16 Oct 06 – Monday

Today, we are hopeful that the sun will return and light up the splendor of this beautiful place where the jungle meets the shore.  It has rained during the night so there is a puddle on the balcony where the water dripped through the thatching near the edge of the building.  The coffee tastes especially good as we sit in the warm air and watch the glow of the rising sun overcome the darkness of the night sky.  There are still a lot of clouds, but they are not as dark and ominous as before and sun seems to be breaking through their fleecy veil.  This should be a good day to go for a ride and see what Santiago and Manzanillo offer. 

Since I haven’t had access to the Internet for a while, I want to see if I can make contact through one of those Internet shops or small cafes that can be found  in even the smallest towns.  I think I remember seeing one just outside Soriana.  So, I download some text and pictures on my flash drive and stow it in the camera bag just in case.  The machine here at the hotel is so slow that I don’t think it will handle this “modern” technology; it uses an earlier version of windows. 

Since it is such a lovely morning, we walk down the steep hill to the parking lot and I go off to get the car to pick Jane up at the bottom.  The adventure has begun.  We wend our way through the narrow, curving road to the cobblestones and past a fine, looking herd of brahma cows with very large, saggy ears.  Although they are fenced into their pasture, they often get out to eat the tall grass along the road; we try to avoid them when they do.  At the highway, we turn toward town and keep to the right through the construction so we don’t end up on the quota road that bypasses the towns.  It’s about a 10 km ride before we finally reach the malencon that lines the beach at Miramar.  Have I mentioned that a “malencon” is concrete structure that serves as a sea wall and has wide sidewalk with lampposts and benches along its length?  At intervals, there are stairways to access the beach and spaces for parking are usually provided alongside or across the road or both.  Below along the white, sandy beach, we can see the ramada tops of the small restaurants that serve meals and snacks to the beach-goers and often specialize in various kinds of local seafood.

At the entrance to the hotel district on the Santiago Peninsula, we pass another of as many as four golf courses that serve the resort community.  Beyond are the bustling restaurants and stores that make up this suburban adjunct to Manzanillo centro; the Soriana Mega-Mercado is one of those places.  One of our chores today is to refill our gas tank and get some cash from an ATM.  Luckily, I spot an ATM adjacent to Pemex gas station so we can make this a one-stop deal.  Jane is impressed with the way they are clean up the station.  There are at least four men with brooms, mops, soap-water buckets, and a high-pressure hose scrubbing the driveways around the pumps.  Another person directs us around this activity to a vacant pump.  As we drive on, the commercial atmosphere changes to businesses offering mechanical and electrical services, the sale of glass, stone, metal, and hardware for construction and repair, and an occasional coffee shop or abarrotes.  Of course, the beach side of the street is pretty well devoted to condominiums and small hotels.   The road forks and we turn into a more residential street on another peninsula referred to as Brisas de Manzanillo.  There is nothing remarkable here except for the Naval Base at the end; Mexican sailors look a lot like ours in their dress whites.  The hotels along the beach are much smaller than the bigger resorts and not as well kept.  They are probably nice enough inside; appearances can be deceiving.

We backtrack about a mile and continue our trek on the main road to Manzanillo Centro.  Shortly, we are driving along a railroad track past the main harbor and see lots of trucks and containers and huge crab-like gantry cranes for unloading the ships.  We have seen a couple of heavily laden cargo ships in the bay patiently waiting for a berth in the harbor, assisted by pilot and tug boats, so they can unload their cargoes.

I just had a thought here about railroad trains in Mexico.  Earlier, when I was researching ways and places to travel in Mexico, I investigated the train system.  Evidently, they have three major rail-freight hauling companies that are basically divided into the northern, central, and southern regions.  We saw very few trains during our travels, but of the ones we did see we noticed that they have cars from all over the states as well as from Mexico.  But, the really interesting thing is that there are no passenger trains in Mexico except for a couple of specialized routes like the one through Copper Canyon.  Apparently, since there are such extensive bus services throughout Mexico, passenger trains are not lucrative and the government chooses not to subsidize them; they are very limited in service and scope so no commercial enterprise wants to take them on.  But, I digress.

As the road curves around the bay toward “el centro,” the commercial harbor yields to a small marina and a moorage for fishing boats.  Here, there are not the huge trawlers we see lining the docks in Seattle, but mostly one-man skiffs without cabins tied to the rocks on the shore or a buoy not far away.  There is a malencon of sorts, but no white sandy beach, and we stop at place where there is sculpture to honor the fishermen so we can take a longer look and snap some pictures.  In the distance, we can see a couple of old navy ships, probably USN surplus from World War II, painted gray with white numbers on the bow.  They look more like tenders than gunships.  The malencon ends at a large restaurant near the entrance to the crowded, downtown area.  We follow the narrow,  one-way street past rows of shops and cafes only glimpsing the water of the bay at the ends of narrower side streets.  We pass a small square across from a pedestrian-only plaza that leads down to what appears to be another malencon.  Since there is literally no place to park, and since Jane doesn’t walk any great distance, we continue on through the downtown to a residential area of two- and three-story houses stacked together like boxes in a warehouse.  Eventually, we leave the denseness of the city dwellings and drive along between a large lagoon and swiftly rising coastal hills; there are scattered homes and businesses along the way.  In the distance at the edge of the lagoon, we can see what appears to be a large power plant with three towering smokestacks that are well deserving of their names. 

The narrow road continues to the south verdant brush-lands on one side and evenly-spaced coconut palm groves on the other; everything here is lush and green.  We know that the ocean is not far away, but we still can’t see it for the high, grassy sand dunes that border the beach.  When we get to the power plant, we see that it is a city within itself and this essential asset is securely guarded and fortified.  Finally, we arrive at a place where a paved road breaches the dunes and reveals the ocean beyond.  We drive in and find empty ramadas along the beach with furniture stacked or stored away and only two people busy at some domestic chore.  The several ramadas separate the large empty parking lot from the expansive beach that stretches endlessly in either direction.  At one end of the parking lot, you can see the telltale trails of ATVs leading off into the dunes.  The weekend is over and no one is open for business.

A short distance down the road, a bridge crosses a narrow stream that joins the lagoon to the sea.  Here is were the highway is accessible from the frontage road and we take it back toward Manzanilla.  Even though this is the quota road, the toll booth is behind us so we don’t have to pay this time.  This is the same road we traveled when we arrived days ago.  But, this time, I will take any convenient exit that leads as back to the city because I know it ends far beyond the malencon at Miramar.  The road winds through coastal mountains avoiding populated areas, but once we even get a glimpse of the lagoon and power plant and the city beyond.  I take the first major exit and cross back over the highway toward Manzanillo.  Soon, we are immersed in the hustle and bustle of the commercial shipping area with large trucks lumbering around us everywhere as if they were marshalling for a convoy.  But, this place is not devoid of humanity for here and there is a small café, people are waiting at the bus stop, and a dog is barking in the distance.  We find an on-ramp for the main road and soon are amid the businesses and hotels of this seaside resort town. 

We still need to find an Internet shop so I can try to download some stuff and check our email.  Soriana is our target for that.  But first, we need to find a place for a late lunch; Jane suggests we stop at El Fogon again because she just loves their cheese tacos.  Fortunately, it is not far and it’s on our way to Soriana.  This time, she asked if she could have the special cheese tacos with just cheese and mushroom and green pepper.  Actually, I asked in Spanish and the waiter evidently understood because that is what she got.  I opted for the special meat and cheese tacos just to see what they were like.  Besides, it was a great way to eat more of the Pico de Gallo that is so good here; we had to ask the waiter to bring more of it, too. 

After lunch, we went down the street to Soriana and the Internet shop attached to it.  Jane decided that she needed some more cigarettes, so we went inside and I asked if they had them.  Jane picked something she recognized and we paid less than $2.00 usd a pack for them; they’re a lot cheaper than in the states.  This is the first time Jane has had to get cigarettes since we’ve been; she’s down to about half a pack a day for the trip. 

Jane sat inside on a bench where it is air conditioned while I went out to the Internet shop.  This place was very small and had about ten computer stations in it.  The sign outside emphasized that this is a good place to check email and play games; the cost is about $3.00 usd per hour.  I logged in, checked email, and sent a couple of responses.  When I plugged my flash drive into the machine, it registered that there was new hardware and installed it.  I tried to access the files on it so I could download, but it wouldn’t let me read anything on the drive; it showed it in the directory but that is all.  I may be misunderstanding what I need to do since all of the screen directions are in Spanish.  I did take some time to check the www.goManzanillo.com website to see about restaurants and scuba diving lessons; I put the name and address to memory for later.  Then, I checked our bank statement to make sure everything was being taken care of and logged off; it was just 30 minutes for $15 pesos.  Jane was patiently waiting where I left her.

On the road back to the hotel, we discussed some of the differences between Mexican and American roads and traffic.  I mentioned earlier that Mexicans seem to go as fast as they can as far as they can and may not pay much attention to the lane markings.  They are likely to swerve a lot to avoid the pot holes and they seem to have a complete disregard for speed limits.  This is especially true in the country where there are very few police; they do use radar and put up warning signs, too.  Speed limit signs are often placed strategically to slow the traffic at intersections, crosswalks, and in small towns, but it would be hard to notice for the casual observer since the Mexican drivers only slow for the topes.  Fortunately, topes and crosswalks often coincide and are brightly painted with yellow and black stripes; that way, everyone can see them clearly. 

There are a couple of other things they do here that are very smart.   Divided highways have concrete barriers down the center and there are gaps called “retornos” at intervals so you can change direction or cross the highway without them having to build a cloverleaf.  Traffic signal lights use typical colors, but, before the green changes to yellow and then to red, it flashes three times; the yellow light’s duration is very short.  In the city, a four-lane, divided highway often has two-lane frontage roads on each side.  This gives the buses a place to pick up and drop off passengers without impeding the traffic, and it lets other cars make right turns and find parallel parking for the same reason.  But, unique to this concept is the practice of driving to the right to turn to the left.  Cars move to the frontage road before they want to turn and wait for a left-turn signal that allows them to make a u-turn onto the highway or opposite frontage road or to make a left turn into a cross street.  This way, all the left turns are controlled and traffic doesn’t have to wait behind someone trying to turn off the highway.  It may look and sound a bit confusing, but  it works very smoothly. 

