Appointment in Tonalá

There was a merchant in Bagdad who sent his servant to market to buy provisions and in a little while the servant came back, white and trembling, and said, Master, just now when I was in the marketplace I was jostled by a woman in the crowd and when I turned I saw it was Death that jostled me.  She looked at me and made a threatening gesture,  now, lend me your horse, and I will ride away from this city and avoid my fate.  I will go to Samarra and there Death will not find me.  The merchant lent him his horse, and the servant mounted it, and he dug his spurs in its flanks and as fast as the horse could gallop he went.  Then the merchant went down to the marketplace and he saw me standing in the crowd and he came to me and said, Why did you make a threatening gesture to my servant when you saw him this morning?  That was not a threatening gesture, I said, it was only a start of surprise.  I was astonished to see him in Bagdad, for I had an appointment with him tonight in Samarra.

From Appointment In Samarra by John O'Hara

OUR Saturday departure from Pátzcuaro was threatened by the violent events of Thursday afternoon and evening. Los Caballeros Templares gang skirmished with police and the Ejército, hijacking  public and private vehicles and setting them aflame. Most of those incidents took place in distant Apatzingán, Uruapan and Morelia.

Photo from quadratin.com.mx

We Love Casona Rosa in Morelia

The Centro of Morelia has many hotels and B & Bs from which to choose. Where to stay depends on one's tastes and budget. We love staying at Casona Rosa.
For several years, we've watched the growth of first, Casa Rosa, and now, of Casona Rosa. They've come a long way from the first two cozy bedrooms and cute but tiny kitchens, formerly located down the street from the present location.

Five Years on the Rancho

July 1st marks the fifth anniversary of our renting our house here on the Rancho. September will mark our 6th anniversary in the Pátzcuaro region. Our first house in the area was "ready to wear", a completely furnished 2 bdrm, 1 bath, lvg/dng rm houselet on acres and acres (I should say, "hectareas") of land. It was in a vacation club called Quercus, on the road to Santa Clara de Cobre.

While it was a cute house, the thin, wooden walls were uninsulated and we passed our first winter there, freezing our butts off.

In April, when our 6 month agreement expired, we moved into the grand, rambling, tile encrusted house of an Arkansas expat friend, close at hand to the ferrocarriles of the Tzurumútaro Choo choo. We lived there and cared for it for a little over 4 months. It had a few problems, which I won't go into here.

Our friend's house

Along about June, 2006, we were looking up and down the streets of Pátzcuaro in search of new quarters, as we expected our host to return in late July or August. With the possible exception of a duplex apartment on Gringo Hill, all the houses we looked at were tortuously constructed, some with hazards such as stairs of uneven height, and low concrete beams ready to clobber the head of the careless. There was a skinny shower room installed inside a pillar between the kitchen and the living room. The neighborhood wasn't all that nice, either.

We also visited a country cottage out in a peach orchard. It was even further away and higher altitude than our Quercus cabin, and worst of all, the skinny kitchen was like a utility room. At least the view was great.

Then I met an expat at the Men's Tuesday Breakfast named Mel O'Hara. He suggested that we come out to see the two houses available for rent where he lived. It was 20 minutes out of Pátzcuaro Centro. The Internet, delivered by microwave towers, was sketchy. But one house was passable all right, and the other amazed us. We knew almost immediately that this was it. The house was well built, and the setting was beautiful. The then drab exterior belied the well finished interior.

Our first view of the house

Our house as it is today

Double doors in the entryway

The living room before furnishing

The kitchen was the deal maker

The view; OH the VIEW!

The house has changed over time. Our landlords put up a new, tiled roof, at their own expense, and then when I proposed that we pay to have the house rewired (so that I could run a toaster oven and the microwave oven at once), they paid for 90% of the costs.

