Well worth the 50 pesos

I mean the caterpillars were worth the 50 pesos, not the Cantarito that I was waiting for at the little bar. (Recipe: Tequila, orange, lime and grapefruit slices and a dash of grapefruit soda over ice). Bet most of you can guess which tequila house we were at on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon. No tours or tasting for us this time in Tequila, which is about 45 minutes out of GDL, as we spent most of the day chasing the girls. The best find was a playset tucked in a bougainvillea-covered courtyard. 

Mas playa!

Be free, Irie, be free! Notice the beginning of a gallop at the end, which is now her preferred mode of locomotion whenever there's room to move.

Ruby's snorkeling trick, which if it were just audio, might sound more like a heavy breathing prank phone call.

Our beautiful friend Robyn, entertaining Iris and demonstrating her infinite patience with our sometimes demanding kids. 

Playa!

Five glorious days in Nuevo Vallarta were just the ticket for a little mid-winter break from the routine of work and school. Much missed and vitamin D-deprived friends joined us from Portland. There were hours of bocce and beer and playing in the sand on the beach. Ruby, who has clearly inherited the waterbug gene from my side of the family, had to be periodically dragged from the pool to eat and rest and let her pruney little feet dry out a bit (video of Miss Fishiness to come). The guys could barely get through a game without a little unsolicited advice or outright intervention from the local Canadian Italian community. Perfect weather, with a nice breeze in the afternoons off the water, and whale tails and spouts spotted most evenings from our patio overlooking the bay. Can't wait to get back down there--any takers?

Things to love about Mexico: Beer

Although I was much more of a wino in the PNW, as who can resist all those rich and stinky Washington cabs, not to mention the smoother Oregon pinot noirs and all the other reds in between, I do also miss the good beer en el norte. As for Mexico, well, it's still nearly virgin territory as far as microbrews are concerned, although I get the sense that some folks, especially west coasters in places like Baja California (mmmm--go figure), are getting into the hops and whatnot. Mexican beer tends to be lighter lagers and pilsners and the dark ones hardly pass muster for those accustomed to drinking the flavorful petroleum produced by U.S. microbreweries. But what is marvelous about Mexican beer is the myriad ways in which it is served--cheladas, micheladas, and around here, rusas, pictured above--add spice and ice and a bit of salt to the brew. Micheladas usually involve tomato juice, lime and some mix of chile and/or maybe a salty sauce like soy, Maggi's, worcestershire or tamarind pulp. In some parts of Mexico, a chelada will get you a variation of that, or in others, simply lime juice and a salted rim. I think the ice is what gives pause to most gringos for its seeming sacrilege, although once you try it, you realize that it really is refreshing and with such light beer anyway, what's wrong with it being watered down a little further? A chelada around here is a rusa, which happens to be my standard. As for the beer of choice for that chelada or rusa or whatever it might be called, I am generally a Pacifico kind of gal, although I like Indio and Bohemia just fine. Tecate, well, it just seems a bit too much like Bud and Negra Modelo and Dos XX remind me too much of a Tex-Mex restaurant I waited tables in ages ago (you Portlanders know which one!). Salud!

Things to love about Mexico: Nearly free pilates

Not everything in Mexico is cheap, as many goods are still imported and in spite of NAFTA, the import taxes plus the IVA (a value added tax of 16%) make many purchases painful (toys, clothes, appliances, many imported food items, etc.). Gyms tend to work on exclusivity, in a country-clubish sort of way, with a sometimes significant fee paid up front and then not so cheap monthly dues to keep the riffraff out. The last time I belonged to a gym was while doing my research in Cancun, and I believe I talked them into halving the initial fee to a couple of hundred bucks and then paid a good hundred or so per month (I was pregnant and not about to work out outside in July there with temps in the 90s with matching humidity, so give me a break on the self-indulgence). So imagine my delight when I found a neighborhood pilates reformer studio, meaning the fancy machines not just mat work, where I can take a month of classes, five days a week, for about a hundred bucks. I just checked the Arlington pilates studio where some friends and I contemplated trying it out while the hubbies were in DC for training, only to find that a similar package of classes would run close to two Gs. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to walk tomorrow after today's class, but I think that's what it's going to take to get me back in shape, with the added benefit of not paying something like a house mortgage to attain such a goal.

Feliz cumple, Ruby!

It's been days of celebration for Ruby's birthday this year. We started with presents before breakfast, unwrapped at the speed of light and a special chicken dinner from Juanito's, one of our favorite local joints on her actual birthday. Iris was especially impressed with a crucial gift, some new undies, as the old ones had been provoking many a wedgie because they were too small. We called her princess of underwear for the rest of the morning.

A pizza party with friends and neighbors followed the next day, which is a lovely idea for a party but next time, we'll be ordering the pizzas, not making them by hand (live and learn, Martha--sometimes it's just better to get takeout). The girls went back to school today and it was Ruby's turn for lonche, which means we bring food for all the kids in her class. This happens about once a month, and as it was also her birthday lunch, we made chicken soup per her request and lots of pinkalicious cupcakes. They sang her many songs and each child gave her a birthday hug and some sort of wish or thing I like about you comment. And then they all took turns asking her about her favorite color, her favorite food, her favorite toy, and so on and so forth, and in spite of the stage fright, she even managed to answer mostly in Spanish. It made me love the school at least for today, in spite of all my doubts about it at other moments.

