pork rind are fried up.  My grandmother’s favorite snack.

 

The cauldrons were similar in form to this piece in the town plaza -- chained like Sampson in the Philistine temple.


But not all went well.  The town burned down in the late 1800s and once again in 1910.  And the copper mines the town depended on ran out of ore.


Following World War Two, the town revived.  Not with cauldrons, but with a revived interest in decorative items.  Some of that came from outside artisans -- especially a movement to teach local women how to fashion jewelry.  Don Vasco redux.


I was a bit reluctant to make the trip back to the village.  And I know why.  I dislike shops and shopping.  The copper shops we visited had some intriguing pieces.  But the shop attendants were a bit too attentive.  Particularly when it came to preventing photographs pf their goods.


This time I started with the town plaza.

 

If you did not know this was a place of copper, you certainly would with just a glance.  The lamp posts are copper.  The benches are copper.  And, of course, the giant cauldron in the center of the plaza is copper.


And all of it well-crafted.  The detail on the lamp posts, gazebo, and benches is Victorian in manner.  But its style is pure Mexican.


An acquaintance told me not to miss the interior of the parish church.  Other churches may have plenty of gold.  But this is a copper church.


Such as the chandeliers.

And the decorative maize pieces on each side of the altar.

But my favorite spot in town was the Copper Museum.  It allowed me to look at each piece without the constant hover of sales girls.


I may do a post on the other pieces on a future date.  But let me share these few with you.


It amazes me how metal can often seem to flow.  Or how shapes can be formed on such a hard surface.  As an example, the curves in this pot designed to look like a coiled snake intrigued me.  Even the bands on the snake are a different texture than the rest of the piece.

Or the stag motif on the urn and the handles.

I could not pass up a crocodile piece.

 

I admit a certain weakness for the animal pieces.  But when it comes to detail, look at this piece.  And then compare it with the detail photograph of the same piece at the top of the blog.  That is true craft art.

 

One thing you will notice almost immediately when you enter Santa Clara is the constant hammering of metal against metal  -- as the craftsman slowly add form to each of their copper pieces. 

 

It almost sounds as if Santa's elves are working out their obsessive compulsive disorders.  But what they produce is phenomenal.


And how could I not love a town whose main highway is lined with lampposts bearing my initials?


I hope Santa Clara will forgive me for piggybacking on her name.