The address for the “Scuba Shack” was listed somewhere in Santiago, so Jane and I were on the lookout for it as we headed north.  She said she thought she had seen it earlier on our trip.  She spotted it again on the other side off the road so I swung to the right so I could make the next possible left turn.  The front of the “Shack” looked like a small café with tables and chairs, but inside it was obvious what their main interest was.  There was new and used scuba equipment all over the place and a USMC flag was hanging over the door in the back.  At least that gave me a clue that someone here spoke English.  It wasn’t the young boy behind the counter.  He spoke as much English as I spoke Spanish, but we managed to agree that I wanted to take lessons and he made a phone call to Carlos, the owner and former Marine.  I made an appointment on Wednesday for the basic half-day lesson, paid the $700 pesos fee in advance, and went back to the car to report the news to Jane.  This is something I’ve always wanted to do.

It was getting late by the time we got back to the hotel, so we just stayed in and enjoyed the view and balmy breezes on the balcony.  Dinner tonight will be smoked pork chops – in Germany they were called Kastler Ripchen – with boiled, buttered potatoes and steamed broccoli; we’ll have sliced tomatoes on the side because they taste as good and fresh as home-grown.  The evening would fade away with not much more than the anticipation of things to come.

17 Oct 06 – Tuesday

Today is an easy day to write about because it was an easy day.  By that, I mean we played at the pool all afternoon.  In fact, I think we laid around, swam, and soaked up the sun for almost six hours, and we have the sunburns to prove it.  Needless to say, the rain had stopped and the sun came out in all its glory with only a smattering of clouds. 

After our morning coffee, some breakfast, and some lazy gazing at the beautiful landscape, we decided to check out the pool far below our villa.  Jane even agreed to walk since it was downhill all the way and not really too far.  Then, as we strolled down the cobblestone, I suddenly spied what looked like another pool, so I decided to investigate.  Sure enough, there was another smaller pool, kidney-shaped with a swim-up bar, just below the top row of villas and out of sight from our balcony.  About two-thirds of the pool was 4 feet or more deep for swimming and diving, but there was a separate, shallow area for the children.  Since this is the low season, the bar was not open, but, on busier days, it would have been a treat to swim up to the bar and sit on one of the stools below the water line and enjoy one’s favorite libation.  This was not one of those days and there was not a soul around.  It looked like there once had been a Jacuzzi or something near the end of the pool nestled into an ornate nook of sculpted concrete.  It was no filled with sand and probably served as a sandbox for children less interested in the cool water of the pool.

I laid on my back floating quietly with just a light flutter kick to keep my fat butt from sinking; it was so restful.  The sky was blanketed with a high layer of thin cirrus clouds that masked the glare of the hot sun.  Overhead, two small hawks circled effortlessly in search of prey taking advantage of every gentle updraft to hold them aloft.  Occasionally, I could see white, black, yellow, and orange butterflies flitting alone across the sky in the warm air above the pool.  A cool breeze blew peacefully up the hill from the sea below.  In a clear space amid the diaphanous clouds I could barely see a thin sliver of the new moon sharing the sky with the sun.  This was the beginning of a reverie that would entrance us with a false feeling of contentment and reward us with the sunburns we so richly deserved.   Sunburns don’t hurt until long after anything can be done to prevent them.

We stayed at the small pool for 20 or 30 minutes before deciding to try the main pool farther down the hill.  I described the larger pool in detail in Sunday’s log.  It is kidney shaped with a shallow section at one end and a river running around it.  There were a number of Mexican families at the pool today, and we exchanged the usual amenities even though we could not communicate.  Mexicans are very friendly and smile a lot when they greet each other; they treat us no differently.  We actually met one of the families with a year-old baby named Marianna, her parents, and a grandmother.  The mother spoke pretty good English but was a little shy as compared to her husband who was very gregarious and tried very hard to help me communicate; fortunately, his wife could occasionally translate.  Marianna had an inflated ring toy to float in and giggled joyfully as her family played with her.  I understood from her father that she would have her first birthday in 10 days.  I rented an inner tube and we spent the next several hours floating in the “river”, swimming in the pool, or just laying in the sun; eventually, I opted to sit at the table under the umbrella to read my book so I wouldn’t get any more burned than I already was. 

Since we were starting to get a little hungry, I volunteered to walk up the hill to the minimart and get something to drink and some snack food; I settled for a couple of Sprite’s and a bag of nacho chips that just hit the spot.  It was still early afternoon when we discovered that the waiter from the restaurant was making rounds and taking orders.  Another couple had ordered “seviche” and we thought we’d try it even if didn’t know what it was; I’d heard the term somewhere before.  We also ordered a piña colada for Jane and a lime daiquiri for me.  The waiter returned in about 20 minutes with our order and the seviche looked delicious, kind of like a tuna salad made with Pico de Gallo and lots of fresh lime juice.  I didn’t mention to Jane that I thought the seviche was a dish made with raw fish since it is a rarity for her to eat seafood other than shrimp or canned tuna or fried fish and chips.  She must have been pretty hungry because she thought it was delicious and ate her share of a fairly large serving.  The drinks were fairly large, too, and they weren’t stingy with the alcohol.  It was all very refreshing. 

Late in the afternoon, Jane noticed that I was as red as a lobster and suggested that we should probably go in.  We weren’t terribly hungry after our day in the sun and the catered snack at poolside, so we just had leftovers for dinner.  The rest of the evening was spend watching television and occasionally sitting on the balcony to enjoy to cool breezes of the evening and enjoy the beautiful seascape and twinkling lights of the city reflecting in the bay.

18 Oct 06 – Wednesday

Today is the day for my SCUBA lesson and it’s something I’ve been anticipating for a long time.  My appointment is for 9:00 am so this is one of those rare days that we’ll have to set an alarm to make sure we have enough time to drink coffee, get ready, and drive into town to the Scuba Shack.  It looks like it’s going to be another beautiful day, but it’s too early to tell at 7:00 in the morning because the sun doesn’t fully rise until about 8:00.  There was a clue:  last night we had a sky full of stars unobscured by the lights of civilization for the most part.  Today will be a great day.

We drive into town with an open eye for landmarks that will help us find the Scuba Shack.  We arrive early and are told to sit and wait; the instructor will be here in about 15 minutes.  Soon the owner drives up in his Dodge crew-cab truck and says that the instructor will be here soon; he gives me some papers to fill in that include all the information I need before my lesson, an agreement that I will follow the rules, and a “hold harmless” statement to satisfy their lawyers.  They seem to know what they are doing and they have a lot of equipment on hand to support that idea. 

After I finish the paperwork, Carlos collects it and introduces me to my instructor, Fernando.  He is a Mexican, forty-something, and speaks excellent English; that’s good since he will be teaching me what I need to know.  We go inside and he begins to gather our equipment; he fits me for fins and a mask, has me try on the vest that will hold my air tank, adjusts my weight belt, and finds a wet suit that will probably fit.  He actually chooses two types of masks for me to try, since I have a mustache, and ensures me that I won’t have to shave it off.  Besides an excellent command of the English language, he has a great sense of humor.  He tells us eventually that he has lived in Manzanillo for about 20 years was in Mazatlan before that and that diving is his passion.  This should be fun.

Fernando puts our bags of equipment in the back of the truck and selects four air bottles from their stock of prefilled ones to finish the complement.  We are going to one of the hotels in the area to use their pool for the first practice dive.  I understand the game plan for this basic lesson is to have about 45 minutes of classroom instruction, about 45 minutes of orientation and practice in the swimming pool, and about 45 minutes of actual diving beneath the serenity of the bay’s surface.  Fernando has assured Jane that she can go along and observe the whole adventure.

It is a small hotel on the peninsula called Brisas de Santiago just across the road from the naval base where the lesson will begin.  We find a convenient parking spot right in front and Fernando lets me help carry the equipment into the patio area next to the small, deep pool.  We sit at a table beneath an umbrella to protect us from the hot sun that has finally risen to a respectable height in the East.  Fernando starts with a general explanation of diving, breathing under water, and the physics involved with vessels (i.e., lungs) that hold air under varying amounts of pressure; a balloon is an apt metaphor.  Then, he begins describing the operation of all the equipment we will use, how to put everything on, and how it all works together to make a safe and successful dive.  We choose one of the masks that fit comfortably.  I won’t be able to wear my glasses and I’m concerned that I won’t be able to see much at a distance. 

At the center of the outfit is a vest that not only holds the air tank but also is inflatable to control buoyancy.  Next is the air regulator that fits on top of the air tank and has four hoses:  one supply air to the mouthpiece; one for a separate auxiliary mouthpiece that hope we never need to use; one that connects to the vest for inflation and deflation depending on the amount of buoyancy needed; and, a fourth one that connects to the gauge cluster for air-tank pressure level, diving depth, and a compass direction.  Finally, it is time to put everything on to make sure it fits, that everything works properly, and that it is comfortable enough so it doesn’t become a distraction during the dive.  Sitting on the edge of the pool with deflated vest, activated tank, and weight belt laying nearby, I can adjust my mask to make sure it fits snuggly and contours to my face.  Fernando dives in while I quietly slip over the edge to stand on the ledge that runs all the way around the pool at about the four-foot level.  Fernando helps me put on all the equipment and shows me how I can adjust the air in my vest so I can float on my back while putting on my fins.

Now comes the test of whether I can actually breathe under water and remember to keep my lips clenched securely around the mouthpiece; otherwise, I’ll get a mouthful of water instead of air.  Actually, we discover a tear in the mouthpiece that does let the water in and Fernando deftly replaces it with a spare one in his kit.  That was a little alarming but now there is no panic, no claustrophobia, no more anxiety, and just a little hyperventilation that passes quickly.  My task is to swim around the edge of the pool at the bottom for a while to get accustomed to the equipment and to practice hand signals with Fernando.  I learn how to clear the mask of water, how to equalize the pressure in my ears by holding my nose and blowing, and how to control the buoyancy of the vest to stabilize my depth and give me the feeling of weightlessness.  One of the tasks I have to practice is removing my mouthpiece, finding it again dangling at my side, putting it back in my mouth, and clearing it to expel any water that might be in it; I do this just fine several times.  It’s better to practice this now rather than chancing panic if I’d unexpectedly lose it under water. 

Then, Fernando gives the signal to ascend and tells me I’m ready for a real dive.  We remove all our equipment, climb out of the pool, disassemble it, and stash most of it in the web-like bags.  The tanks are carried separately back to the truck and stowed there with the equipment bags.  We have some cold drinks in a cooler and a Pepsi is mighty refreshing after breathing that dry air from the tank along with just a little pool water.  Jane has taken two rolls of film by now, and even took some pictures with the digital camera.  So, we all hop back into the truck and head off to a remote stretch of beach that Fernando likes to use.  It is at the end of the Santiago Peninsula beyond the hotels and condominiums and inquiring eyes of the tourists.  There is a parking lot at the end of the cobblestone road with steps leading down to a sandy stretch of beach just about 50 feet wide.  Beyond, there are a lot of large rocks lining the shore on either side that will give us a great place to spot some sea life without being bothered by casual bathers and the jet skis farther out on the open water.