So she is now officially four and taking it very seriously, as four-year olds do not behave as three year-olds do, let alone two-year olds do. She led Iris into school with smiles this morning (and it worked--Iris didn't even blink when snatched from my arms!) and has made many a wise decision in the past few days. We're seeing far, far fewer tantrums and lots of pretty sensible behavior recently, although Iris seems primed to take over the toddler tantrum routine even as I write. And although it's been a long ride since we left Ellensburg, with lots of stress and change, what a pleasure to see Ruby really thriving here. Happy fourth, mi hija!

This is Irie

This is Irie, as we see her from the vistas of grown up land. She's always reaching, inquisitive, affectionate and demanding. The nickname originated from her sis, but has been embraced and appropriated by Iris herself, who runs the halls announcing "Irieeeeee, Irieeee." If she's giving you the gesture seen here, the most common utterances accompanying it are "up-pi" for up please, or the eternal favorite, "moh," meaning more of whatever you may have in your hand, up your sleeve, or on your mind. She'll take it all, as what she really wants is just more of life in general. Now if only she would sleep a little better....

Politically incorrect pageant

Every school holds a posada for Christmas, which typically involves a pageant. Some schools are more traditional (read religious) in their themes. Our school is a Montessori, which makes it a bit of an outlier in terms of the Mexican educational system and in keeping with their place among the Catholic schools, they chose a secular theme, "it's a small world." You can easily imagine the third-graders doing a samba for Brazil and the fifth-graders singing a classic cowboy tune and some Russian dancers by another grade and so on and so forth. Ruby's class was China. I wasn't too concerned when the kids came out in red shirts (without any irony there either--it was just holiday spirit) and conical hats a la your typical Chinese peasant. The song, written in the 1930s (but perhaps recorded a couple of decades later) was popularized by Cri-Cri, a famous Mexican crooner of children's tunes. The lyrics, at least the ones in Spanish, tell the story of a Chinaman, (well--let's be honest, a little Chinaman) who is trapped on the side of a pot or vase. It would appear (as I cannot figure out the Chinese parts of the original lyrics) that he mouthed off to authority and therefore remained trapped in or on the jar for all of eternity. The song does not appear to be too problematic per se. Imagine my mortification when what had begun as an effort to teach tolerance and diversity turned into an exercise in racism. When the kids got to the Chinese lyrics, they squinted up their eyes, stuck out their top front teeth, and did their best imitation of a kung fu movie. Upon closer inspection, I realized that some of the parents had even painted slant eyes on their kids. I suspect I was perhaps the only parent there to be alarmed at the message too. And sadly, it's a nice school, so the fact that they did something so lacking in taste makes it all the more painful when otherwise, they at least try to do a decent job of teaching the children values along with their letters, etc. When Mike watched the video later that day, he noted how easy it is to teach racism. Ay, Mexico lindo--you've come so far but you've got a long ways to go, baby.

El chinito estampado
en un gran jarrón
fue acusado de decir:
¡Yan -tse - amo - oua - ting - i
pong - chong - kí.
El chinito fue llevado
ante un mandarín
y al llegar le dijo así:
¡Yan -tse - amo - oua - ting - i
pong - chong - kí.

El chinito no quería
ya vivir en el jarrón
pues estaba dibujado
en las garras de un dragón.

El chinito fué obligado
a volver allí
pero antes dijo así:
¡Yan -tse - amo - oua - ting - i
pong - chong - kí!
¡mow- sang - li...¡¡kóu kao!!
Cierto día que pasaba
el emperador
el chinito le gritó:
¡Yan -tse - amo - oua - ting - i
yan - CHONG - CHONG!

Cien puñales apuntaron
a su corazón
pero el pidió perdón:
Yan tse amo oua ting i pong
chang chung fong.

El monarca con clemencia
a sus guardias ordenó
-¡Le concedo la existencia
más no sale del jarrón!

Por mil años el chinito
se quedo allí
y jamás volvio a decir así:
¡Yan - tse - amo - oua - ting - i
pong - chong - kí!.
Hai - lák - ¡Ni sei lok sei lok!

Ruby getting into the holiday spirit

Ruby's been getting a lot of practice with the pinatas at the numerous birthday parties so far this year. At the consulate posada, you could tell she'd been improving her techniques as she worked out some pre-holiday frustrations with the stick.

Ticklefest

Another one for the baby lovers. That laughter must be one of the best sounds in the whole world.

Treasure from Tonala

A friend and I have made a couple of runs out to Tonala in the last week for holiday shopping and general hooky-playing before the kids go on vacation (and I go temporarily insane). Today's mission was a metal tree that she had been obsessing about, having seen one at someone's house here in GDL. It took two trips to find them, but one look and I understood. Had to get one myself and both the girls and even Daddy-o oohed and ahhed appreciatively. No one came home with the metal Elvis, but I couldn't resist the picture.

