A CLEAN, WELL-LIGHTED PLACE ( Part I)

When we first came to San Miguel and my wife had to return to the States on family business, I found myself alone for long stretches of time.  We were living temporarily up on Xichu, right below where the big trucks actuate their air brakes before taking the plunge for the long downhill run to Ancha de San Antonio, and the ground itself seemed to splinter and crack with the most excruciating noise I'd ever heard.

It was December and cold, and when it rained I felt like my heart had tipped over and spilled out. I had our two dogs for company, but even they seemed depressed with my wife gone. Christmas was coming up. The internet went out in the apartment and I mistakenly believed that because the internet didn't work neither did the television.  I was wrong about the TV not working, but it didn't matter, really.

Later I would discover that most English-language channels were running endless repeats of subpar action movies starring Dolph Lundgren and Cuba Gooding, Jr. What's up, Cuba?  Do you remember how funny he was in Jerry MaGuire and in As Good As It Gets? For the life of me, I'll never understand what happened to his career since then.

I took longer and longer walks every day.  I discovered Juarez Park and a warm and welcoming internet cafe just down from St. Paul's Church off the Ancha. I walked up the hill to the Puertecita Hotel and down the hill to the bus station, and then, just for something different to do, I walked across town, from one side to the other.

Deep into the barrios in the north and high, high up on the Salida de Queretaro, where the trucks started their downhill plunge to the glorieta in San Antonio a mile below. Walking's definitely the best way to see this town, but it just didn't help my mood afterward.

Then I found the Biblioteca. It saved my life or at least my sanity. Now, don't misunderstand me. This isn't an homage to how books I read there at the library kept me on the straight and narrow. The books helped, sure, but what really worked its special magic on me was the library itself.

Every expat I know drops into the library on a fairly regular basis. But, perhaps because  it was a completely new experience,  I believed that I had found a place that belonged exclusively to me.

(Please continue reading in Part II)

© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com

VROOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!

Even if  you aren't a fan of Formula One car racing like I am--along with an estimated half-billion other supporters worldwide and some 30 million in Mexico--you probaby already heard the news. Mexico is set to host a round of the FIA Formula One World Championship next year.

The race, the first Grand Prix to be held here for more than two decades, will be run at the 4.4-kilometer (2.7-mile) Circuit Hermanos Rodriguez in Mexico City. This circuit most recently hosted the event between 1986 and 1992. However, despite its history with the sport, track conditions fall short of current Formula One standards and require a substantial upgrade of facilities. Estimates are in the billions of pesos (millions of dollars) range.

Although a specific date hasn't been set yet, sources say the race could run towards the end of next year, to follow the U.S. Grand Prix in Austin in early November. With a lot of humongous Mexican companies supporting the event, it's bound to come off on schedule.

Two Mexican drivers currently compete in F1 racing: Force India’s Sergio "Checo" Perez, who scored a podium earlier this year in Bahrain, and Sauber's Esteban Gutierrez. Not surprisingly both Mexicans are excited about the prospects of a championship race in their home country in 2015.

“It’s great, I’m so happy,” said Perez. “It’s great for my country, for all the fans back home and I’m sure you all will be surprised at how good the event will be. I’m just very proud and excited."

For some reasons why this new development is important for Mexico, see the article "10 Reasons You Should Follow Formula One" in Forbes, available at http://www.forbes.com/sites/hannahelliott/2013/06/04/10-reasons-you-should-follow-formula-one/   The article is a year out of date, but the major points still apply.

You'll also find a very clear explanation of the Formula One brand at  http://www.formula1.com/inside_f1/f1brand.html 

Email me if you're a fan, too.




© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com

SPANISH ONLY

A couple of years ago, one of Philadelphia's best-known cheesesteak joints caused a big flap when its owner posted signs telling customers, "This Is AMERICA: WHEN ORDERING `SPEAK ENGLISH.'" I'm lucky that businesses here in San Miguel don't have a comparable policy. 