We begin by gathering our equipment and reassembling it; we will be using new air bottles although there is still plenty of air in the other two.  But first, we have to put on our wet suits.  Fernando explains that we wear them not to insulate us from the cold but to protect our skin from scraping on the rocks.  The suits fit snuggly so it is unnecessary to readjust the equipment to fit properly.  We put everything on from the back of the truck except for our fins and trudge down the steps looking like astronauts on the moon.  After one quick recheck of our equipment, we wade into the water up to our chests and inflate our vests so we can easily float on our backs to put on our fins.  I have to retighten the cinch on my weight belt so it doesn’t slide down to my knees.  Fernando signals to submerge and checks to make sure I’m okay; he does that a lot.  I hesitate for a couple of minutes until my breathing stabilizes and that little bit of hyperventilation goes away. 

Under water at last, Fernando signals to follow him and we follow the slope of the sandy bottom away from the shore.  As we descend, I constantly have to readjust the buoyancy in my vest so I don’t float back to the top.  I’m doing everything right, so far, and become enthralled with the beauty and serenity even a few feet below the surface.  It’s surprising that I can see so well without my glasses, but Fernando had said that the water magnifies everything.  Suddenly, I realize that, in my excitement, I’ve swam away from my guide and do exactly what he told me to do in that case; turn around and swim back to where you last saw your partner.   Since there had been a couple of stormy days earlier this week, the water is a little murky from the sand and plants that had been stirred up.  Within moments, I spot Fernando again and we continue down slope to see what we can find.  What we see is mostly sand.  But, as we get deeper, we start to see more and more small fish that seem to ignore us for the most part.  There are yellow and white ones with black stripes, black ones with yellow stripes, and rock-colored ones that blend in well with their surroundings.  One of the fish looks like a block of Neapolitan ice-cream with sections of brown, blue, and yellow.  Fernando points to the bottom and gently touches the back of a small ray hiding in the sand that scurries away to hide again.  There are a lot of coral-like purple anemones some ovoid shellfish with bumpy shells that blend well with the rocks to which they cling.  Fernando collects an empty one for a souvenir.

On the way back to the beach – I can tell we’re going there because the terrain is rising – Fernando points to what looks like a piece of purple yarn laying across the top of a ripple in the sand.  He reaches down to pick it up and it suddenly wrestles out of his light grip and wriggles back into the sand; it was some kind of aquatic worm.  This has been an extraordinary experience.  What more can I say about having the opportunity to explore the depths of the ocean.  I’d done some snorkeling as a youth, and even tried it briefly in Puerto Vallarta two years ago, but this is incomparable to any of that.  There is a freedom and peacefulness associated with floating weightlessly among the schools of fish that one must try for themselves to understand and appreciate.  Fernando has given me a whole new world to think about.  He said that he is hoping that this will be his best dive – he thinks that about every dive – and that it will turn out to be my best one, too.  He is not far from wrong in my case, but I’m sure he has seen many more interesting things in his years of diving than we viewed together.  I will certainly have to repeat this adventure at some other time when there is more time. 

As we break the surface near the shore, we float effortlessly while removing our fins so we can walk more easily.  The trek up the steps from the beach to the parking lot is a real chore since it is easier to wear all of our equipment rather than carrying it.  Fortunately, I’ve taken my shoes down to the beach so I can walk back on the cobblestones in relative comfort; Fernando doesn’t need shoes.  While we take off our gear and stow it in the back of the truck, we’ve gotten something cold to drink from the cooler and Fernando comments nonchalantly that nothing tastes better after a dive than a cold beer.  So, I invite Fernando to join us for a beer and lunch after we put the equipment away.  He graciously declines lunch, because he has some work to do at the shop, but agrees that a cold beer would be good.  We get some Coronas from the café next door and sit at the tables in the Scuba Shack enjoying each other’s company and talking about things we’ve done.  Fernando reveals that he used to inspect water and sewer systems in remote areas when he was younger and saw some interesting country and the people who live there; but, diving is his passion and he is pleased that he can do this full time now.  I admire his ability to not only teach diving to amateurs like me but also to be able to do that in a foreign language.  He is very good at what he does.

We still needed to have lunch and Fernando had recommended the tacos at El Chipotle; we decide to try that.  It is a tiny, little place on the boulevard and the people are very friendly.  We were going to order just a couple of tacos, but there were other things on the menu that sounded interesting.  Jane had the chile rellenos stuffed with shrimp and fish, but they put extra shrimp in it instead of the fish since Jane doesn’t care much for fish; they also put on extra Alfredo sauce for her.  I had the chicken fajitas.  Both were quite delicious and the service was excellent.  This is another of those small cafes that most tourists won’t even look twice at unless it has been highly recommended by one of the locals. 

We stopped briefly at the Galeria on the way back to the hotel just to see what it was like; Jane sat in the car while I went exploring.  It was a little mall with two main aisles with lots of small shops that terminated at the front of a large market.  It was very impressive, but I didn’t buy anything.  Back at the car, we both noticed that there were great smells coming from the local pizza parlor, but we didn’t get a pizza because we weren’t hungry at the moment.  We did stop at a nice abarrotes on the way back to pick up some tomatoes and coke and cookies for desert.  The rest of the evening was really rather boring for the most part because we just sat and watched TV or enjoyed the spectacular view from the balcony.

13 Oct 06 – Friday

Today is the day we are leaving for our beach interlude in Manzanillo; we finally got on the road for what is purported to be a five-hour trip shortly after 10:00; check-in time is 4:00 so we have plenty of time.  We retraced our route west out of Jocotopec to the autopista that runs from Guadalajara to Colima, but this time we turn to the south away from the city.  From Colima, the capital of the State of Colima, the highway to Manzanillo wends its way north along the coast avoiding the heavy traffic of the city.  For the privilege of driving on a well-maintained highway that bypasses most towns and villages, we expect to pay tolls three times at about $85 pesos each (i.e., almost $8.00 usd).  The drive south takes us into a very wide and flat valley surrounded by mountains and stretching as far as we can see.  That lake we saw in the distance on our drive the other day really does exist even though it isn’t indicated on our map.  Lago San Marcos looks more like a flood plain filled by mountain run-off than a legitimate lake and is probably a major source for irrigation.  Although we’ve seen a lot of corn growing along the way, this would be a good place to grow rice, another Mexican cash crop.  Mexicans plant corn wherever they can find arable land, regardless of whether it is flat, hilly, or forested.  We’ve seen sparse groves of trees filled with corn stalks, fields covering the sides of steep foothills, and acres of crops extending right up to the very edge of the road.  Mexican farmers make use of every inch of good soil and, unencumbered by the protests of conservationists, are unconcerned about the concept of natural barriers to protect fish (Sorry about that).  Here it is the middle of October and some of the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye while other stalks are still green with adolescence.  They must alternate their plantings so they have fresh crops throughout the year.  We noticed, also, that they mark their fields with the brand, type, and lot numbers of the corn just like farmers in the states.  Although we haven’t s seen much farming activity, we think the methods vary widely from modern to traditional.

For the most part, the highway is four lanes, divided, and in pretty good condition.  Eventually, it narrows to the typical two lanes and the surface is marred with more and more potholes.  The speed limit for most of the good road is 110 kph (68 mph) but there are spots along the way where speed limits are reduce to as low as 25 mph for intersections, bus stops, or someone’s whim.  Road signs lack the standardization of the American highway system, but the printed messages are pretty much the same:  slow down for intersections; use your seat belt; don’t throw trash; left lane is for passing; slow traffic keep to the right; obey the markings; and dangerous curve ahead.  Translating the signs as they whiz by can be a challenge, but Jane is manning the dictionary to help out with the unknown words so we feel confident we are breaking any laws.  Just about an hour out of Jocotopec, we approach Ciudad de Guzman, which appears to be the halfway point between Guadalajara and Colima, so we stop to get some gas and decided to have some lunch.  Besides, the baño at the gas station was under repair and, when they directed us to the nearby restaurant, we didn’t want to use their facilities without eating, too.

It was a very basic place – called La Morela – with stainless-steel topped picnic tables, large windows all around the building,  and exposed-rafter ceilings with a thatched roof; the kitchen was in a detached “casita” just outside the back door next to the baños.  We weren’t terribly hungry, and there wasn’t anything especially exciting on the menu, so we decided this was the time to order our first “hamburgesas con queso” and “un orden de papas fritas.”  (Did you figure out that it was a hamburger and French fries?)  The hamburger was delivered individually in a large sesame-seed bun on a bare plate with the following features: the meat was thin; it had too much Thousand Island dressing; there were slices of both Roma tomato and Jalapeño chile with some chopped lettuce; the bun was soft and perfectly toasted; and, the cheese was melted beyond recognition.  It was sloppy and delicious and only cost about $2.  We knew that this place was okay because there were two policemen in for lunch.  They looked very professional and wore the same kind of tan and green uniforms used by many of our sheriff’s deputies in the states.  There was also a very large TV at the end of the room showing some kind of comedy talk show that seemed popular to all the other customers.  It was a pleasant and refreshing respite from our trip.

Continuing south to Colima, we had hoped to get a view of the volcano, Nevada de Colima, which is actually in Jalisco rather than the State of Colima, but it was still pretty cloudy and we couldn’t see much to the distance beyond the mountains.  Perhaps, you can’t even see it from this side of the mountains and have to approach it through Colima.  But, nevertheless, the ride was very pleasant, the road was good, and we had a chance to see many groves of coconut palms (i.e., farms) along the way.  We stayed on the “quota” or toll road that actually bypasses the heart of Colima and eventually parallels the shoreline northerly behind rising sand dunes covered in grass and other jungle foliage so that we can’t see the water.  Eventually, we travel into the coastal hills and get glimpses of ocean and a large bay through the low valleys.  This road too is a bypass of the cities and towns and we finally come back to the shore north of the populated stretch of coast along the twin bays of Manzanillo and Santiago.  Between them is the peninsula of Santiago on which are many resort hotels and the development called Las Hadas; I think that is where we are supposed to go.  We drive past the malencon fronting the towns of Miramar and Santiago and turn on to the peninsula.  We are looking for the Palma Real Hotel and Villas and this appears to be the most likely place although we don’t see a sign.