The local people have welcomed us. We attend many of their fiestas. We've also been to three funerals. Through these blogs, and through my Picasa web Albums, I've become the photo chronicler of the Rancho. The people who have emigrated to the Other Side (the U.S. border) enjoy seeing local events commemorated on the Web. Next wednesday, we are invited to a Graduation comida. I was asked to please bring my camera.

We have no doubt. This is the place. The right place.

Riding the Nostalgia Train

We had the good fortune to experience passenger train travel a few times in Mexico before the services ended around 2000. We were on the Chepe Primera Clase (Chihuahua al Pacífico)* run about 3 times. Comfortable and enjoyable; fun companions, cold cerveza and a dining car! (I didn't eat from the dining car but there were enough vendors coming aboard to sell their specialities. A steward came buy at intervals to serve us a pseudo-orange drink I quickly dubbed "Naranjanada".

A highlight was the 20 minute stop at Divisadero mirador, where ladies sold gorditas filled with chcken and other antojitos. You could even see the Barranca del Cobre!

The first train trip was from Cd. Júarez to Chihuahua, and the following year from Cd. Júarez to Zacatecas, a 24 hour trip, Pullman class car, through mostly desolate wasteland. We did make friends with an interesting family. It was fun to explore and deploy the foldout furnishings in our Pullman roomette, but after that, it was nearly unremitting boredom. We stopped for what seemed hours in the middle of nowhere. Maybe we were ahead of schedule.These are probably one reason Zacatecas looked so good, with its cobbled streets, plazas, fountains and the warm glow of the faroles de dragones. (But it is truly a wonderful city.)

Another year saw us take an overnight train from Mexico City to Oaxaca. No Pullman Service. The most exciting part of that was the boarding, with uniformed conductors to show us to our seats. After a semi sleepless night, the dawn revealed that we were in La Cañada, a scenic section of the trip, not long before arriving in Oaxaca. Another fabulous city.

For some benighted motive, we once the overnight train from Mexico City to Monterrey. It was slow, paralytically boring and uncomfortable. No Pullman Service. We slept athwart the wooden arm rests, waking with our legs like logs.

We didn't always take first class trains; an exception was another overnight trip (No Pullman Service) from Tepic, Nayarit to El Sufragio Estacíon, a connecting point to Los Mochis via 2nd class bus. That particular train coach was dark, dingy and foreboding. The restroom was either nonexistant or out of order, but it was fun to whiz off the back platform.

Even riding the First Class coaches on the Chihuahua al Pacífico, taking a wee in the WC posed a threat for the photographers and others standing in the usually fresher air of the vestibule between cars. There was a definite spray factor when the WC was flushed. It was especially noticeable as the train lurched around one of the many curves.

It's fun to look back on those days of train service, the occasional discomforts and slowness fuzzily obscured by time and nostalgia. These days, I prefer the bus. We can even choose which bad movie to watch, or none at all.

(This post was inspired by a post on Michoacán_Net by David Haun, which set off a flurry of train stories.)

A Magic Phrase

María Dolores was our hostess at a small (2 bedrooms) guesthouse apartment in Madrid in 2002. She was a kind and caring person, but she was very careful who she admitted to her third floor piso. It was in a nondescript building on a very busy one way street, a few blocks south of the Plaza Mayor. She lived with her then 13 year old son, who played games on a Mac. We found a kinship there.

She gave us juice and homemade quick bread. The room and ensuite bath were small but clean and we were glad to find it, especially at €35, back when the dollar was at par with the euro.

When she saw that I was going to go out into the streets with my camera slung over my neck, she also gave me some advice.

The first part was that it was better not to carry valuables in a visible way.

The second piece of advice was that if anyone accosted us or asked a question, just say: “¡NO LO SÉ!” and walk on.

We never had occasion to use the phrase while we were in Madrid, as we had no problems other than be shorted 20 Euros from an ATM on the Puerta del Sol.

Last Sunday, in Mexico City's Colonia Roma, we were walking back to our hotel from a friend’s house. A dodgy looking guy suddenly stepped out and accosted us with the words, “Discúlpe la molestia, Señor...”