I'm not saying I would starve to death if restaurants and markets adoped a Spanish-only ordering policy.  I'm just saying that due to my lack of fluency, my diet would become terribly mundane and repetitive. Tacos, anyone?

I'm not alone, of course. There are lots of American and Canandian expats who muddle through each day with just a few words of Spanish.  Some seem quite pleased with themselves. I met one guy last week who prides himself on the fact that he speaks no Spanish at all--and he's lived here for 20 years!

Conversely, I'm surprised that so many Mexicans here speak English. Whenever I happen to meet one--you know, a local shopkeeper or notary public or security guard or young kid walking his dog in the park who knows my language a whole lot better than I know his--I usually ask: "Where did you learn to speak English so well?"

The person's answer invariably follows one of two forms: It's either "I learned it in school here in San Miguel."  Or, "I just got back after working 20 years in the States." Either response renders me practically speechless. I'm barely able to stammer my amazement.   "Man, you speak English really well," I say (in English, of course). "I mean, a lot better than I speak...you know, Espanol." Indeed.

At this point, the English-speaking Mexican will typically smile, with a just a hint of personal pride, while modestly denying any real proficiency in English. Humility is a nice quality.

And me, well, I'm left feeling humbled. And so I rush home to practice my Berlitz tutorial for a couple of hours.

But I'm confident my day will come. Very soon I'll be ready to step up to the counter at the local cheesesteak joint and confidently shout out my order: "Bistec con queso, por favor."  

Can't wait.









© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com

PLUMBER HEAVEN

I'm putting out a call to Hercule Poirot.  All the plumbers in San Miguel have gone missing.  And so have all the electricians, gardeners, stone masons, and housekeepers.

Oh, there are lots and lots (and lots) of these valuable service people around town. You see them everyday working on people's property. Some are employed by service companies and drive around in big trucks that block the streets.  Many others work for themselves, and some of them even have their own business cards they proudly hand out to any interested party.

It's not hard to find someone to unclog a drain or replace a circuit breaker or tend to your garden or retile a bathroom or brush your floor.  All you have to do is ask another expat. Trust me, he or she will be more than happy to pass along the name of somebody who has been really, really useful.

"Useful" usually means reasonably knowledgeable and reasonably priced.

Mysteriously, this really useful person will turn up at your door completely unannounced one evening. (Clearly the work of some mysterious grapevine among expats and maintenance staff, something I'm still trying to figure out.)

Eagerly you'll show this really useful person the job that must be done.  He or she will look it over slowly, grow very pensive, and then give you a price that is quite reasonable. Just think what this would cost in the States! You'll even shake hands on the deal.  Finally you'll set a date and a time for this person to start the job. You couldn't be happier.  That night, you'll sleep like a baby.

However, some time before the appointed hour--that's when Professor Moriarity (or some other arch villain) steps in and snatches your really useful person. Who knows where they're taken?  You wait and wait (and wait) and nobody appears. That night, you toss and turn, trying to figure out what could have happened.

I know what happened.  I really do.  This really useful electrician, plumber, gardener, stone mason, or housekeeper has vanished for good. He or she has disappeared into some other world--some special heaven--where such really useful people lead lives of quiet contemplation, riding pretty little ponies and watching sunsets over the Presa while licking strawberry ice cream cones. That's the way I imagine it, anyway.

Oh, and by the way, do you happen to know a good plumber?




© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com

MATRIARCHS OF SAN MIGUEL

You don't have to live in San Miguel very long before you realize that the expatriate community is run by women--dynamic, interesting, and quite fearless women.

Émigré women head up the most effective NGOs here--the ones that really help the locals. Women are also at the forefront of almost all worthwhile volunteer charity efforts. And the two most generous (and wildly successful)  organizations in town--"Mujeres in Cambio" and "A Hundred Women"--are founded and run by, well,  expats who are women!

Women are also in the vanguard of many exciting local entrepreneurial ventures in the arts, food, real estate, animal welfare, education, travel, and marketing. Finally, women are the dynamic center of just about every expatriate religious group in San Miguel.