The narrow cobblestone road we take off the highway leads to a wider cobblestone boulevard with a beehive of activity at the end.  It turns out that this is Las Hadas, a resort hotel with condominiums, and we are immediately approached by a greeter who is probably interested in selling us a time-share; we saw this a lot in Puerto Vallarta.  We ask if he knows of our hotel and he says we have to go back to the highway, turn to the left, and go somewhere I couldn’t understand.  So, drive back down the boulevard and stop to ask the security guards stationed along the way if they’ve heard of our hotel.  They don’t know either, or just can’t understand what I am asking them, but they stop a passing cab and we talk to the driver about it.  He has to call the dispatcher for directions.  The word we get is to go back to the highway, turn to the left, and go what sounds like 70 kilometers past La Maeva Resort and Club Santiago; he shows me a map and points to a place off the left edge beyond all the facilities along the Bay of Santiago.  So, we drive back the way we came from the “quota” road in hopes of seeing some kind of sign.  Past the malencon and Club Maeva, we see a sign for Club Santiago and drive in to ask for more directions; the security guard points further to the north and says they have their own entrance.  So, off we go through the jungle, away from the beach, looking for some sign of civilization; and, suddenly, there it is.  A paved side road looms on our left with a large a sign announcing that the Palma Real Hotel is just 4.5 km down this narrow road. 

At about 3 km, there is a large drainage sluice in the road after a sign announcing “dip” and then the pavement yields to cemented cobblestone with parallel brick tracks.  When that turns off to the Vida del Sol development – a place in which we almost got to stay - we are directed to a short stretch of dirt road leading to the usual cobblestone winding through thickly-overgrown hills; then, just as sudden, cobblestone yields to pavement again.  The sign indicating a sharp curve is truthful.  Emerging out of the lush growth we see new black asphalt, white-washed buildings, and manicured hedges with a sign directing us to reception.  This is a little bit of Eden carved out of dense jungle and nestled into a hillside overlooking the Bay of Santiago. 

Our first impression of the Hotel is that it is just beautiful with multi-storied, stark-white buildings under red tile roofs surrounded by lush jungle.  Complementing each villa is a large, thatch-roof-covered balcony, verdant green lawns, and carefully manicured bushes; there are colorful flowers everywhere.  We check in at reception, take care of the usual paperwork, and are driven up the hill to our villa in a covered truck in which the driver has loaded our luggage; cars are not allowed in the residential areas because the roads are narrow and the children are quick.  Our driver, Antonio, has assured us that he will come and pick us up anytime we want to go down the hill and will take us to our villa when we want to return. 

Our villa is located high on the hill at the top of the complex and we have numerous steps to climb to reach the front door.  Our driver has collected our baggage, unlocks our door, and ushers us into an absolutely gorgeous, two-bedroom, two-bath, apartment with a full kitchen and large balcony patio.  I will describe in greater detail the features of this especially lovely place on a later day.  Our first order of business, after stowing our baggage and looking around a bit, is to go back into town to get some supplies so we can prepare our own meals during the upcoming week; we’ll also find some place to eat dinner because we are not cooking tonight.  Our steward/driver has recommended a good place to eat that is not far from the local Soriana Mercado, so we set out to find it. 

Our choice of restaurants this evening is El Fogon and they specialize in tacos and roast meat; that sounds pretty good to us.  It is a lovely ramada-style restaurant with thatched roof, detached kitchen, outdoor patio, bar, and a water fountain in the front.  Jane orders the special cheese taco dinner that comes with three tacos, wrapped in foil, with mushroom and green pepper, chorizo, and bacon.  It is served on freshly made flour tortillas.  This is augmented by the appetizer with Pico de Gallo, two kinds of green sauce heavy in lime, a hot salsa, and another salsa that is more sweet than hot; it comes with the usual bowl of corn tortilla chips.  I ordered what was called prime beef that was a thin steak with beans and white rice; the meat was especially tender and flavorful.  Antonio’s recommendation is greatly appreciated. 

Just down the street, we find Soriana’s surrounded by small shops much like a Fred Meyer in the states.  It is very much larger than the one in Chapala and, since they have an electric cart for Jane to ride, we have about two-hours to explore before they close at 10:00.  There is not much special to report about our shopping trip.  We bought steak, roast chicken, canned tuna, cured pork chops, a wide selection of vegetables, and some other stuff to help us cook it.  We also got some ice cream that sounded really good and we like to have a little something for desert.  It took almost two hours to finish. 

The drive back from Manzanillo in the dark was an adventure in itself.  Since it has been cloudy and rainy all afternoon and night, it was especially dark and foreboding.  There are no street lights to help identify the multitudinous puddles resembling small lakes or the potholes and topes that can jar your teeth if you hit them wrong.  Fortunately, there was not much traffic.  We did, however, have someone to follow for a while to warn us of those hazards I mentioned earlier.  After we got through the road construction detour at the Miramar intersection, and the small lake in front of Posada Maeva, our biggest worry was whether we could see the entrance for the road to the Palma Real Hotel in the darkness of this remote stretch of road.  It was a great relief to see that it was lighted and we made the turn without incident.

Now, we just had 4.5 km to go to the hotel according to the well-lit sign.  The road is narrow and winding but paved, and there is no traffic on it this late at night.  We can use our bright beams to help spot the potholes and bumps and the good-sized “dip” they use for drainage.  We know we are getting close when a sign cautions us about the “sharp curve” ahead that must by a 180-degree around a small promontory.  Shortly, we reach the fork in the road that leads off to Vida del Mar.  This is the place where the road gets worse before it gets better.  We suddenly cross from pavement to very rough cobblestone with grass growing in all its crevasses.  Then, the road changes to smoother cobblestone with strips of brick spaced to match the tread of a passenger car or pickup truck.  When that smoothes out to black pavement again, we know we have safely reached the parking lot of the hotel; we are so glad that the rain had stopped for a while.   Driving at night in Mexico can be a thrill or an ordeal depending on your perspective.  At the registration building, the steward is waiting to help us with our packages and drive us up to our apartment.  I think we have enough food so we don’t have to go out at all for about three days. 

Now, it is almost 11:00 and Jane and I are sitting on the balcony watching the lights from Santiago dance across the water of the bay.  We can hear the sound of the waves far below and hear the chirping of crickets or locusts or some other jungle denizen; actually, I think I can hear more than one type of insect singing their evening song.  We have been watching the lightning in the distance and know that it will probably start raining again soon.  The sound of the eventual downpour on the thatch of the balcony roof will be music to our ears.  We are both pretty tired now and will soon call it a day.

14 Oct 06 – Saturday

Saturday morning continues to be cloudy and there is the threat of rain; it rained most of the night we think.  It’s a little disappointed not to have the sun, but this is October; it’s not unlike Seattle except that it is delightfully warm.  We won’t be doing much today if the rain persists, but Jane is  perfectly content  to sit on the balcony to enjoy the marvelous view, listen to the waves crashing on the shore, and breathe in the fresh, warm air.  She has her spray can of “Off“, and a repellent wick that burns like incense to ward the insects off with its sweet smell, but all we seem to have here are a few flies, bees, and large flying beetles; there are no swarms of mosquitoes like those around Lake Chapala and Jocotopec.  If there were a mosquito here, it would find her.

The view from the balcony is extraordinary.  We can see the entire Bay of Santiago from high above the hotel on the side of a hill.  Across the bay, we can see the hotels and villas of Las Hadas on the Santiago Peninsula, the homes of Santiago climbing up the hillside, and the while sandy beach of Miramar stretching from the far end of the malencon to the edge of the river flowing calmly into the bay just below the hotel.  Where the hills of Santiago dip down to the sea and the peninsula rises from it again, we know the road passes through the lowest part and leads to Manzanillo; there is another bay on the other side just as large as this one. 

The rain has started again, gentle at first and then increasing in intensity.  Off in the hills, the clouds are the heaviest and we can see lightning and hear the thunder.  There is no violent wind like the squall lines preceding a cold front that we remember from our days in Ohio.  The rain comes straight down in large drops that splash as they hit the railing of the unprotected part of the balcony that folds around the building to the sliding glass door in the Master Bedroom.  Under the sheltering canopy of a thatched roof, however, we can sit and watch the rain storm move out into the bay.  Although most of the balcony has a high, solid wall around its perimeter, there is a wrought iron grill at the very front so we can easily see what’s happening below.  Under the thatching, we have a plastic table and four chairs so we can comfortably enjoy the view.  These are the same kind of tables and chairs that you see in most restaurants with dining rooms exposed to the outdoors.  They are very comfortable and make cleaning easy since you can stack them all up in a corner to hose down the tile floors and mop; with a brightly colored table cloth, you’d never know you had a plastic table.

As the storm continues to move out across the bay, our view of the opposite shore is obscured by its density.  Perhaps it will pass and the sun will break through the cloud cover.  It looks like all we can do today is relax in this lovely villa and enjoy the warm ocean breezes; darn.  For breakfast, we have cake and coffee – we got a raisin pound cake at Soriana – and then lunch are the leftovers from El Fogon the night before; although isolated, we are not without resources.  Besides, this villa is quite large, larger than any apartment or duplex we lived in when we were young; it has to be almost a thousand square feet.  I think there are nine villas in this building, but it is hard to tell because it is built into the hillside like irregularly shaped blocks stacked unevenly; we are at the top of the hotel complex and at the far edge.  The walls and floors are very thick so we never hear anything from another villa and we don’t even know if we have neighbors.  Of course, this is still the low season and the hotel is far from full, not to mention that we are quite isolated here. 

The main part of the villa runs from the balcony through a screened, sliding-glass door to the living room, dining room, and kitchen; there is a short wall with a wooded top separating the living and dining rooms.  The living room couch is a built-in sectional and, like many we’ve seen, has a base made of brick and concrete.  There are ample cushions on it for comfort and to serve as a couple of beds if you have many people staying here.  The dining room table is large enough for six ornate wooden chairs and the top is clear glass so you can see the colorful plant nestled on a shelf connecting the curved legs below.  The center piece of the table is a colorfully-painted pottery bowl and pitcher that is a typical Mexican style.   On top of the counter between the dining room and the kitchen is a small microwave and underneath are two square-topped, rattan stools.  The kitchen is just large enough for two people with a stove top – there is no oven – a single, stainless-steel sink, a full-sized refrigerator, and ample cupboard space.  Besides the refreshing air conditioning, there are ceiling fans in the living room and kitchen.  Overall, the walls are bright white painted on concrete or plaster with some concrete sculptures of fish and sea shells; behind some of the sea shells are hidden lights to mask the glare of a bare bulb.  The floors throughout the villa are beige ceramic tile and the décor is completed with a couple of tastefully placed wall decorations, plants, paintings, and mirrors.  This is not a typical hotel room or suite.