María Dolores’ magic phrase awoke from its long slumber.

“¡NO LO SÉ” came out of my mouth unbidden by conscious effort.

He shrank back wordlessly and we walked on.

What Spanish magic does that potent phrase contain, to work in Mexico City as in Madrid?

Cleaning Out the Whatsit?

Monday, I cleaned out the "Whatsit?" catch-all shelf in our trastero cabinet. We'd bought the two section trastero from a Zirahuen organic ranching couple back in 2006, and it's since served us for clothes drawers, overhead storage space, wine cellar and liquor cabinet, and as a "Whatsit?" catchall compartment.

Doña Cuevas checks the trastero when it moved in

The Whatsit? held a miscellaneous collection of flashlights, candles, mosquito coils, locks, Hallow'een masks and other junk.

Yesterday's big find were the numerous eyeglasses, in their snazzy cases, of which at least two had higher quality frames than the ones we'd gotten in Pátzcuaro. The electric extension cord and surge suppressor went out to the storage boxes in the garage. The goofy looking candle holder, mosquito coils and some other items are going to giveaways. The massive padlock which had originally been the main line of defense at our gate was defective, so we tossed it in the trash.

It was a productive and satisfying way to occupy an hour or so. We had to take a long nap afterwards, but that was partly in response to the change to Daylight Saving Time, and the previous two long but enjoyable days of house cleaning and prep for Sunday dinner.

Seven Shots In Michoacán

This post is not about violence in Michoacán. If you were looking for that, you might instead go here.

No, this is about some of the free or inexpensive health care available to both Mexicanos and Gringos living here. No ifs, ands or buts.

Hoopla On the Rancho

A couple of the preteen neighbor kids came over one evening last week. Andrés is especially inquisitive and likes to chat with us in Spanish. Both he and Alejandro were carrying a Mexican, homemade version of a Hula Hoop. The hoops are made of stiff lengths of hose, with a metal piece jammed into one end so it may be mated to the other end. These "aros", or hoops, are slightly smaller in diameter and a bit heavier than the commercial model Hula Hoops I recall. I was pleased to see that these toys or exercise devices are made from low cost, surplus materials.

They then proceeded to enthusiastically demonstrate how the hoops are used. Andrés also had a jump rope (video link).

Andrés and Alejandro

Our amiga down the street told us later that the hoops are used as part of the schools' physical fitness program. In an effort to combat obesity, the Mexican government is instituting new measures in the schools, among which fresh fruit stands are set up to tempt the children. What will the comida chatarra (junk food) vendors do? Papitas (potato chips), dulces, refrescos, chicharrones are an integral part of the Mexican food culture.

After the PE demos, we sat and chatted a while of life here and al otro lado (in the U.S.), until the air grew cool and the sun began to set. We enjoy these occasional chats with these kids. It will be our turn for Show and Tell next time.

Twisted Taxi Tales

During the many years we've visited and lived in Mexico, most of the taxi rides we've taken were free of any unusual incidents. But there have been some exceptions.

The stories you are about to read are true; only the names of the drivers are omitted because we never knew them. No crimes were committed, but we have been subjected to pendejadas. In the following series of Twisted Taxi Tales, up to five Pendejada Points (¶) will be awarded to qualified taxistas.

Pemeces* Past and Present

Old Pemex Gasolinera, C/ Federico Tena at C/ Navarrete

You could get your hair permed, your skin tattooed and your car greased. That was when we arrived here in October, 2005. Gas was no longer available.

Today, a new Pemex is arising. The final construction touches are underway. We don't know what it will offer, apart from gas, oil and air. I'm betting that no tattoos will be available, except accidentally. Maybe there will be an OXXO, or a Happy Go store. You can buy a lot of handy things in those stores. Look for the hotdog specials! You can get a premixed alcoholic beverage in a can!