Since moving here, I've been fortunate enough to have met a number of these natural leaders. Although I could easily and pleasurably pay tribute to each of my very good friends, such recognition would no doubt cause embarrassment, and of course there are many other women in leadership roles I have yet to meet.

So what makes these female residents--these so-called 'matriarchs' of San Miguel--the forerunners and trailblazers of our expat community?   They all share certain key qualities that include a sense of adventure, creativity, perseverance, highly developed governance skills, sensitivity to people's needs, a close kinship, and a keen work ethic. Most important of all, they seem to thrive on the challenges and opportunities that living in a city such as San Miguel offers.

© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com

LOGICAL PARKING

If you park illegally in San Miguel, you don't just get a ticket.  You also get your license plate impounded. In a country that so regularly defies logic, the logic of this simple law enforcement method is impeccable  Want your license plate back? Then visit the local transit authority office and PAY YOUR FINE!

For nine months after arriving in this small Spanish colonial town I parked my car wherever there was an available space on the street. (There are no parking meters in San Miguel, so all street parking is free.) Now, some of those spaces were legal parking spaces; but many other times they were spaces clearly signposted with a circled 'E' slashed with a red line, which is the local way of saying 'estacionamiento prohibido' (no parking).

I didn't park in front of people's garages and I didn't park too close to street corners; these practices too easily encourage either deliberate vandalism (from the garage owner) or accidental fender damage (from a passing delivery truck). Either way, the responsible party will most certainly never be identified. You can count on it.

In those nine months I never received a ticket.  And I never had my license plate impounded.

Not until, that is,  a couple of weeks ago, when my wife and I decided to go to the American-friendly Saturday organic food market near the Allende Institute in town. I parked in a convenient parking space a few steps away from the market. And even through I could plainly see the sign with a circled "E" with a red line slash just ahead, I figured I'd be okay for two reasons: one, I'd parked there many times before and had never gotten into trouble; and, two,  my car was stopped behind a line of shiny cars and trucks all sporting various shiny American license plates. What could be more reassuring?

An hour later, our shopping done for the week, we toted our goods back to the car. "Looks like you got a parking ticket," noted my wife, who like most wives, basks in my uncomfortable moments.  My gaze shot from the piece of scrap paper she held in her hand (yes, a parking ticket) to the front car bumper, which was missing my car's New Jersey plate.

Yo, mama!

Luckily, I just then spotted the transit cop. He was rotund little man in a light green uniform and a military-style cap. He was just in the process of ticketing a car and impounding its front plate a few paces behind us. He was bent over using a little screwdriver to remove the plate (being extra careful to replace the screws in their holes in the bumper). I noticed he was holding a stack of other car license plates in his free hand.  I was in luck.

My mind worked fast. I somehow knew that I would certainly be able to convince him to return my plate without any fuss (it's just the way I am).  Now, some Americans believe a kind word and a hundred peso note go farther than just a kind word--but I am not one of those Americans.  And there are other Americans who think the best way to get your way with locals is by yelling at them with a strong Texas accent. I'm not one of them either.

 No, I figured I could get him to return my plate by simply explaining.... by pleading...  by telling him whatever I could think of that made the outcome a win-win for both of us. I would speak slowly and logically and, most of all, courteously.

The round officer in the nice hat spoke no English. So, I asked him to talk with my wife because she speaks Spanish like a native Englishwoman. We both gesticulated operatically.  We both pleaded for mercy in American and British and Spanish.  We both made helpless faces.   Please, por favor....

Unfortunately, he didn't have our plate anymore. Our impounded license plate had already been picked up by a fellow transit policeman and taken back to the main office. (Great system, I thought!) What could he do? Nothing. What was done was done.

He instructed me that I could pick up my license plate when I paid the fine at the transit authority office, to which he graciously gave us directions.

His directions were perfect.  An hour later, after I'd paid my fine and had my license plate courteously returned to me, I had a little laugh with myself. This place is extraordinary for so many reasons that one could never think of before one actually resides here.  And logical parking is only one of them.




© 2014 Tony DeCrosta 
Contact me at adecrosta@gmail.com