Guess who came to the posada?

We attended the consulate posada on Saturday at a lovely little retreat with horse rides for the kids and a real playground not built over cement, which is key in these parts. After lots of great food and drink, we were in the midst of pinata-smashing when Santa appeared. He was patient and sweet, albeit a little over-dressed in this clime. Ruby was smitten and could not for the life of her tell him what she wanted, while Iris immediately screeched upon approach. We couldn't even get her near the poor guy, let alone on his lap for a pic with her sibling. She recovered quickly once the treat bags were doled out, however.

Anxiously awaiting heirlooms

One of the foundations of Mexican cuisine is the tomato. And Mexico grows a large share of the tomatoes consumed in the U.S. as well. The state of Sinaloa's license plate sports a tomato as testimony to the fruit's commercial significance, but perhaps that's just because a meth lab would be in poor taste. Sadly, as Mexican agriculture has gone the way of agro-industry, the varieties of tomatoes available here have gone the way of those mealy, flavorless hybrids that we complain about in our grocery stores up north.

Add a gardenless summer in DC, where the farmers' markets, while nice, made us homesick for our own messy but productive garden back in eburg and the glorious and mostly organic produce available at such markets all year round in the PNW and I couldn't resist the year-round growing season here. My first attempts at some urban container gardening were fraught with mishaps. It was too hot to start lettuce and bok choy and other fall crops, so it all bolted. Whatever was left was absolutely devoured by all sorts of bugs in our tiny backyard as it was till the rainy season and they were out in force. Slugs and some kind of caterpillar were the worst offenders. So I relocated everything up and away from the bichos once the weather had cooled a bit and aside from a nasty round of whiteflies which are hopefully under control now with a homemade oil soap remedy, we look like we are in business. The tomatoes are setting, we're sowing a second round of greens, and I also found some lemongrass plants here through our local vivero, which are nearly ready to harvest for the occasional Thai or Vietnamese dish. The new year should bring some tasty insalata caprese!

GDLicious: Cocina 88

We lingered at Cocina 88 last night with friends, first over mojitos, then over seafood and steak and lovely desserts. As usual for us gringos, we were a tad on the early side, so the place, which is set in a beautifully restored mansion downtown, was on the empty side when we first arrived. Hours later, the place had filled up with families and couples and more than a few refugees from the FIL, Guadalajara's annual book fair, which brings thousands of writers, book buyers, and book lovers to town. We were spoiled by our early arrival, as the owners, Gustavo and Enrique, were able to dote on us before the rush. We toured the day's catch with Gustavo, and later, Enrique talked us through the menu, suggesting the ceviche and several fish dishes. The ceviche, made by their Peruvian chef, was a citric sensation and we would return for that alone. Add the lovely company of our friends and the attentive service and it was an evening worth repeating some time soon.

Things to love about Mexico: Affordable medical care

I'll get to the crazy photo in a minute, which is the downside of the medical scene here. We're suffering through our first round of sinus and not so first round of ear infections for the littlest of us, which is not surprising, given that it's cold and flu season here. Of course, the germs are aided by Guadalajara's abysmal ranking in terms of air pollution these days, and locals would also blame the cold and dry climate. I'll concede it's dry this time of year, but as for the cold, I'm still waiting for it, even as the thermometer dips to a bracing low 80s during the day. Anyway, I've spent a fair amount of time in various doctors' offices lately and it's been a pleasure to experience a very different kind of medical economy after years of living in a town that suffered from a severe shortage of medical practitioners, on top of all the usual problems of American health care, like inflated costs and gatekeeper insurers, etc., etc. We very much appreciated our doctors, but they were overburdened and facing tremendous pressures from the client load, the malpractice insurance, and again, all the usual woes of the American health system. So wow, what a breath of fresh air to spend a leisurely half an hour or more with the pediatrician for the whopping sum of about $40 (and he's on the pricey end of things), or to waltz into the office of an ENT specialist after calling for an appointment that very morning. The latter visit, which included some very interesting procedures on my nose that I shall not detail here, set me back a whopping $45, and would have easily run upwards of $200 after waiting weeks for an appointment in the U.S. These docs are all U.S. trained, keep up on the latest research and practices through their connections in the U.S., speak lovely English, which is very nice when you are sick or dealing with screaming sick children, and are apparently able to actually take the time to speak with their patients.

So what's the downside? Well, it's no small irony, given that so many Americans seek to buy cheaper prescription medications here, that the real problem is with those very same prescription drugs. There is a huge contraband market here in pharmaceuticals, some of which are poorly manufactured, some of which is expired, and some of which should not be sold without a prescription but is nonetheless available if you know where to look. Mike was invited to witness the public burning of a huge cache of confiscated pharmaceuticals, seen in the photo above. Here's to hoping that our current round of antibiotics are the real thing (and more later on the porqueria surrounding the recent implementation of a law requiring a prescription for antibiotics).