We miss the old Pemex, a classic of Mission style Mexican Architecture. It occasionally provided us with cheap or free parking. The lube rack pits were totally unguarded by any safety rails. No risk to me, as I never went inside.

New Pemex plaza

Shade for your vehicle

*Pemeces: plural form of Pemex

Three Guys and a Ladder

Today, Doña Cuevas is our Guest Blogger. Editing and composition by Don Cuevas.


(This really happened. We are not making it up.)

Doña Cuevas writes:
"Last week I went up the road to visit and lunch with 2 amigas Norteamericanas coming from Morelia for shopping. I met them at a roadside restaurant we lovingly call Larry's Fish House (because our ex-neighbor Larry liked to eat there when he lived here.)"
(Don Cuevas says: "Mediocre food, great view. They often seem to go together. However, the hand made tortillas are good and the salsa de molcajete can be tasty.")


Doña Cuevas continues:
"I looked out the window, as we sat eating our shrimp dishes, and there
were 3 guys.They were attempting to repair a light fixture high above the ground. Two of them were steadying a 12-16 ft. wooden ladder, with no support, for the 3rd man, who was about 12 ft. up the ladder. He realized he couldn't reach the outside light, and came down." 


"I looked out later and there was a Pepsi truck backed up, with the
same third guy climbing up the ladder (which now had its top resting on
the back of the truck) with a plastic chair in his hands. He climbed
up on the chair, which sat upon the roof of the Pepsi truck, but it was still not high enough."

A Pepsi truck something like this one.

"One of the other guys brought a sturdy plastic bucket (like a pickle bucket) and pitched it up to the guy on the roof of the truck.
He placed upside down on the chair seat. He climbed up but it was still not high enough, but by standing on his toes he could reach the top of the light fixture and start unscrewing the top part."


"We left at that point, but I'd bet that the fixture was unscrewed,
the man came down off the Pepsi truck with the fixture, the necessary
parts were not available to fix the light, and the Pepsi truck drove
off with driver at the wheel. The Pepsi truck, or a similar truck,
would return another day and the light would be reinstalled, to work
until someone shot out the bulb and the bulb covering."


"It never gets boring around here, at least for me."


"Saludos cariñosos,
 Doña Cuevas"

The Bicentenario Celebrations in Pátzcuaro

We don't usually attend nighttime events in Pátzcuaro, as we live way out in the country and don't like to drive at night. I'm also in the habit of going to bed early and arising very early.

But as this was Mexico's Bicentenario year, we decided to attend both La Noche del Grito on Wednesday, Sept. 15 and the next day's Independence Day celebrations.

Our Gated Community

Following up on my previous post "Don't Forget To Take Out The Trash", here is the latest news on the trash dump news front.

Wednesday evening saw the first known garbage truck dump its load in the new basurero. We weren't there to see it, as we were in Pátzcuaro to celebrate La Noche del Grito and El Día de La Independencia.

Things That Go Bump In The Road

Not a bra! Slow down!

Full stop!

Anyone familiar with driving in Mexico knows what "topes" are: speed bump barriers to excessive velocity as well as tranquility. There are various forms of topes, ranging from the basic raised ridge to metal plates set into the pavement and the elegant "reductor de velocidad" along Morelia's Avenida Camelinas. Then there's the racy "vibradores", a series of corrugations sometimes known in the U.S. as "rumble strips". In ritzy Montclair, NJ, they have "speed humps".

But there are lesser known variants of topes, which I'll describe. Poor communities, which don't have the funds to install raised barriers, sometimes just make a short and steep ditch, a negative space I dubbed a "nope". That's pronounce "NO-pay". In the hardscrabble outlying burg of Tzurumutaro, the back street sports concrete tank barriers that could be called "golpes", Spanish for "hit" or "blow" in the hurting sense. Those are best negotiated by flanking maneuvers when possible and when that's not feasible, a slow aproach at an angle may allow your vehicle to pass without damage. In pleasant contrast, the highway bypassing Tzurumutaro to one side has two of the most gradual and gentle tope mounds ever seen. Crossing them is like eating Mallomars candy.

