The first in a series of informative posts...

Well, I don't know about a series. Let's see how this one goes.

Many people north of the border think that the Cinco de Mayo is Mexican Independence Day, when it's really a small holiday commemorating the Battle of Puebla. But in Mexican Restaurants all over the U.S., it's turned into a holiday for gringos to eat nachos, swill Coronas, and sometimes wear silly hats. Here in Mexico, we don't even get the day off. Some holiday.

In Mexico, they pull out their silly hats for the (sort-of) real Independence Day, which is the 16th of September. I say sort of, because they didn't actually get their independence on that day, but it's sort of when the movement started.

This is actually one of my favorite Mexican history tales. I'm not sure if the way I tell it is 100% factual, but I like it better this way.

It all started with Miguel Hidalgo (this is a painting of him by Orozco that makes him look pretty tough). He was a priest, born in Mexico of Spanish parents. Reportedly he enjoyed the cards, the drink, and the ladies. He was also into organizing the indios and peasants into fighting against the Man. So the church banished him to some tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, then called Dolores (now called Dolores Hidalgo). While he was there, he continued organizing the indios, teaching them trades, etc.

While all this was going on, he was also organizing a revolution against the Spanish. He and his co-conspirators had it all planned out to happen in a few weeks. But, someone let the cat out of the bag. On September the 15th Miguel Hidalgo received word that the Spanish were on to him, so he had to start the war earlier than expected. So later that night, he made a famous speech from the steps of his church in Dolores, declaring war on the Spanish and calling (yelling, hence 'the Grito') for an independent Mexico. I guess the audience was pretty wrapped up in it, because no one knows exactly what he said.

So that night they grabbed their muskets, machetes, shovels, and hoes (haha) and started the march to Guanajuato. Seriously, they were armed with farm tools. Anyway, they made it to Guanajuato and took the place over, killing most of the Spanish in charge and many others.

Later, they went on to Mexico City, but lost. Miguel Hidalgo and his army tried to escape and hide out in the highlands of Jalisco, but they were eventually caught. Miguel Hidalgo was executed, and then his head was hung from the roof of a centrally-located warehouse in Guanajuato as a warning to anyone else who wanted to try a revolution. It hung there for 10 years--I imagine it must have been just a skull after a while. Side note, the warehouse is still there, as are the hooks from which Hidalgo's (and his teammates) heads hung.

So now, the Mexicans celebrate Independence by having a big party on the 15th, where the President give the Grito from the zocalo in Mexico City, and there are fireworks and lots of celebrating all through the night and into the next day--the official Independence Day, September 16th.

The Mexicans didn't actually achieve independence from the Spanish until 1821, but lost it again a few years later to the French, who installed the Austrian Archduke Maximilano as emperor.

And that's the story. There are a couple of other bits that I like too, involving one of Hidalgo co-conspirators Dona Josefa. The battle at Guanajuato also. But I guess I'll save those for another time.

For the differently abled...

 



 

So here you can see one of the many reasons I love Mexico--the wonderful attention to detail. The first picture shows the wheelchair accessible staircase. It is made wheelchair accessible by the addition of blue painted rails and the blue square with the wheelchair in it. Apparently we're supposed to just launch our friends in wheelchairs from the top step and hope they land safely at the bottom. (I assume this is the down-only staircase).




Then, someone with (just barely) more than half a brain noticed that this probably wasn't a good idea, so they changed the blue square with the wheelchair, and instead drew a nice picture of the (one and only) person at our school who walks with a cane. I'm sure she appreciates the railings, but probably not the portrait.

Chapter 3—The (really not-so-bad) drive from hell (or Alabama—same thing).

Well, okay. After all the family business, and car-packing, MPM and I hit the road for Ye Olde Mexico. The first day we drove from L.A. to just outside Houston, and the only time I remembered to take a picture was when we crossed the Mississippi River in Baton Rouge. MPM was not really that impressed with my knowledge of the founding of Louisiana and Mississippi River lore. Inconceivable!

I wish we’d have had more time. I wanted to take MPM to New Orleans, and to spend more time around Alabama, and see some other things visitors must do, but I had to get to Mexico City quick-like, and he had to get back too. So we just drove.

The motel in Houston (his choice) was basically a truck-stop with beds. It wasn’t quite as bad as the motel in which I found a pair of red men’s bikinis behind the bathroom door, but it was full of truckers and migrant-type workers. Good folks, all. Fine people. Hard-working. It was just a place to stop the truck and sleep, after all. Here is a photo of MPM unpacking the CrackerTracker for his favorite shirt. Lots’o’trouble for Abercrombie, but worth it (?) I guess. Notice the truckload of crap I have.

