May 16, 2015

I haven’t sat down to write in a while because I’ve been listless and sad.  The former feeling comes from the uncertainty I have about my mom’s situation.  She’s doing her best but sounds either overwhelmed or in pain or bored most of the time when I phone her.  She’s too old to adjust to a new life, alone, and I don’t know what to do to help her.   I don’t want to devote my whole life to her, so I encourage her every attempt at independence, but I don’t think she is buoyed by being able to do things on her own, as I was.   And I am saddened by the death of my high school friend, Liz White.  Mom often says that she wishes she had died when dad did.  Liz, like Jim, died too young.  

 It’s the Saturday before Victoria Day, and all’s quiet on the Vernon front.  Tomorrow I lead the hike up Sugarloaf.  We scouted it on Wednesday, and I went biking and helped a friend clean the outside of her mobile home on Thursday, so I am now enjoying two days of reading, restful housework and fixing up the yard.  Yesterday I bought and planted a Spartan Juniper.  I think it’s the name that attracted me.  I’m determined to plant only hardy, drought-resistant things because it sounds as if, after a winter of less snow than usual and a spring with little rain, we are facing a dry summer in the Okanagan.  What could be tougher than a ‘Spartan’?  I have planted 3 other small junipers as ground cover and a dwarf Alberta spruce.  That’s the end of my Spring-planting madness, I hope.   

The VOC on East Vernon Hill, with Kalamalka Lake in the background

Mo at the Brown Derby in Armstrong, where we had breakfast in the middle of our bike ride last Saturday.  The sign says it all; it's a great breakfast. 

Wild flowers on Camel's Hump

Miche's Visit

Monday, May 4^th and I’m getting grounded.  Talking with Jay this morning helped start the process.  Seeing him and May and the girls and hearing about all the ups and downs of family life always injects a lively note of reality into my mollusk shell and makes me look forward to the vitality they will bring into this house.  Talking with Jay about what we both are doing gives those events a meaning that I sometimes find is missing from my life as a widow, retired from a real job.  I have enjoyed learning how to live alone in this wonderful house and to make a life for myself in Vernon, but I’m ready for some changes, whatever they might be. Today I’m not going to get beyond putting away winter clothes and bringing up the spring and summer stuff.  This time, I’m determined to throw many of both into the bag for The Mission, but I always have that resolution until I actually am faced with realizing it, and then I think, ‘Well there aren’t any holes in this, it’s only about 10 years old, I like the color, etc., etc.’, and hang it up for another season.

This is something else that makes me look forward to the arrival of the gang.  I’ll have to get rid of a bunch of old junk then.  There just won’t be room for it.  The only other thing that has ever made me throw out old stuff has been moving.  Fortunately we’ve done quite a bit of that. I have been renewed by each move.

Miche is back on the VIA train enjoying the relaxing voyage from Kamloops to Toronto in her suite, with meals and the wonderful timelessness of train travel.  The whole VIA passenger system is a timeless zone with cars sidelined for freight without a thought.  It was futile trying to figure out the schedule when she arrived in Kamloops.  I phoned VIA before leaving home naively hoping to get some idea of arrival time.  The man who answered was very accommodating.  He had me hold while he made a serious attempt to answer my question.  When he returned, he said he was pretty sure the train would get in around 12:30am.  After getting lost in Kamloops in the dark trying to find the tiny, well-hidden north station, I arrived at around midnight to find three workers standing around completely innocent of information, a tiny waiting room with one woman sitting cross legged on a wooden bench in a state of meditation, a bathroom (thank heaven) and an old couple awake and waiting in their car.  I was prepared for this.  I got out a pillow and blanket, kicked back the driver’s seat and fell asleep in spite of the noisy shunting of train cars.  I awoke around 2:30am to silence; the old couple had left and the woman was now flaked out on the hard bench, covered in most of the clothes that had been in her suitcase.  After another two hours Miche arrived, we drove home, ate cereal, closed all the blinds and slept until after noon.  Then we slowly got back to normal and the visit began.