In a labyrinthine colonia in lower Pátzcuaro, the not recommended route to the Panadería La Espiga includes a horrendous tank trap with a vicious, protruding reinforcing rod. Other routes are advised, or foot travel only. I recommend hiring a knowledgeable guide for your first visit to the Panadería. Contact me.

Possibly you like topes; maybe you want to experience the "Real Mexico". If that's the case, I recommend a drive to Morelia's International Airport, close to the town of Álvaro Obregón. There are something like 27 topes between the turnoff from the main highway out of Morelia and the Airport entrance gate. What's not to like?
After a reckless encounter with topes, you may need this Tope's Auto Repair.

I have now found what I think is the ultimate topes nightmare.

Don't Forget To Take Out The Trash

Sometimes changes take place quickly, and one's point of view changes just as fast. That happened this week, all within a very short time span.

Lately there has been an unusual amount of public works activity here in our pueblecito. There's a crew of citizens, both young and old, working on widening the road near where it meets or roughly paved street. All that cooperative community work gladdened my heart. Perhaps our street would be the next to be resurfaced?

(Doña Cuevas says that if it were improved, vehicles would be racing up and down it. In my opinion, God gave us topes for that very purpose.)

Click to go to video

But as the work progressed on the road widening below our house, there came the disquieting roar of heavy rock and gravel hauling trucks passing our house and returning empty. We live a few meters from the end of the pavement, where the gravelled stretch inclines lazily up the ridge.

Geni Certain photo

There are some nice views from there. Until a few years ago, the gravelled road was a horrendous bog of cow paths wandering from boulder to boulder by way of mudholes. Now, it's a nice walk.

You have to look out for the odd, dead and rotting animal just beyond the picturesque stone walls. This month's special is a smelly, dead cow. But these carrion are ephemeral. Given a month or two, they are reduced to bones by decay and coyotes.

The other evening, rumor flew to us via cell phone that the enterprising gentleman who'd improved the road, and late last year had 7 power poles installed and extended to his property up the way, was planning to have the municpal trash dump placed up on his terreno. It's entirely possible. Our informant told us that all the other local inhabitants are against the plan. A petition was circulated among the local gente. I was asked by an expat amiga whether one person's will could prevail against a majority of popular opposition. Sure it could. Depends.

Don't forget to take out the trash

We await the outcome. Updates will surely follow.

UPDATE September 10, 2010: We have been unable to drive in or out of our street for 2 days, while the concrete sets at the foot of the street. Yesterday, we used the combi vans to go out and into Pátzcuaro. It was easy going out, but we had to wait nearly an hour coming back, arriving in a deluge of rain. We walked up in a small graywater rapids to our gate.

It occurred to me that the street improvements might be in a large part for the benefit of heavy trucks that otherwise could not pass the "nope", my neologism for "negative tope" at the foot of the narrow street, and the widening is intended for waiting trucks to layby until their turn to haul their loads upward.

UPDATE September 12, 2010: we didn't have our regular trash pickup last Wednesday. I assumed that that was because the new concrete was being poured at the foot of our street, and the trash truck couldn't cross it. But now it seems as though the trash collectors are boycotting our pueblo in protest of the proposed new trash dump up the road from us. The new dump might cut into their regular routes. I don't know exact details, or what, exactly, is going on.

Power to the people!

New gate to the proposed project area

                                        The Fine Print:
I am forbidden by the Mexican Constitution and the laws governing my migratory status to engage in any political activity, sign petitions, and perhaps even comment negatively or positively on such issues. I've gone over this post with the proverbial fine-toothed comb, looking for any indications that might reveal my sentiment on this subject. I'm sure that none can be found. I leave the rest to your imagination.

