hobgoblin of little minds

I may not be a hypocrite, but I can certainly be inconsistent.


I complain about the manner in which newspapers create a false impression of the crime rate in Mexico by emphasizing stories of violence.  And, here I am, right here on stage in front of your eyes, riding the same one trick pony.


There are a lot of things happening in this part of Mexico other than Tropical Storm (soon-to-be Hurricane) Jova.  But charging bulls do have a way of focusing one’s attention.


I went to town this morning to fill up the truck’s gasoline tank and to buy some water and batteries.  I also stopped by the bank to get pesos from the ATM while it is still working.


Other than the bank (where it appeared every tourist in town had the same ATM idea), Melaque looks as it does on every rainy Saturday.


There were the usual buses disgorging the Guadalajara tourists with their blown-up float toys.  Tourists that muttered about the early morning rain during their day at the beach.


And unlike the news reports we saw from the American East Coast when Hurricane Irene headed in for a visit, there were no Irwin Allen crowds stripping Oxxo shelves bare. Other than two teenagers who were far too intent on imagining their first child, I was the sole customer in our Oxxo.


Few seemed to even be aware that a hurricane may be on the way.  And those who were simply laughed about it. 


Of course, they may have a better sense of this whole thing than I do.  Pessimists love maps like the one at the top of this post.  It makes the hurricane look like a rogue train heading down a set track.


Of course, we all know that weather will have its own way.  And nothing could better exhibit that fact than the map that pops up when I click on the alternative model option.

No longer do we have a train.  Instead, it looks like a decision tree in the United States Senate.


I am ready if we get a glancing blow.  If it looks as if we are about to get the Full Monty from Jova, I have an alternative plan.


My blogger chum Calypso would say: “STAY TUNED.” 


Who knows where my next post will be written.  Even in that, I am not consistent.

tune up the horne

It is time to break out the Lena Horne LPs.


Stormy weather is on the way.


I thought our rainy season was over.  But each time I say that, we get a sprinkle or two.


If the weather fellows are anywhere near correct, though, we will be getting a good deal of rain.  And wind.  And general havoc.  Somewhere around Monday.


Tropical Storm Jova is on its way for a visit.  Before it gets to the Mexican coast, it will build up enough steam to be promoted to a hurricane.  Which class we will just wait and see.


The current trajectory will take it over the Mexican Pacific coast between Puerto Vallarta and Melaque.  That sounds far more accurate than it is in reality.  Hurricanes are like bulls.  We may think they are headed one way.  But they will go where they want to go.


So, we try to forget the hysterical buildup over Hurricane Irene, and remember that hurricanes do cause real damage.  Even if it is the flooding following the storm.  We who sit on bodies of water are a little sensitive about quick rises in the creek.


And if Jova does not come rumbling over the top of us, there is a second hitter -- Irving -- warming up in the batter’s box.  It is a bit early to predict, but it appears to be heading our way, as well.


To paraphrase Eliot: this is the way the rainy season ends -- with a whimper and a bang. 


Perhaps, two.

i want to be alone

I am going through one of my periodic Garbo phases.


For the past month I been a semi-recluse.  I venture out to get the mail or to buy groceries or go to church.  But my usual schedule is to read all day, stay up until 3 or 4, and then sleep in until 10 or 11.


Of course, I am retired and I can live whatever schedule I like.  That is one of the joys of being retired.  Reverting to the habits of a 14-year old.


But it is not very consistent with who I am.  I tend to be both social and sociable.  Puttering around like a hermit does not seem to be consistent with the personality I have spent 62 years cooking up.


Both themes came crashing together yesterday when I picked up the tenants who will be living in the unit above me for the next three weeks.  An interesting couple.  They live in San Francisco del Rincon, Guanajuato -- he is American, she is Mexican.


I picked them up at the bus station in the late afternoon, stopped for groceries, and gave them a brief tour of the village.  I really enjoyed sharing my home town with them.


But it now feels strange sharing my home with them.  They are very quiet.  Very considerate.  It just seems odd that there are people on the property.


I hope this is nothing more than habit.  Having been on my own here since last winter, I have simply become accustomed to my cloistered life.  Because there will be a lot more people staying upstairs.  This is just the start of the season.