We had to make a few adjustments learning to live together, but nothing major, and we had some good times.  Miche started by renting a bike and ended up buying it and having it shipped back home when she left, so we did a lot of biking.  It was fun for me to actually be the one leading; I’m a follower with the VOC.  We took a drive into the Kootenays to check out some hot springs.  That is some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen.  We spent the night in Nakusp, found a wonderful coffee shop there, relaxed in the hot springs and walked around the area.  I was happy that Miche was able to meet some of my friends.  Mo had us for dinner and a hot tub on Sunday and Miche made crepe for lunch for me, Mo and Noreen on the day she left.  I drove her to Kamloops on Friday afternoon to catch the train early Saturday morning.  She had decided to stay the night in a hotel near the north station to save us both from having to drive from Vernon at about 4:00am.  An excellent idea, but even it was not good enough to avoid all ‘issues’.  We arrived at the hotel just after a gang of loud old bikers.  They filled the hotel reception area with their physical size and the volume of their self-conscious comments and demands.  The poor young East Indian woman at the desk had her considerable patience stretched.  Miche and I went outside to wait in peace.  Finally Miche was settled in a quiet part of the hotel and we went for a bowl of soup at a nearby restaurant.  I left her preparing to introduce herself to two sisters who were also going to catch the train in the morning.  She hoped that they could take a cab together.  Having Miche stay in my house was fun.  It makes what I’m doing here seem more real when someone I know from my other life shares this one with me for a while.    

Miche in my sun room with her new Giant bike

The path through the mossy woods near Nakusp Hot Springs

The rushing river that the path follows

The bridge over the river

The guys who built the bridge

Home Sweet Home, or not

I had a window seat on the Alaska Airlines flight from PV to LA and couldn’t take my eyes off the arid landscape we flew over for the last 20mins. before coming to the vast sprawl of LA.  There’s been a lot on the news lately about the drought in California and the fact that as almond trees suck up a lot of moisture we should boycott almonds from there.  This combined with the pictures we see on t.v. of desperate Mexicans trying to cross the desert wastes into Arizona and the fact that the heat of the day on the sands of the beach at Guayabitis the last days I was there took my breath away worked on my mind as I looked out the window.  I was filled with fear at the mere thought of being down there.  Crashing was the least of my worries.  The plane didn’t crash.  We landed in LA airport, hardly an oasis.  I can easily understand why Incheon Airport has been voted the best in the world for about 9 years.  It’s a model of cleanliness, efficiency and architectural beauty compared to LA and Mexico City. 

The rest of the flights were uneventful.  I left my declaration paper on my seat in Kelowna and consequently was at the back of a long line of sunburned holidayers, so Mo had to wait for me.  We had a good chat on the drive to Vernon.  It was about 1:00am when we arrived at my home sweet home.  I was so happy to walk in the door, but what followed was sobering.  It was cold, but I had expected that and confidently turned up the heat.  Only the fan came on.  No heat.  Then Mo pointed out something she had noticed when she came over earlier to leave me muffins, bananas and milk for my breakfast.  The guts of the toilet tank were sticking up and the lid was lying on an angle on top.  We tried to puzzle things out but at that hour and with no knowledge of what we were dealing with there was no hope.  Mo had to go home because John was back from his work north of Fort Mac. for only 3 days.  I took a gravol to calm my shattered nerves, put on warm things as I had for 3 nights in Guanajuato and crawled under my quilt to try to sleep.  Eventually I did.  I awoke the next morning and made a good cup of cappuccino, which I ate with Mo’s muffins and a banana.  I arose from the table determined to take on one task at a time, and together with the help of John and Mo and many pros., I now have all the problems fixed.  The real mystery was the toilet, but after talking tanks and fill valves in about 5 different plumbing stores and sitting in the hot tub discussing things with Mo, I’m finally convinced that, improbable as it seems, after the water’s being off for 4 weeks the pressure created by Taiyo’s turning on the water in the basement so he could water the cedars was probably sufficient to push the fill valve up, raising the porcelain tank top.

It’s 6:00pm Tuesday evening. I have cut the grass, weeded the flowerbeds, watered the cedars and vacuumed the house.  All is ready.  Micheline arrives in Kamloops on the VIA train at midnight.  Well, the time of arrival is uncertain.  The train was 5 hours late out of Edmonton.  I will call and try to find out if it made time between there and Jasper.  I’m going to take a blanket and book in case I have to wait. 

A bamboo bicycle built for two that we saw a few times in Guadalajara.  The couple made me think of Dervla Murphy. 