Glorious Anniversary of Five Year Plan

We arrived to live in Mexico on September 14, 2005.
We now approach the Glorious Anniversary of our first Five Year Plan.
Last week, we completed our applications for our second FM3 visas.
On Wednesday we went to pick them up. Now they are laminated cards instead of passport like booklets.

OLD

NEW

We celebrated the beginning of our second Glorious Five Year Plan with a nice seafood lunch at La Jaiba.

Yummy!

Five years ago crossed the frontera just before dawn on September 14, 2005, and got to to Morelia a couple of days earlier, and not without some car problems.

We obtained temporary housing over the cold winter of 2005-2006, then house sat for 4 months in the spring of 2006. Then in June 2006, we found our present home waiting for us. It was outwardly unattractive but inside it was a gem. Since then, it has been variously improved by the owners: new roof, paint and rewiring. Our rent has risen only 500 pesos in the 4 years we've been here. Knock knock. Recently, the monthly charge for pueblo piped water rose from $50 to $70 pesos.

The rancho/village in which we live has recently gotten funding and a community effort public works project is under way right now. The hub of the pueblo at the crosswalk has been widened.

We felt the spirit move us, and with a gift of utility shelving from dear, departed friends, we reorganized or garage! ¡Que milagro!

Could be turned into a guestroom or a small store!

A couple of years ago, the rough, upaved cowtrail that was the upward extension of our street was bulldozed and graveled. Last year, seven concrete poles were placed to carry current upward to a projected house site. We don't like the poles, as the spoil the view, but hey! It's not our land.

Pole Land

A new tienda opened at the entrance to the pueblo about 6 months ago. It's a progressive, modern store, allowing the customers to come inside and actually see and perhaps handle the merchandise before buying. The other tiendas here have little windows where you knock, ring, push a bell and you ask for whatever dusty, out of date article you desire. This should quiet and calm (but it won't) the critics of Big Supermarkets who fear that those threaten the small, Mamá y Papá tiendas. We have at least 5 tiendas in our pueblecito. Some are hidden away on side streets, serving the neighborhood.

The 3 kilometers of paved road in from the main highway has had its potholes patched a couple of times. Keep up the good work. We like being able to drive in and out without swerving to avoid potholes.

This is a good place for us, and we hope to enjoy at least another 5 years here.

Developers' Plans Setback As Yacht Club Lake Vanishes

Now this; just in:

Developers' plans for an elaborate yacht club faced a devastating setback when the lake vanished overnight to parts unknown. It was speculated by amateur geologist and ex-spelunker Don Cuevas that, "the lake had drained into subterranean caverns, the extent of which we may never know, due to the heavy contamination from agriculture and animal husbandry deterring exploration*."

Below, before and after shots of the lake property.

Laguna antes

Laguna despúes

Developers stated that although it was indeed a serious setback, they were forging ahead with other elements of their development plan of the  Tzu-Tzn Regional Airport, the Monte Fuji-Taco Club Campestre, and a multi-tiered luxury condo fraccionamiento. Much depends on government funding for building the Morelia-Tzu-Tzn cutoff highway, which would not only access the development, but would save motorists a valuable 11 minutes, on the average, while enroute to Tzn to buy Christmas ornaments.

For up to the minute developments, stayed linked to this blog.

*That is, the caverns are full of BS.

Remembrances of Things Karst

For those of you interested in the esoterica of cave explorations, I have started a blog, "We Once Were Cavers." The introduction, The Adventure Begins has been posted, with remembrances of things karst soon to follow.

Somewhere in China. I have never been there.

La Semana Ch***ada

La Semana Ch***ada.

Or, in Bowdlerized English; "That Was The Week That Was."

(I found out that there is actually a place in the state of Jalisco called "La Chingada" Increible.)

Please pardon my Español, but this has been a very interesting Week, as in the Chinese curse, "May you live in interesting times." It deserves that appellation.