After a good sleep and a delicious breakfast from the convenience store, we drove all the next day to Monterrey (Mexico). We crossed the border at the Friendship Bridge, or whatever they call it, with no trouble. MPM was amazed at the difference, just on the opposite sides of the river. On the US side, they were pleasant, efficient, and hardly asked any questions at all. But once we got to the Mexican side, it was obvious we were back in Mexico (by the way, these are MPM’s own observations). We had to look for the immigration guy to stamp our visas. Apparently it was his lunch break and had left the office. MPM went to pee, but the bathroom had no water, so he couldn’t flush or wash his hands. Then we passed through customs without a search of me or the stuff in the car (righteous indignation from MPM—he had been searched three ways to Sunday when he flew into the U.S.) But then, we were stopped by the Mexican army guys, who asked me a couple of questions, and looked through two suitcases—one full of my shoes, and the other full of MPM’s shoes. Irritating MPM even more. He thinks his country is ass-backwards in a lot of ways, and it’s their own fault. He’s really idealistic, though, and wants to work in the gov’t to change things. He sees inefficiency and corruption in Mexico, I see color and contrast. In the U.S., he sees efficiency and order, and I see sameness and boredom.

Anyway. Monterrey is a pretty cool city. It’s surrounded by mountains (maybe really big big hills), and one of them crops up right in the middle of town. Supposedly there’s a cable car to the top. Never saw it, though—and we saw lots of the city. We got lost in the maze of course, and argued pointlessly about staying in a nice hotel, which was full anyway. But we got lucky after we decided to go on to Saltillo, and found a really nice hotel on the edge of town for a price he could live with. We even had a really nice dinner at the restaurant next door. A little pricey, but we’d been eating from the shelves of truck stops, so we felt we deserved it. This photo is of the (big hill) just behind the hotel. Dramatic, right? I love big clouds.

The drive after Monterrey (well, Saltillo, actually) goes through a big nowhere-land, maybe not officially a desert, but close enough. The clouds are usually really beautiful. On the side of the road you see all kinds of people under tarps selling strange fruits, snakeskins, or gasoline in milk jugs at way-jacked-up prices (it’s a long way between gas stations).

We were both ready to get to Guadalajara, so we didn’t stop again after Monterrey. We got to Guadalajara at about 11 that night. Since I’ve been in Atlanta, MPM and his Puerto Rican roommate Jose had moved to a decent neighborhood in a pretty bad area of town. Strange, but the bad area is on top of a big hill that has great views of the city. Their little neighborhood is some developer’s attempt to reclaim the hill for decent folk. This is the view from MPM’s bedroom. It’s actually really cool at night. You can see some more construction going on just below. More reclamation I suppose. The reason MPM had to be back was because he and Jose were supposed to moving that next week to better digs.

Ahh, Guadalajara. I had a great four days there, going to all the same old places, seeing all the same old faces. I really do like it there, and still have many good friends. We even went to see MPM’s mom, in a small town about 45 mins outside the city. It’s a cute little town, mostly. No tourists, ever (not much to see, really). This is MPM, aka Mr. Cool Big Man With a Razr in the Small Town. The town has a great name, though. Pronounce this: Tlajomulco de Zuñiga.

Coming up after a short break: the big move to the big city.

Riding Low in the Tracker...

No, I haven't gone crazy customizing the tracker (see it's a tracker, so what?) It's just packed so full, it's starting to look like a lowrider. All it needs is some 20s and neon. This picture is not it, by the way. I've spent most of the afternoon packing everything I own into the poor little car, and I'm still worried that I won't be able to get everything in it. But, regardless, I'm leaving tomorrow with all my things--strapped on top or pulled behind if need be. Now don't worry, this time I'm only going to my parents' house to sort and re-pack. Some things to take with, some to store, and some to just get rid of.

I'll be back in Atlanta on the 18th of July or so. The Mexican is flying in on the 19th to see some sites, and to help me drive back to Mexico. We'll hang around Atlanta for a couple of days, and then head for the border! I hope that everyone gets a chance to meet him while he's here.

I'm glad that things are finally getting going. It seems like I've been planning, and packing, and talking about moving for months on end. At last, things are starting to happen. But I know I'm going to forget something.

What exactly I'm doing awake at 1:36 am...