The Master Bedroom is quite large with a king-sized bed conveniently situated below a ceiling fan.  Its accompanying bathroom has an oversized tub with shower and a long counter with a single sink.  The balcony is accessible through a small, sliding-glass window covered by a thick curtain.  Next to the small bathroom and shower is the second bedroom with two twin beds and large window.  The ceiling fan hangs from the center of a large cupola or dome lined with colorful, blue tiles.  There is a desert oasis scene painted “al fresco” behind the headboards of the beds.  There is no television set in this room although there are TVs in the living room and Master Bedroom.  It might be interesting to note that television here appears to be an eight-channel cable even though we have seen satellite dishes on some rooftops.  Fortunately, half of those channels are in English with Spanish subtitles.  One of them is ESPN, another is CNN, and the other two have movies all day long.  One of the movies shows French, German, British, and American movies, all of which have Spanish subtitles, and some of which are in English; almost anything can be entertaining or diverting when it is raining hard.

Since it continued to rain throughout the day, we stayed in mostly and just enjoyed our surroundings.  During a short respite from the storm, I took a walk to check out the facilities in the common building.  They have an attended laundry with two each washers and dryers, a small minimart, and a large patio area served by a small attached bar that appeared to be closed.  Around the corner adjacent to the business offices, I discovered that they do have an Internet access, but it was not too contemporary and very slow.  They were gracious enough to let me use a terminal and I had a chance to at least check email.  From our balcony perch, we can see the pool far below, the reception building, and the top of the ramada covered restaurant; the grounds are green, lush, uncluttered, and meticulously maintained.  Jane marvels at the tree-covered parking area that forms individual carports arched with foliage.  As we settle in and become accustomed to our surroundings, we are even more convinced that this is a small piece of paradise.  So far, the service has been excellent and the staff very friendly; they will even pick us up in the truck and take us down the hill at our request 24 hours a day.

The day passes easily as we relax from our trip and just enjoy the view.  Tonight for dinner I will fix the steaks we bought, one t-bone and one sirloin.  Along with that, we will have boiled potatoes with butter and sliced tomatoes.  We have some fresh broccoli but I’ll save that for later in the week.  It turns out that this is plenty and we will have some leftovers for lunch tomorrow.  Then, we settle back to watch a movie before retiring for the night.  It has not been an eventful day because of the rain.

15 Oct 06 – Sunday

Last night I could see some stars in the night sky, so we are hopeful that the sun will break through the overcast today.  During our morning coffee, there is light rain falling, but, in the distance behind the hills, we can the sky lightening with the promise of sunshine later in the morning.  We are not disappointed.  In fact, we take this opportunity to venture down to the pool for the first time to enjoy the warmth of the day and the coolness of the water.  The pool has an interesting design kidney-shaped design with a flat shallow end for the children and others separated by a barrier from the very deep end suitable for swimming and diving.  It is surrounded by those familiar plastic tables, chairs, lounges, and bright blue umbrellas.  But, the most interesting feature is the kidney-shaped design with a flat shallow end for the children and others separated by a barrier from the very deep end suitable for swimming and diving.  But, the most interesting feature is the”river” that gently runs completely around it at a couple mph; it’s about four feet deep so you can swim in it.  It’s great fun to float around the pool through the neatly trimmed hedges and bougainvilleas on an inflated inner tube or just floating along easily in the smoothly flowing water.  Jane has discovered that, if you stand at the place where the pump pushes the water into the channel, you can get a great foot massage.

Later on, Antonio comes into the pool area and starts picking up the unoccupied tables, chairs, and umbrellas and puts them in a pool-side storage area.  We can’t imagine why he is putting so much stuff away.  Eventually, he comes over to tell us that there is a bad storm coming our way with heavy winds that will blow things around (or something like that - Antonio doesn’t speak English.); he has received a FAX with the announcement.  He comes back a little later with a copy of the FAXed weather report and picture of tropical depression Norman; we understand that it should arrive at about 1:00 and only last for a couple of hours.  So, since it is about 12:45, we decide that it’s a good time to try the hotel’s restaurant for lunch and to sit out the storm under the ramada roof.  If we hurry, we can probably avoid the storm altogether since there is no sign of it coming from the southwest, yet.

The restaurant is called “La Boquita“ and is open until about 4:00.  As far as I can determine, the name means “the small gap” and may refer to the narrow inlet to the Laguna de Juluapan that we describe as the small river running past the hotel.  There is one table with some people who appear to be having a meeting, but, other than that, we are the only customers.  One of the two waiters brings menus and takes our drink order; they both speak pretty good English and make us feel welcome.   We’ve noticed that a can or bottle of Coke cost about $1.45 usd in a restaurant so they sell them for the same kinds of inflated prices as restaurants in the states; but, here there are no refills except for cups of coffee.  Jane ordered the Mexican plate with a chile relleno, steak, taquitos, quesadillas, guacamole, and frijoles.  I opted for the enchiladas verde with rice and beans.  It was all very good.  I had to help Jane with part of her steak, some guacamole, and a few beans.  When Antonio stopped by to report on the progress of the storm, we asked for a ride up the hill; he had already placed a copy of the FAX in our villa.

We adjourned to the balcony to enjoy more of the view and watch for the storm.  The small river that separates the hotel from a large expanse of sandy delta appears to be a playground for the local population and a haven for some of the neighborhood fishermen.  They are undaunted by the threat of a storm.  There are colorful umbrellas stuck in the sand and white plastic tables and chairs placed along the shore as if there was a restaurant here or they were getting ready for a party.  Several small boats with outboard motors are pulled up on the sand and many more adults than children are enjoying the warm water and balmy breezes.  To help control the flow of the river and ease the entry for boats into the delta area, a small jetty has been built a short way out into bay.  There is a rickety-looking footbridge from the hotel-side of the river bank, but it doesn’t quite reach the other side unless the river is quite low.  Farther up the river, there are some men fishing with nets close to the far river bank.  In the distance along the shore, the waves are breaking lazily on the sand.  Sometimes there are none at all.  With a storm coming, we would expect the size and frequency of the waves to increase regardless of the fact that this is a protected cove.  This makes us think that the storm will turn abruptly to the northwest and miss us altogether. 

Well, the storm never comes; we do get some rain but it is nothing to be concerned about.  Tonight is a good time to stay in, enjoy the view, and hope there is a good movie on the TV.  I think I’ll fix tuna casserole for dinner with cream of chicken soup and spaghetti noodles.  I have lots of veggies to put in it, so it’ll suffice as a one dish meal; sliced tomatoes will make a nice accent.  So, as darkness begins to fall, it finds me busily chopping onions, celery, green pepper, garlic, and cilantro to sauté with some butter before I add the other ingredients.  Jane is watching the people on the beach still playing cheerfully in the water or casually working around the boats.  Further upstream, a single white heron stands guard at the mouth of the placid lagoon.

10 Oct 06 – Tuesday

Now that it has been more than a week since our arrival, we thought it was about time to find some laundry facilities for our dirty clothes; there are none here at the Inn.  Monica had told us about a Lavanderia (laundry) in town that was very good and we think she said that they would do the laundry for us.  It is on one of the one-way side streets between the square and the main signal.  So, we gathered up our two bags of clothes and soap (just in case) and headed into Jocotopec.  We turned left at the first street past the signal and went for two blocks with no luck.  Then, we repeated the process around the corner and the other way; still no luck.  It had to be here somewhere, but some of the store fronts are so small that you can drive right by and miss them altogether.  It seems to me that typical small-business storefronts are just about six meters (i.e., ~20 feet) wide but go way back into the middle of the block.  Some larger stores start out this way but open up in the environs to be 30 meters wide and just as long or more; they use open ceilings and skylights to overcome the expected darkness.  But, I digress. 

We turned on to the main street, went up a block, and turned back down the next one-way road; at least these alternate.  Down at the end of the block we spotted a sign announcing the Lavanderia over a brightly-colored, red-orange storefront.  This had to be it.  I went in and asked, in my best fractured Spanish, if they could wash our clothes and how much would it cost?  She said it depended on how much we had and I felt a little sheepish since I hadn’t brought the clothes in yet.  So, back out to the car, conveniently parked right in front, and grabbed the bags.  She said it would be $60 pesos and that sounded reasonable.  Then, I understood her to say, when I asked, that they would be done at 2:00.  That was more than agreeable because it was less than three hours away.  That’s really good service; it’s a lot better than “in by 9, out by 4” that we often see advertised at home.  Just another note about the Mexicans we have observed.  They pride themselves on having a job and they work very hard to get things done; they use a lot of manual labor and primitive machinery in places, but they have access to modern equipment, too.  The washers and dryers I saw there were new and made by Whirlpool.  And, on this project to widen the road in front of the Inn, they are using typical heavy equipment but there are a lot of men with shovels; there are also a lot of backhoes in this part of the country.  Oh, by the way … the flaggers really use red flags to direct traffic and not much else.

Since we had some time to kill (ha! ha!), we decided to drive into Ajijic for lunch and Jane wanted to go to Fonda Doña Lola’s to see what else they had on the menu besides chili rellenos.  On the way, we decided to stop and talk to that realtor about the Casa Ecologica and the price ($285,000 usd); I’m sure I mentioned that earlier.  At Fonda Dona Lola’s, they didn’t have the lunch menu out yet even though it was noon by the time we arrived.  We weren’t really interested in breakfast, so Jane asked for the lunch menu and the waiter nodded his assent.  We noticed that, after he brought the afternoon menus, he put up the reader board with the daily specials.  They were offering Chicken Cordon Bleu for $60 (pesos) and pork chops for $51; those sounded wonderful. 

Jane’s Cordon Bleu was in fact what she expected:  a whole chicken breast, stuffed with ham and cheese, covered with a thick cornmeal breading, and deep fried.  It came with French fries and a green salad.  There were two large pork chops on my plate accompanied by a green salad and applesauce; the breading had a delightfully discrete flavor of chili powder.  It was all so good that we didn’t have any leftovers.  After a little riding around just to sightsee, we headed back to Jocotopec to pick up the laundry.  It was done – washed, dried, and folded – and packed into our one laundry bag; she took care to note that the other laundry bag was folded in the top of the first one.  I paid her the $60 and offered as tip, but she politely refused.  So, I thanked her and left. 

Now that it was time for Jane’s siesta, I thought I would take the opportunity to just walk around town and get a closer look into the small storefronts and to browse around the meat and vegetable markets.  I stopped for a moment to look into the school yard and saw the children sitting at individual desks in their classrooms the same way ours do.  The gate was closed so I just took some pictures and stayed out so I wouldn’t be imposing.  If I understand correctly, all the children in public and private school learn to speak English to some degree; that’s probably a good thing considering their influential neighbors to the north. 