One day, while sitting around a Hollywood pool, Garbo turned to Cole Porter and asked: "Are you happy?" Porter paused, thought about the question, and responded: "Yes. I think I am." Garbo looked off into the middle distance and said: "That must be very strange."


In truth, I am far more Cole than Garbo.  I am happy with my stay in Mexico.


A stay that I can enjoy with people -- or on my own.

metaphors in the blender

“There’s no way to have a Marshall Plan for the Middle East and North Africa.”


So says the American Secretary of State in this morning’s newspaper.  Bemoaning that the “democratic awakening” in the Middle East and North Africa is occurring just as the American taxpayers have concluded that their federal government has been on a spending binge that would give drunken sailors a bad name.


This blog (at least, this blogger) attempts to avoid the fever swamp of politics.  Too many snakes, crocodiles, and methane for my taste.


But I could not let the State Department’s lapse in logic pass by without comment.


There are good reasons to pump American dollars into the sands of North Africa.  For instance, Christian charity.  Or even good old-fashioned Machiavellian ally purchasing.


But a Middle East Marshall Plan?  Hardly.


Hillary Clinton and I are about the same age.  What we have learned about the Marshall Plan we have read in history books.  But one of us seems to have a rather selective memory.


The United States implemented the Marshall Plan (more accurately the European Recovery Program) in 1947 to assist the European nations to recover their economies following the devastation of World War Two.  With one goal in mind -- to stop the spread of Russian-sponsored communism.


Within four years, with $13 billion of aid, Europe’s economy recovered well above its pre-war levels.  And that is why the term “Marshall Plan” is slapped on politician’s pet projects.  It is one of the few governmental programs (other than war) that succeeded in its stated goal.


But where is the metaphorical comparison between Europe and the Middle East.  Europe started with an industrial base prior to the war that was as strong or stronger than the American economy.  In fact, but for World War Two, America may not have surpassed Europe’s industrial output.


Anyone who has ever put a carburetor back together knows it is not the same thing as attempting to manufacture a car engine from scratch.


And that is where the Middle East is.  Most of the nations there grow crops or extract natural resources as the basis for their economies.  For many reasons, they do not have industrial economies.


Then there is that “democratic awakening” comment.  I was thrilled to see the authoritarian leaders in Egypt, Libya, and Tunisia get dumped from their thrones.  (And I would not mind seeing the heels of several more head out the door to that old historical ash heap.)


But mobs overthrowing governments seldom lead to democracy.  At least, not the democratic republics we imagine would be in every nation's self-interest.


Paris 1789.  Moscow 1917.  Mexico City 1910.  The list could go on and on.  Almost always ending in tears.  But why?


Without a system in place that honors property rights, the rule of law, and respect for minorities, democracy will be nothing more than mobocracy.


And there is the rub.  The State Department would like to offer aid to speed up the process and to ensure that people favorable to our interests will prevent people coming to power who would be just as happy to see The West toted out to the ash heap along with the Yemeni president.


If we have learned anything, we know that aid to allies seldom gets us the deal we bargained for in the anarchic marketplace of nations.


What do you do when a product has a bad name?  I have been in Mexico long enough to know the answer to that question.  Got a cheap watch?  Slap Rolex on it and wait for PT Barnum’s suckers to line up for theirs.


That is why a program to buy friends in North Africa is touted as a Marshall Plan.  When that Rolex stops ticking, the current political lot will be gone.


And that is why we try to remember our history -- and why politicians of all stripes would prefer that we didn’t.

raising our palms

It may not be Chartres, but our little church palapa in Melaque is starting to take form.


When I last updated you on the local church building project (dining with the gods) in June, the project was little more than a cleared lot and a pile of blue-tarped bricks.


During the summer rainy season, while bids were being considered for the construction of a palapa (for worship) and a bathroom, nature had its way with the lot.  Turning it into a not-so-cleared lot with a pile of blue-tarped bricks.


The bricks are still piled, but everything else has changed.  The lot is cleared.  And the palapa is under construction.


The supporting posts are set in concrete.  And the general framing is almost complete.

The palapa is larger than our former San Patricio by the Sea structure nearer to the beach.  And we needed something to accommodate the larger winter crowds.  That adjective should probably be “more numerous,” but it is an opportunity to exercise Christian charity.