I left the spider alone, and have been relaxing and reading a book called Boomsday, by Christopher Buckley. Someone else summarizes it better here:

Christopher Buckley's first novel since Thank You for Smoking is Boomsday. In a satire reminiscent of Jonathan Swift's "Modest Proposal," the plot of Boomsday revolves around a blogger's idea to provide government incentives (tax breaks, etc.) for Baby Boomers to kill themselves (er, "voluntarily transition") in order to ensure the long-term solvency of Social Security. Outrageous, yes ... but wait'll you see what happens to the idea once the "American political system" gets a hold of it (no spoilers here, go read the book).

Okay, well yes, it is an amusing book, all the political goings-on around Washington, DC. Buckley is clever, and makes some none-too-veiled jabs at our current administration, and at the flawed governmental system in general. Pretty fun.

But. It got me thinking. It's a bit like science fiction, only it's predicting a future that's right around the corner. Unless something is done, our Social Security system will be insolvent in some amount of years--is it 10? 20? (I think these people have thought it out a bit more carefully than I). Also, I can't help but wondering if the much-debated "illegal immigrant" problem could be part of the solution? Who wouldn't want millions of legal workers paying for their retirement?

I've gotten a couple of reports from Social Security about my retirement: If I retire when I'm 65 years old, I'll get something like $300 a month. That's low because many of my jobs haven't paid into SS, but into a private fund instead (which I immediately withdrew and spent each time I changed jobs). On the other hand, my Mexican AFORE and another fund with Seguro Social de Mexico promises a bit more than that, and includes free health care. SO, let's tally, shall we? After four years of working in Mexico, I have more money saved for retirement there than I do after what, 15 years working in the US?

The reason is, I must confess, the Mexican savings fund I have doesn't allow me to take anything out of it until I reach retirement age. The savings funds here have always allowed me access to the money. I guess I need more discipline. My own fault, but I'm trying to work with what I was given!

So that's another reason to live in Mexico.

I'm NO LONGER undocumented...

Well, I went today to the Mexican Consulate here in Atlanta to pick up my work visa. I now have official status: No inmigrante visitante con actividades lucrativas. I'm not sure how lucrative my activities will be, but hey, what do I know?

It was fun going there--there were about a million people (Mexican, I assume) having picnics, sleeping in their cars, letting their kids pee in the shrubs. I guess they had to wait a long time to get whatever they were getting. Mine was pretty easy. I just had to go one day and fill out a form and pay some money, (and hand over my photos). Then, the next day (today), I went to pick it up my FM-3. I felt sooo Janet Jackson at the velvet rope. The security guard didn't even try to stop me--I just walked right in, and walked right out. I almost wish that I had had some excuse to hang out for awhile, and chat the people up, maybe share a sandwich or take a nap in the car. I would've liked to have been united in the waiting, swap some stories or complaints.

But at least now I have the right to import my household goods, and work for money while I'm in Mexico.

Training Exercise #1

Well, I guess we could call it training for the big move. Even though it was a school night, a group of friends and I went to see Mexican music sensation (!) Julieta Venegas in concert. Okay, maybe 'sensation' is overstating it. But you know, I did think it would have been more crowded. I had the impression that she was a big star, but maybe not--I looked at her web site, and she's playing small clubs all over the U.S. Maybe just not a big star here.

Either way, it was pretty fun. We sprung for the VIP tickets, and so we didn't have to wait in line, and we got to sit in the barricaded-off front section, complete with tables and a blond waitress to bring us beverages. The masses were behind us, standing. I wonder if I should insert something about economics and class system in action here? Nah. I'll stick it to The Man later. (maybe I AM the man...oh, well).

But the show was great. Julieta sang her hits, some new stuff, and some old stuff. On key most of the time (am I the only one who's noticed some pitch problems in live shows?) The crowd was happy. They were so happy, in fact, that they stood in front of me taking photos until I asked them to move. I politely blew smoke on them first, though. No one got the hint.

During one of the encores (Sin Documentos), an Argentinian chick asked if it was okay if she stood in front of me for this song, because it was an Argentinian song. I didn't know before, but I think Sin Documentos is a cover. Some preliminary investigation revealed this video, which appears to predate Julieta by quite a while. I'm sure I could learn more if I tried, but I'm just too lazy.

AND, the poor guy beside me. He'd printed out his favorite JV photos, and had his Sharpie all set to go, and then when Julieta finished singing, he rushed the stage to beg an autograph. He was the only one! There wasn't a mad crush or anything. No one had to pull passed-out sweaty teenagers over the barricades. But she didn't sign it. She took flowers from someone else, but didn't even bend down to acknowledge the guy. He was disappointed, to say the least. But...I think he had snuck into the VIP area.

Maybe I should've used my cred to get it for him. It's the least I could do, being a VIP and all...