When we returned fron Mexico City on June 23, both Doña Cuevas and I had suffered various degrees of intestinal upsets. We had taken only over the counter medications for it, and Pedialyte electrolyte replacer.

On Friday, her ilness was dormant and mine was becoming more active. On Saturday, I went to Dr. G. who prescribed to me some Ciprofloxacino 500 mg. tablets and Lacteol Fort, a concentrated Acidophilus culture.

By Sunday morning, I felt fine, in fact, energetic, and I cooked a big comida for us and one guest.

Monday, came the Storm. It was a driving, wind-swept rain, pushing, punishing hail. Water came under our front door and into the garage. Because we have EZ-2-Kleen tile floors, that was not a big problem to soak it up.

Meanwhile that afternoon, Doña Cuevas was showing signs of fever and tiredness, but otherwise seemed fine. Abut 10 p.m., she got up to visit the bathrom, and all was silence. I went in and checked on her and it was obvious by her semi conscious awareness that she needed to go to a hospital. We are familiar with these symptoms from previous incidents.

I called Dr. G, who arranged to meet us at Clínica Don Vasco in Pátzcuaro. (This is an example of one of the exceptional times we drive at night.)

Once inside the small, neat clinic, she was treated with fast acting solutions via IV to rapidly improve her condition.

By morning, she was much better, and by late afternoon, she was released.

There was a followup at Dr. G's consultorio next morning. Traffic in and out of Pátzcuaro has been ch***ado since we'd come back on the bus from Mexico City. Tree trimming was underway along Avenida Lázaro Cárdenas, and the traffic flow diverted to narrow streets through Colonia Revolucíon. One of these streets resembles a malpaís of lava blocks punctuated with elevated sewer covers. Buses and all vehicles choked this route and a barely better one a few blocks west. So the usual 5-10 minute trip to Centro was taking 30 or more minutes at times.

Dr. G prescribe her the same meds, and after 2 days of taking them, is almost completely recovered.

Back home, we rested and cleaned up. Late in the day Tuesday, a friend told us that the Rancho water pump se ha decompuesta. (BUSTED.)

Next morning our landlord told us that a bolt of lightning had struck it. Money had been raised among the rancheros to repair and replace it, but for now, all our running water depended on what we had left in our tinaco.

Conservation measures were  begun, and we got a lot of buckets and a 55 gallon drum from a friend in Tzintzuntzan.

Adjustment was difficult at first, but after a day or so, we got the hang of bathing with a cereal bowl and heating rain water on the stovetop.

Meanwhile, we struggled to prepare for a special July 4th comida slated for Sunday afternoon. The prospect looked grim for that event, but our amiga in Tzintzuntzan saved the day by offering her home and grounds. We gratefully accepted.

The comida and party take place this afternoon, and we hope to have a good time, if the lake doesn't rise nor the volcano awakens.*

Saludos,

 Don Cuevas

* PS: Maybe our luck has changed for the better. The party and comida went smashingly well and all the guests enjoyed themselves.

PPS: YES!! Our luck has changed for the better. The pump was fixed and we have running water once again.

The Old Baker's Club—A Sleepy Reminiscence

Old and Crusty Donuts

I was reading Steve Cotton's blog the other day, and encountered this blogpost on siestas.
Then, I left this comment:

Same Life--New Location

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

sleep glorious sleep

Don Cuevas said...

I must have naps, due to my long engrained baker's habit of arising in the early morning hours. It's when I do my best work, that is, after a mug or two of strong Chiapas coffee.

In my real experience, bakers arrived at work sometime between 2 and 3 a.m. There's a certain special feeling of belonging to an exclusive club.
(Snort!)

Siestas are a must. Our usual siesta time is after la comida, at about 3:30 until 5:00 or so.

When I arise from those naps, no one should engage me in any meaningful conversation until my brain has returned to normal velocity. I just can't process anything that requires more than a grunted response. The amygdala rules.
Think of Steve's crocodle post, above.