The next step will be the construction of a roof frame.  The palm fronds will then be woven into place to create a sun-free, rain-free worship space.


And these are the palm fronds.  The best for palapas.  Cut at the last full moon to ensure their maximum strength and survivability.

The word on the lot is that the palapa could be finished by mid-October.  And then that pile of bricks will magically (with the help of local craftsmen) be turned into a floor under the palapa.

 

I did mention the bathroom.  The shell is complete.  Now, all it needs is to be plumbed and outfitted with the appropriate fixtures.


That means by the time the winter crowds arrive, we will have a new place to share our faith with this community.


In a couple of weeks, I will give you another progress report.

in the swim

The Melaque social season is off and running.  Or, at least, stroking.


Edith Wharton may have tired of the inevitable convention of Faust opening each New York social season.  She would have loved Melaque’s social spontaneity.


Last year the local merchants sponsored our first Festival of the Sea.  No film or organ festivals for us.  That is not our crowd.

 We are beach people.  We don’t want to sit in a seat.  We want to move ours.  Sexy young women dancing on stage or athletic young men on skim boards.  That is our style.  And that is what we got.  California -- just further south.


Tennis.  Surfing.  Football.  A 10K run. 


And music.  Lots of music.  And dancing -- of all sorts.  Each evening from 6 until midnight.  The fun was exhausting.  But Melaque is built on the myth that paradise can be purchased.  Even if it is simply an image.  No thought-challenging Faust for us.


Last year the festival began in December.  It is getting an early start this year.  Today.  And it started with a splash.


A swim competition across the Bay of Navidad,.  Starting on what is left of the beach at Barra de Navidad and ending at Chicken Beach in Melaque.

 

A 3.8 kilometer (2 mile) race.  If the 389 contestants swam in a straight line.  And one of the contestants was the proprietor of one of my favorite eateries -- Señor Froy’s.  Where I am drafting this post.


It was quite an event.  The bay was filled with guide boats and kayaks.  The beach (at 8AM -- in Mexico -- on Saturday) was filled with family, friends, and tourists, as well as the ubiquitous Army presence for public gatherings.


As Jorge Castañeda has pointed out, it was Mexican competition at its best.  Individual.  No pesky teamwork needed.  But today the competition was secondary to the fiesta that surrounded the event.  Recorded music loud and syncopated enough to keep shoulders akimbo.


After all the event was its own raison d'être.  It is the Festival of the Sea.  And it is our social season.

 

that’s a wrap

I feel a bit more Mexican today.


When I moved down here, I was concerned about my magazine subscriptions.  I may be a big internet user, but I love my magazines.  Especially, my news and commentary magazines.


The usual suspects told me never to use the Mexican mail system.  It simply does not work.  Of course, they were the same people who told me it was unsafe to drive in Mexico.


So, off I went to Manzanillo to set up a mailbox with Mailboxes, Etc.  It was a bit like dating.  I paid a lot of money and got late deliveries.  It took two to three weeks for my magazines to get to me.


After two and a half years of this semi-dysfunctional relationship, I decided enough was enough.  Two friends in the highlands convinced me, through their testimonials, that the Mexican postal system was better than its American counterpart.


In June, I rented a Mexican post office box in Melaque -- and dutifully sent off change of address forms to the three magazines I receive regularly.  (One of my favorites arrives on my Kindle.)


And then I waited.  No magazines in June.  None in July.  None in August.  I was beginning to wonder if the change was a good idea.


But I knew the address was correct because a friend in Nevada and another in Hawaii sent letters that arrived within two weeks of mailing.


Then just as I was ready to have everything sent to the Manzanillo box, a miracle occurred.  On the same day, my National Geographic and American Spectator showed up.  And not late.  They were both the September editions.


Since today is the last day of the month, I drove down to Manzanillo and turned my key over to what was formerly known as Mailboxes, Etc.  I am happy to report they were sad to see me go.  But it is a service I no longer require.


For some reason, The Economist has not yet made it to the Mexican box, but I am certain it will.  And, if not, not. 


I need to get out more often and see the world rather than just read about it.  That will also make me feel more Mexican.