I walked around for most of an hour and found most of the places that Monica had recommended; I never did find the place for pollo asado (roast chicken), but I did find what looks to be a decent taco place (taqueria).  We’ll have to try it later when we get back from Manzanillo.  On my rounds, I did meet a very nice lady from Brooklyn (Felicia) who recognized me as an American right away.  We had a very nice chat and indicated that there may be about 60 American families in Jocotopec.  There is an enclave of them at a development outside of town called “Roca Azul” (Blue Rock).  She commented that they seem to like trees and grass so it is very green there, but there are no blue rocks.  She noted that it is worth a visit just to see.  By then, it was starting to cloud up and it looked like a rain cloud was heading our way, so I bid her “adios” and walked back to the car. 

I didn’t buy anything downtown; it was just a trip to reconnoiter.  Back at the Inn, I had some time to use the Internet for a while and do some journaling.  Time really flies when you’re sitting at the keyboard.  Soon, my stomach was telling me that it was time for dinner.  We had some chicken left over from the other day and thought it would be enough to have chicken sandwiches on some of that great bread they bake at the local bakery.  So, I went over to the abarrotes here in the hotel and got a couple of things:  two small loves of bread and a packet of coffee filters – 10 pesos; a 2-liter bottle of coke – 15 pesos; conversation with Monica and her daughter – priceless.  Jane suggested that I define “abarrotes” since I haven’t talked about it recently:  abarrotes means groceries and identifies all of the little neighborhood stores that sell them.  This is such a nice family and they are so very helpful when we have questions.  We are so fortunate to have found such a great place to stay.  It’s like being with friends rather than the staid atmosphere of a hotel.  Chicken sandwiches on soft rolls with Doritos on the side were just enough to satisfy our hunger.  At night the rains came in abundance from over the mountains and lightning flashed for several hours; this time it brought its thunder.

11 Oct 06 – Wednesday

We spent this morning just relaxing in the warm air freshened by yesterday’s rain.  I had a lot of journaling to catch up on so that pretty well occupied my time.  For lunch, I thought I would try to make some kind of soup out of the left over chicken in the fridge.  I went over to the abarrotes to see if they had anything that would work.  It’s amazing how much they can fit into one of these little markets.  They had a couple of instant soup mixes by Knorr with noodles and a few vegetables in it so I though I would give that a try.  I put the soup on the stove while I diced up the rest of the chicken.  As it came to a boil, I added the chicken, some coarse-ground black pepper, and some butter for extra richness.  It came out better than expected.  We also had a little bit of bread left from the half of the chicken sandwich that Jane didn’t eat the day before.  It was already buttered and heated up nicely in the microwave. 

Later that afternoon, we decided to go for a drive to the west to see what the countryside was like.  We also wanted to take a look at Roca Azul to see what that was all about.  Our friend Michael Grigsby had also recommended that we go there to take a look.  The development has a single entry from the highway to a short cobblestoned boulevard and then branches out to three long, parallel streets.  The homes here are sparsely spaced throughout the area and most of them don’t have the typical walls seen in Mexican construction surrounding them.  That gives the area a very open and appealing atmosphere with lots of grass and trees just like Felicia had indicated.  However, the abundance of vacant lots gave the place an unkempt appearance since no one seemed to be mowing the grass in the open areas.  The houses themselves were varied in size and style but were relatively attractive and well maintained.  The cobble stone streets were evidently only lightly traveled since there was as lot grass growing up between the rocks. 

There was one house in the group that looked like a derelict compared to the others.  It appeared to be constructed of the cement block and plaster that is common in this area.  But, it had no paint or windows or any finish work inside that we could see.  Perhaps this is a future home built by a Mexican.  We had been told that they sometimes build new homes in phases depending on how much money they have.  Essentially, they build as much as they can until they run out of funds and then stop until they can save some more.  This often takes years to accomplish and the beginning stages look like a demolition rather than a construction.   Perhaps that is the explanation for this anomaly.

At the back of this development, we discovered what appeared to be a group of condominiums according to my best translation of the sign; it also carries the name Roca Azul.  It had a guarded entrance but the muchachos there seemed friendly enough and let us go in to look.  It appeared to be an assortment of bungalows or duplexes that all looked alike.  The architecture is rather attractive, even thought the buildings were small, but the grounds were in need of some TLC.  At the back, there was a large area that is evidently a common area for the residents with well-kept lawns, playground equipment, at least one swimming pool, and some multipurpose out-buildings.  It suddenly dawned on us that there were no cars anywhere and that this closely resembled a ghost town.  Yet, it seemed like it was open for business because of the guards at the gate and a young lady sitting in a booth at the entrance to the common facility.  Is this a failed development or are just here out of season.  I don’t think there is anyone living here. 

We went back into the main part of the development and admired some of the homes.  We did see some cars with stateside license plates, but there were several more from Jalisco.  Although I think was intended to be an expatriate enclave, it seems to be populated by people from all over.  About ¼ to 1/3 of the lots appear to be developed, but there seems to be a tendency to retain the openness that we find in American neighborhoods.  Of course, there was one home that had a ten foot wall with a solid steel gate that was like a fortress.  Some people like their privacy while still others like the isolation of living in out of the way places.  Felicia’s comment was that she enjoys living in town where she has neighbors and can walk around the corner to the local abarrotes or farmacia.  We still like Chapala a little better where the businesses seem to be developed on a more modern scale, there are more restaurants, and it is more centrally situated between Ajijic’s expatriate community and the wonders of Guadalajara.  Still, Jocotopec may have more paved streets even if they are narrower. 

While we were out and around, we decided to follow the main road to the northwest to see what some more of the countryside looked like.  But first, we stopped at an Oxxo convenience store to get a Coke or something.  They look an awful lot like a 7-11 or AM-PM right down to the hotdog heater and the coffee pots.  The road took us through some small towns, through fields of corn and blue agave, and over the mountain saddle to a large valley beyond; this is effectively a continuation of the high plain on which Guadalajara was built.  That took us to the autopista where will turn south on our trip to Colima and Manzanillo.  So, just like the proverbial bear, we turned north to see what was on the other side of the mountain.  I noticed on the map that there was a paved road from the autopista to the highway that leads into Chapala, so that looked like it would be a nice ride.  Along the way, we would pass through a town similar in size to Jocotopec called Tlajomulco – aren’t these Indian names fun?  Along the autopista there were businesses just like those that used to line Route 66 and an occasional large factory or distribution center. 

We were unimpressed with Tlajomulco, but the road was wide, newly paved, and recently under construction.  The old arrows on the pavement that indicated the lane of travel during construction were still there, so it was a little confusing about where to drive.  Otherwise, there was a long stretch of highway that was at least six-lanes wide with no markings at all.  This was no problem for the Mexicans since they are used to driving all over the road.  But, the most interesting feature of this brand-new highway was the six-lane-wide tope brightly painted in yellow and black stripes. 

Just east of Tlajomulco is a pretty good sized lake called Lago Cajititlan and we think they are trying to develop the area around the lake for tourism; that would explain the new, wide road.  In this area, we saw several horse ranches, some with public stable space, and the beginnings of some gated communities.  Right in the middle of nowhere, there was a large waterpark with all sorts of brightly painted slides.  But, beyond the lake, the road narrows considerably and winds through low foothills and small villages until it emerges at the highway to Chapala.  Now, we could head back to familiar places.

Just above Chapala in the foothills is a place called Brisas de Chapala.  The main feature here is a lovely small hotel of the same name fronting a well-kept housing development in which a lot of Americans live.  This is the place were we saw the house that we just love.  It has three bedrooms and baths, with Jacuzzi tubs in all of the bathrooms, a large kitchen, dining room, living room, den, sitting area, and entry in a multilevel, spacious arrangement accentuated by bright white plaster walls and tiled floors.  Outside is a small swimming pool across the walkway from a large patio and barbecue area.  There is also a three-car covered parking area along the side.  Of course, the roof is reinforced and tiled for additional living space with a small bodega for storage or a workshop.  We drove by but didn’t actually drop in to see it; we just have a vivid recollection of what’s there.  This house is for sale, again or still, and the neighborhood is no more developed than it was two years ago.  It gives you another perspective of the housing market here and the availability of homes.  We’ve seen a lot of homes for sale but very few for rent.  We think the best rental market is by word of mouth or advertisements on bulletin boards frequented by Americans.

Since we were in the area, we stopped by Soriana’s again to pick up a couple of things we thought we needed.  I had asked Jane what kinds of things I could cook while we’re here and she couldn’t think of anything in particular.  Fortunately, she likes my cooking and is pretty easy to please.  But, eating out all the time is getting to be a drag.  Soriana has a nice selection of fruits and vegetables and meat and fish and baked goods and almost everything else.  Did I mention that you can buy a medium-sized motorcycle there?  Jane and I agreed that, with the limited cooking facility we have, we could probably make spaghetti.  So, after I found the miracle drops that you use to soak your vegetables in, I selected some onions, celery, green pepper, tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, and an avocado.  We managed to locate some spaghetti sauce and pasta, but we’ll get fresh bread from Mario’s abarrotes tomorrow.  Jane likes shopping at Soriana because she can ride around in the electric cart they provide.  By the way, I was in error about the sales tax.  I’ve notice after getting a couple of receipts from Soriana that there are only a certain things that are taxed.  Most things in Mexico are subject to a value added tax (VAT) of 17% that is usually included in the price of things, but I won’t try to explain how that works.  Then, as I’ve now noticed, some things on the receipt were taxed again at a rate of 13%; it looks like everything that is not food is subject to the tax.  I think small businesses just include any sales taxes in the price to make things simpler.

It was starting to get a little late, so Jane suggested that we stop along the way and get some dinner.  She’s always ready, willing, and able to go out and eat if she can talk me into it.  We thought it would be nice to go back to Tony’s again to see if the dinner fare is the same as that for lunch.  Much to our surprise, we found that Tony’s appeared to be closed.  We know that he is open for dinner, so maybe this was down day.   We tried to think of some other place we would like to try and came up blank.  Then, we remembered seeing a sign along this part of the road somewhere for a German restaurant.  We love German food, but it is so hard to find anything authentic in the states; there are some notable exceptions like the Ratskeller in Portland and the King Ludwig II in Leavenworth.  We drove up and down the carretera for a while trying to spot where we thought we saw that sign.  Finally, near Floresta, we came upon it nestled into a residential area and partly hidden behind trees on the frontage road.  The sign said they had Austrian-German and European style food and is called Johanna’s.  It was worth a try.