Saludos,
Don Cuevas

April 21, 2010 5:27 AM

The NY Times recently had an article, 
What Is Sleep? - Opinionator Blog - NYTimes.com

JOINING THE CLUB
first, you have to adapt to the schedule; sleep is always on your mind


When I started my first real bakery job, my hours were 3:00 a.m to 11:00 a.m.

I wasn't at all sure I could adjust to that reversal of my sleep cycle. I recall an August afternoon nap on a camp mat in the air conditioned living room of our bungalow in Springfield, MO. I was desperately trying to get some rest before I had to arise at 2:00 a.m. I was only partially successful.

Now, after many years of working similar hours, I can go back to my previous sleep routine only with the greatest difficulty.

planning a proper lunch/breakfast is important

I want to tell you something about working in a medium to large retail bakery in the early morning hours.
Often, when I arrived at the loading dock entrance and entered the bakery production area, the two senior bakers were sitting on the flour sacks taking a break and eating bologna sandwiches on white bread. Always white bread. When I expressed a preference for rye or whole wheat, Chester, the older baker, who resembled W.C. Fields, would poke fun at me with comments about my "whale blubber sandwich on kumquat toast." Funny guy. That's only a sample of his humor.


One of my first jobs as a Baker's Helper was washing sheet pans and other things as called upon. Getting mild electrical shocks when washing the outside walls of the walk-in freezer was an eyeopener.


the whole mirth catalog


It was a big moment when the senior bakers called me over to the bench (work table) and invited me to help make donuts. My assignment was to pick the cut holes from the big sheet of dough sprawled on the bench. It was a monotonous job, enlivened only by Chester's jesting, making funny faces, teasing the cake finishers, general ribaldry and hilarious parodies of popular Country and Western songs.


They sheeted the dough through a big machine and cut out the shapes with a die cut roller, and I got to pluck the holes. Somehow, that task would cause my mind to wander. It would often wander to the eastern Missouri Perry County Karst Plain. (PDF, 1.6 MB) Hundred, perhaps thousands of sinkholes...endless cavities, stretching to the horizon.

Later, when I'd graduated to the point to where the trusted me enough, they took some time off and I was left alone in the bakery production area, mixing, kneading, sheeting, cutting and still plucking those thousands of donut holes. It was a big step and a big responsibilty. But it was easier for my mind to wander at 4 a.m. when I didn't have that crazy, crusty old baker banter to keep my mind on the job.


flubbing up can be hazardous


A few mishaps occasionally resulted: like the sugar cookie dough one morning. "Emmett; it just doesn't look right." —I phoned the head baker at 4:00 a.m. on his day off.
"Did you put the sugar in?"— he asked.
No. That was what was missing! Mixing in the correct amount of sugar nearly instantly corrected the problem.


Then there the big floor mixers. These are not your Kitchen-Aid table top mixers. They are powerful machines. I think one was an 80 quart and the other a 120 quart capacity, with electric lifts.

Massive Mixers a lot like these

There was at least one close call when, in my sleepy daze, I failed to properly lock the massive bowl onto the mixer arms. The bowl was loaded with perhaps 100 pounds of donut mix, maybe 60 some pounds of water and and several one pound blocks of fresh yeast. That plus the weight of the stainless steel bowl came to over 250 pounds.

 As the bowl rose, it canted forward, threatening to spill the unmixed contents onto the less than pristine floor, as the mixer rose from the floor on its legs! (This was a hard to achieve feat.)

I was sweating, you bet. After I calmed down, I was able to fiddle the mechanism to safely lower the bowl to its round, wheeled dolly.

After experiences like those, quitting time at 11:00 a.m. was welcome, and then home to lunch with a beer then some sleep. (Breakfast had already been eaten while sitting on the bags of flour in the bakery. My usual, of course: a whale blubber sandwich on kumquat toast.) 


This is not the end of the story, but sufficient for now.