Johanna’s is a lovely little place with yellow linens on the tables and German memorabilia adorning the walls.  There is a small, lushly green patio in the back for those warm autumn evenings.  At this time of day, we were alone in the dining room except for the young waiter and waitress.  She took our drink orders after giving us menus.  The selections on the menu brought back memories of the many times we were able to eat out while stationed in Germany 25 years ago.  The entrée offers were bratwurst (a sausage), Weiner schnitzel (veal cutlet), Jaeger schnitzel (pork cutlet with mushroom gravy), eisbein (roasted pork knuckle), and sauerbraten (beef roasted in wine sauce) among others.  There was a dinner salad that was typically German with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and vinaigrette dressing.  Dinners came with a number of different choices:  Jane had sauerkraut, rot kohl (red cabbage), and potatoes with her bratwurst; I had potatoes and spaetzel (a kind of dumpling noodle) with my sauerbraten covered with wine and raisin gravy.   We were so excited about the apparent authenticity of these meals that we just dug in and forgot to take pictures.  It was exceptionally delicious.  We did manage to save a little bit so we could have it all again for lunch the next day.  After that sumptuous repast, we headed home so we could get in before the evening rain storm, relax a bit, journal, and watch CSI reruns.

12 Oct 06 – Thursday

We don’t expect to do much today except think about packing for our trip to Manzanillo, tomorrow.  Jane is making a list of all the things she thinks we’ll need for a week, but she probably won’t do any actual packing until tomorrow morning.  It’s still overcast but warm.  So, regardless of whether there is sun or not, it is still pleasant to sit on the porch to watch the mosquitoes swarm, laugh at the kitties stalking unseen prey, or just enjoy the temperate climate.  Jane is still recovering from her bout with the flu, it seems, and she says she just doesn’t have a lot of energy to get out and do stuff.  I continually encourage her.  The morning gives me time to write some more in my journal so I can keep the web page up to date.

After emptying a pot of coffee throughout the morning, and devouring a couple of cookies, we decide to have left-overs for lunch.  We saved enough from Johanna’s German restaurant to quench our hunger and remind us of how good it tasted when it was fresh.   Tonight, I’m going to try to cook a meal at home so we don’t have to go out.  We got some vegetables (e.g., onions, celery, green pepper, garlic, and cilantro) at the market along with some spaghetti and sauce, so all I need to do is go out get some hamburger to complete the list of ingredients for Mexican spaghetti.  When Jane lays down for her siesta, I’ll go into town and find the carniceria that Monica recommended

Going into town is no longer an ordeal since I have a pretty good idea of where the streets go and where the shops are.  I drive a round behind the square and find a convenient parking place within a couple of blocks of where I think the carniceria is.  It’s just after 2:00 now and some of the stores are closed or in the process of being cleaned before the afternoon break.  Yes, they really do have siesta in the afternoons, usually from about 2:00 to 4:00, and then they reopen for the evening and close for the day between 6:00 and 8:00; however, we haven’t seen anyone sleeping on the sidewalk under their serape and a large sombrero.  An exception to this is that the birrerias stay open all afternoon and then close for the day at about 4:00.  I think the fish market closes for the evening at about 2:00 as do some of the vegetable vendors in the Mercado.  Most shops have their hours posted so you can plan your shopping, but it still takes some getting used to.

The carniceria, Las Cuates, is right where I remembered seeing it.  I walk to the back and look in the meat case and see that they do have a pan with ground meat.  I manage to order a half-kilo after being ensured that this is, in fact, ground beef.  They have just one selection and the price turns out to be $32 pesos; that equates to about $2.56 per pound (ouch!).  Still, this is what I need for our spaghetti and Monica assured us that they have the best meat in town.  Later on, I would discover that I have to add a little oil to the mix to help the meat cook; that means it was probably ground round, or ground sirloin, depending on what they had handy or left over, I guess.  The last time we bought hamburger that was that lean was when we lived in San Angelo, Texas, 40 years ago, and we bought our meat at the local independent grocer. 

Cooking in the bungalow’s kitchen is reminiscent of our cooking closet in Fairbanks, Alaska, when we lived in an efficiency apartment there, circa 1967, and the kitchen was built into a closet that was just wide enough for a refrigerator, sink, and stove.  It had a half door on it with a shelf for added counter space and couple of cabinets; there was a bare minimum of cooking utensils.  Fortunately, the bungalow has more space, but not many more utensils.  At Soriana, we bought a cutting board, a small chef’s knife, and a pair of cheap tongs to prepare us for this culinary adventure.  I started the veggies sautéing in a medium sized frying pan but could see that I would have to transfer it all to our only large pot to keep from spilling all over the stove; I can do that anyway with a single stir.  I added some Hunt’s spaghetti sauce from a small box and some water to thin it a bit, and then put in a goodly amount of fresh chopped cilantro for that special Mexican flavor; Jane wouldn’t let me get any oregano.  The one remaining pot looked like a large coffee mug that was about six inches tall and wide.  I had to break the spaghetti noodles into thirds to get them to stand up in the pot and still have enough room for to cover them with water; it took an exceptionally long time boiling until the pasta was soft enough to resemble “al dente” rather than crunchy or chewy; it could have been either the brand of pasta or the 5000’ altitude.  We had some sliced tomato and avocado for a side dish and warm, buttered bread.  It was pretty good if I do say so myself; Jane liked the cilantro rather than oregano that gave it a strangely Latin flavor. 

One of the nice things about cooking, beside the fact that I really enjoy being creative in the kitchen, is that Jane cleans up the dishes.  Even though I try to keep the counters wiped up, I have a tendency to make a little of a mess and use lots of utensils in the bargain.  At home, Jane is always chiding me about making a mess on her clean floor.  We will definitely bring all of my cooking “toys” to Mexico when we move here.   It’s already dark by the time we finish dinner and it’s just about time to watch a little television before bed time.  Although it has continued to be cloudy during the day, the rain doesn’t come until the sun goes down and then it pours; it’s good that it comes straight down like a curtain because we leave all the windows open to circulate the warm air.  We are looking forward to tomorrow.

7 Oct 06 – Saturday

We are getting a lot better at relaxing and living the life of Reilly.  We stayed in all morning and finally got dressed so we could go out and get some Birria.  Did I mention that this is goat stew and that Jocotopec is famous for theirs?  Downtown, there are half a dozen Birrerias around the square so it was difficult to choose.  Since we were able to find a parking place right in front of one of them, that helped to influence our decision.  We went into the Birreria La Playita and sat at a table overlooking the square and the busy main street.  To our left was the large Palacio Municipal where the government operates and it is flanked on the left by the post office and on the right by the police station.  Around to our right is the main church, a large, brick edifice that is just beautiful.  All around the square are little shops selling all kinds of stuff.  The birria was wonderfully delicious with a lot of chopped meat (roast of goat) covered with an especially tasty broth.  It’s served with chopped onions on the side.  Two large bowls and two cokes were $120 pesos and, at about $10 usd, it seemed a little steep.  We found out later that that is a reasonable price.

It was kind of fun watching all the people go by.  This was siesta time for many so there were a lot of people on the street.  Some of the favorite modes of travel around here are the small motorcycle, the motor scooter, and the 4-wheel ATV.  As many as four people (i.e., youths) can crowd onto a motorcycle and five can fit uncomfortably on a 4-wheeler.  Of course, this is in a country where they still can fit eight or more people in the back of a pick-up truck.  Mothers prefer the motor scooter because they can easily hold their toddlers in their laps.  We finally saw one young man wearing a helmet, but he was the exception to usual practice.  With the roads as crowded and rough as they are – let’s not forget the cobblestones – fast is 20-30 mph and people stop at every corner to look around the buildings for oncoming cars, trucks, and busses.  The standard sidewalk is only 24-30 inches wide and two-laned streets usually have cars parked in one lane.  It was pleasantly relaxing and entertaining just to watch the world pass us by at the moment.

After lunch, we decided to go back to Ajijic and try to find one of the roads up the mountain side that would afford us a better view of the lake.  One that Beatriz suggested goes up to a development of homes that have a lot of domes and miradors that look Byzantine or Moroccan; they are just beautiful.  The tiled domes, although they look very Middle Eastern, have been incorporated into the Mexican architectural style.  There is a group of houses with single domes that are close together and narrow and that are locally referred to as the “baby bottles”; you can visualize the metaphor.  We never did get our view because there were no breaks between the houses. 

Then we decided to try to find a couple of the hotels that Beatriz had recommended, especially since they are supposed to have good restaurants.  The first is the “Real de Chapala” and it had a large sign on the highway pointing toward the lake.  That was easy enough.  They are supposed to a have a Sunday brunch that is very good.  In the neighborhood, we spotted a couple of very large trees in the middle of the road that we just had to photograph; the trunks had to be about 10 feet or more in diameter.  We also saw where you can rent a horse to ride along the lake shore.  The other hotel is the “Nueva Posada” in Ajijic and, although I remember reading about it on the Internet, I don’t recall ever seeing a sign.  Beatriz had told us about where the street was that led to it but we were unsure of the exact spot; it is also on the water’s edge.  We didn’t see any signs for Nueva Posada so we kept going toward Jocotopec. 

On the way back to Jocotopec we had an impulse to stop and see the “Casa Ecologica” that was advertised along the road.  There was a large sign with the Coldwell Banker logo on it so we figured it was an open house for some new development.  When you see signs in English you can pretty well guess who the target audience is.  We drove up a short stretch of cobblestones past a couple of nice looking homes on large parcels with lots of grass.  They were both surrounded with chain-link fencing so we could see the entire extent of the grounds; this is a little unusual since Mexican homes usually have high walls around them for privacy and protection. 

The open house itself was a single floor built on a small knoll overlooking the lake; it had a great, unobstructed view for as far as the eye could see.  No one was there but the house was wide open.  It has three bedrooms, two small and one very large, with 2 ½ bathrooms, and an openly spacious design with just a half wall separating the kitchen-dining area from the living room.  From the dining room through to the master bedroom, the walls on the lake side are large windows and sliding glass doors opening to a porch that stretches the length of the house.  There is a view from every room.  One wall of each bedroom contains the walnut-stained closet with built-in drawers and cabinet; there is additional storage on top.  The nearby bathroom has a relatively large shower, but the master bathroom is equipped with a Jacuzzi-type tub as well; the toilet and sink just off the living room gives new meaning to the expression “water closet”.  Outside the front door is a covered entrance and driveway with a small waterfall feature on one side and a stairway to the roof on the other.  That stairway leads to a patio-type area on the roof with a protective canopy; it is typical in Mexican houses to reinforce the roof sufficiently so that it can be used as additional living and partying space.  Of course, from here you have a 360 degree view and can also see why they call this the “Casa Ecologica;” there are a couple of solar panels that heat water for the house and may even be able to provide some electricity.  Did I mention that there are a number of potted plants strategically located throughout the house and grounds to add a touch of color and freshness to the starkness of brick and ceramic tile; this is a fine example of the beauty that can be achieved with the artful application of brick and stone and tile.

8 Oct 06 – Sunday

Well, this is our 7^th day in Mexico and we seem to spend most of our time deciding where and what to eat.  Eventually, we’ll have to start cooking for ourselves just for a break from the routine.  On this day, we thought about finding the buffet at the hotel Beatriz recommended; we still hadn’t located “La Nueva Posada.”  So, it was off to Ajijic again in search of food and drink; it sounds kind of primitive.  Just outside of Jocotopec we spied the real estate office for Coldwell Banker and stopped by to inquire about the “Casa Ecologica.”  The realtor was American, of course, and was glad to answer questions after an exchange of the usual amenities; the house on the hill sells for $285,000 usd.  I’m sure there are a lot of better deals for those who want to buy from among the many older homes available.  Our intent, when we finally come here to retire, is to rent a nice place in a mixed neighborhood and our preference is to live in Chapala rather than Ajijic. 

In Ajijic, we looked hard for signs directing us to La Nueva Posada (i.e., the new hotel).  When we weren’t having much luck I impulsively made the turn at the Farmacia toward the lake since that was a likely street for the hotel.  About two blocks down toward the lake, we found the sign with a map of the area and continued on to where the restaurant should be.  We parked at the end of the dead-end street and walked back to the entrance; we could hear the buzz of many cheerful voices.  Upon entering the hotel, we could see into the crowded restaurant and noticed a sign announcing a substantial buffet in commemoration of the Canadian Thanksgiving.  We felt kind of out of place in shorts and polo shirts so, since there didn’t seem to be anyone available to show us in or chase us away, we left to look for a more suitable establishment.  Back on the carretera, we found that Salvador’s was open and decided to go there since we hadn’t tried that restaurant, yet.  There were quite a few people there, mostly Americans, and the sign in the entrance indicated that they were having a buffet.  That sounded pretty good.  The waiter brought menus and I asked about the buffet.  He led me to the corner of the room where there were a number of hot pans on a steam table, a selection of fruits and cereal, a salad bar, and some beverages.  On the side table, I found fresh-squeezed orange juice, chunks of watermelon, mango, and pineapple, and a kind of rice pudding, with very large raisins and sticks of cinnamon, that was just delicious; there were also pitchers of carrot juice and milk.  Next to that was the very small salad bar with mixed greens, diced tomatoes, shredded carrots, red onion, green pepper, broccoli, green olives (unpitted), and three colors of salad dressing.  The main courses included bread pudding, pollo con crema (chicken with cream), some kind of beef stew, pork chops, scalloped potatoes with ham, a Chinese rice dish with mixed vegetables, barbecued chicken wings, and lengua with gravy (tongue).  There could have been a little more but I can’t visualize it at the moment. 

Jane opted for the fried chicken from the menu and I selected the buffet.  Her dinner came with a sautéed vegetable medley, a choice of potatoes – she picked mashed – and the salad bar.  Although it was all very good, the highlight of her dinner was the diced tomatoes from the salad bar; they were like home-grown and she went back for seconds.  I tried almost everything on the buffet but somehow missed the pollo con crema.  The tongue was very lean and a little like thinly sliced round steak; it tasted good.  The freshly squeezed orange juice was especially good and I think I had three glasses during the meal.  I particularly liked the rice pudding so I had to repeat that one, too.  We particularly liked the scalloped potatoes – Jane had to have a taste – so we asked for a serving to go to have with our dinner that evening. 

On the way back to Jocotopec, we stopped at a local rotiseria in Ajijic to get some pollo asado (roast chicken) and bread for dinner; total cost for that was $57 pesos or about five bucks.  We figured that would go really well with the scalloped potatoes and it always smells so good.  Along the way, we always pass by several good-sized restaurants that line the shore between San Juan Cosala and Jocotopec that look pretty enticing with great views of the lake.  But, they always seem just about empty.  We asked Monica and Beatriz about eating at these places that specialize in seafood.  Both of them said they wouldn’t eat there because they were uncertain about cleanliness, care of food preparation, and the quality of the water.  We always have to slow down there because there are a number of topes in the road along that stretch.

Speaking of “topes”, here’s a note about the driving back and forth.  We haven’t been able to find a lot of restaurants and stores in Jocotopec of any interest so we have a preference to go into Ajijic and Chapala where there are lots of facilities; English is spoken widely there, too.  Chapala is the largest of the cities with up to 40,000 people and it is the county seat; it’s located at about the center of the north shore of Lake Chapala at the end of the road from Guadalajara.  Jocotopec is about 25 kilometers from Chapala along the shore at the West end of the lake; it is smaller than Chapala but the second largest city along the Ribera de Chapala (i.e., the Lake Chapala shoreline).  Ajijic is the center of the expatriate community for any number of reasons, but it is about 20 kilometers from Jocotopec.  Ajijic is the home of the Lake Chapala Society, the real estate industry, and many businesses that cater to Americans (e.g., US and Canadian expatriates).  Midway between Ajijic and Jocotopec is San Juan Cosala, a good-sized town that is known for its thermal baths and hot springs; this appears to be a resort favored by the Mexicans rather than the Americans, so we haven’t spent any time there.  Between Ajijic and Chapala there are a number of communities like La Floresta, San Antonio, and Chula Vista that contain many expatriate and mixed communities behind their high walls. 

Jocotopec has one traffic light downtown, Chapala has two, and Ajijic has a half dozen or so; maybe that’s why Ajijic always seems so crowded.  All the towns have many one-way streets and most of them alternate block by block.  There are always a lot of pedestrians, too, and they don’t all cross the street at the corners or in crosswalks.  But, the big difference between Mexican pedestrians and those in the states is that they are considerate and don’t insist on the right of way.  They usually just wait until there is a clear spot and then hurry across; dogs and cows are not nearly as cooperative.  The Mexican drivers are pretty aggressive, but at slower speeds.  They seem to drive all over the place, regardless of where the lanes are marked, but it seems like a collaboration the way they blend  together; they make efficient use of the shoulders and often drive in the left-hand lane to make a turn so they can get out of the way of the traffic behind them.  Outside of town, they drive as fast as they can as far as they can before they have to slow down for the topes or a slow truck or a dog in the street. 

Back at the Inn, we began to settle in for the evening.  We use this “free” time to read, sit on the porch, and write this journal.  I also take some time to talk with our hosts and ask questions about Mexico and the area around Jocotopec.  Mario and Monica are very gracious and speak excellent English.  We still haven’t had a chance or the motivation to try out the pool even though it has been warm enough every day.  Tonight for dinner, Jane prepared roast chicken with scalloped potatoes and bread; it was delicious.  I even took pictures to show that we can actually fend for ourselves.  It’s very convenient to have a microwave.  Maybe later we can get the Internet to work.  There’s nothing else to report here.

9 Oct 06 – Monday

Monday turned out to be a kick-back day; we didn’t’ even get dressed until the afternoon.  I had some journaling to do and wanted to play the computer game I brought, “Uru”; I never can find time to play it when I’m at home.  For those of you who are into games, this is the fourth in the series of “Myst” adventures and is a trek full of puzzles.  I had spent a lot of time with my game, did a little writing, and then the Internet came back.  In order to access the Internet, Mario has to plug in his equipment and boot up the router; he has a DSL connection through the telephone line much like we have at home.  My machine indicated that I had a good connection to the router, but it wouldn’t connect to the Internet; the dialogue box indicated that the computer couldn’t find the Internet.  We tried troubleshooting to no avail.  I even took my laptop to the office and set it right next to Mario’s but it still wouldn’t connect even those his did.   It was all very mysterious.  Now, the signal is back and my machine makes the connection just fine.  The only thing I did differently was restore the machine to its previous settings from a week ago.  I don’t have a clue why it wouldn’t work before. 

It was getting quite late in the afternoon when we realized that we were hungry and had nothing left in the refrigerator to eat.  So, we got into the car and headed toward Ajijic and then on into Chapala.  We decided we would like to eat in one of the nondescript restaurants along the main boulevard and watch the people and traffic go by.  We found a place to park right in front of La Lena and climbed the few stairs to sit at a front table right above the sidewalk.  The waiter was very friendly and happy to see us since there was no one else in the place; he didn’t speak English, so we were into challenges again.  Ordering “dos cocas” reminds me of the time in Germany when I ordered “zwei colas” and the lady behind the counter spoke back to me in English rather than German.  The Mexicans are so polite and helpful when I try to speak to them in my limited Spanish, but we somehow manage to communicate.  I know the waiter at Fonda Dona Lola’s speaks English, but he encourages me to speak Spanish and doesn’t answer me in English when I am trying to speak his language; that is very considerate and respectful.

There were a lot of different things on the menu than we were used to but, since we were feeling adventurous, we decided to try new things.  New for Jane is anything besides chili rellenos, chicken, or T-bone steak; this time she ordered the fajitas de res (beef).  I ordered a dish called “molcajetes”, and it turned out to be a chicken stew with green pepper, onion, tomato, and cilantro (at least), covered with melted cheese, and served in a heavy, stone bowl like a mortar (i.e., as in mortar and pestle).  Of course, there was a container of hot flour tortillas with the meal.  The appetizer was some tortilla chips with an assortment of chopped onions, a thin guacamole sauce, Pico de Gallo, and an excellent tomato salsa.  This place was far from fancy, but the food was good and the view entertaining.  We were right across the street from the main Mercado in Chapala separated by a divided boulevard with two lanes of traffic on each side.  A great many people and cars passed by as we enjoyed our meal and it was fun to watch their interactions.  Of special interest was the large swarm of mosquitoes or gnats that formed and grew very large just above the car parked directly in front of the restaurant; they didn’t seem to be anywhere else and none of the people walking on the sidewalk appeared to be bothered by them.  Jane is very susceptible to their bites and stings, so she kept a cigarette burning most of the time to discourage them just in case they decided to move.  It was like looking through a cloud just to see across the street; and then, most of them were suddenly gone. 

In spite of the insect threat, dinner was delicious and enjoyable.  We drove home in the dark and settled in for the night without further incident.  Except … later on the clouds rolled in, the wind blew, lightning danced through the sky, and it rained just a little bit for about two hours.  It adds credence to the myth that it only rains at night.