La Penita

It's 11:00 am. Barb and I are in our big red chairs in her livingroom eating breakfast and watching the Sens game. Barb and her boys are real fans. They text each other throughout the games, and this is an important one because if the Sens don't win they're out of the finals, unless some team loses tonight. I don't understand the details, but I'm happy to join the excitement. After getting up at 7:00, having coffee on the roof of the casita, watcing birds and an iguana then biking around Rincon and walking to downtown La Penita to pick up some groceries, I'm ready to get out of the heat and spectate. Barb has the fan on, there's a good breeze coming through the window and the Sens just scored the first goal,so all's well.  Barb's nerves have gone from shattered to only slightly crazed. 

We came here from Guadalahara in an air conditioned Primera Plus bus, over the Sierra Madres, down through agave and cane fields and along the winding coastal road to La Penita. As the door opened, the hot air greeted us like an old friend. And this evening, Barb and I will join two of her friends for margaritas, so I'm finally having a real Mexican holiday. Barb and I have had some good late afternoon swims in the Pacific and lovely evenings, so I'd be a real 'cvetcher' if I complained about the heat after only a few days of it, but I will. It was so hot this morning that I was perspiring before I even got on the bike.  This trip has been an experience of extremes, from so cold at night, at about 6,000 feet in Guanajuato, that I wore all my warm clothes to bed for three nights, to so hot at sea level in La Penita that I can hardly wiggle into my bathing suit to go swimming I'm so sweaty. 

I'm spending my last days enjoying my time with Barb, who is very happy at this moment because the Sens just beat the Flyers.  

Barb watering plants on the roof of the casita behind her casa. This is where we have our morning coffee and rest in the shade at any time.  You can look out over the river and see all sorts of birds, up a palm at an iguana or to the right over the jolly barnyard at horses, pigs, roosters and chickens. 

 

Guadalajara

April 8, 12:30pm and our bus is pulling out of the new bus station in Guadalajara on time. We have our Bimbo lunches, the tv screens have dropped and the air conditioing is humming, so I'm kicking back in anticipation of the usual smooth ride on a Mexican bus. On the drive from Patzcuaro to Guadalajara I watched 'Jane Eyre' ( the one in which Judy Dench plays the housekeeper) in Spanish. I hadn't realized how little dialogue there was in that version; I understood much of it. 

Barb and I stayed in the Hotel San Francisco in the old part of Guadalajara. It's the one Jim, Jay and I stayed in about 18 years ago. It's been painted and freshened up a bit but still brought back fond memories. 

We visited many places that I remembered and some that I didn't. I paid much more attention to the murals by José Clemente Orozco than I had before. I remember thinking that they were huge and horrific, and they are, but on this visit to 'El Instituto Cultural Cabañas' an enthusiastic guide approached me with a couple of interesting comments on Orozco's work. I was fascinated, as he knew I would be, and a short tour ensued for which I happily paid him 50 pesos. I now know that Orozco is the most harshly realistic of the 3 Mexican muralists I've seen so far. He's not idealistic about either the Mexican or Communist Revolutions.  I also learned that he lost his left hand when he was young and a bit about his ability to paint huge murals some of which seem to turn 180 degrees as you observe them from different places. 

The horses appear to be upside down from this perspective. 

From another place in the room they appear to be running normally

This is one of Orozcos bleakest images of the horrors of all forms of power, especially religious and political. 

Orozco even makes Hidalgo look dubious about the Revolution

The main square in Guadalajara in the evening. 

On a lighter note, a little girl with her fishing net on the boat we took to Janitzio, the main island in Lake Patzcuaro. 

Patzcuaro

Patzcuaro is neither as imposing a city as Morelia nor as colourfully situated among hills as Guanajuato, but Barb and I are getting to like it more and more as we wander around it. Our hotel is small and well located for walking to the two main plazas, 'grande' and chico'.  Other means of transport we have used are taxis, 'colectivos' ( vans that are colour-coded and take you all over the city for seven pesos) and 'lanchas' ( motor boats of different sizes that take you to the islands in the 'lago de Patzcuaro').  As this is Semana Santa, which, along with The Day of the Dead, is one of the biggest holidays in Patzcuaro, we have attended a mass to celebrate The Last Supper, watched the 'Procesión De Los Cristos' ( images of Christ on the cross or in a casket that are made from a corn stalk paste, some of which are hundreds of years old) and luckily run into the 'Procesion del Silencio' on Saturday night. Either we were lucky or we are starting to run on Mexican time because when the parade didn't come as scheduled, we went on with our dinner. As we were walking back to our hotel, the parade crossed our path. 

Tomorrow morning we will take a bus to Morelia and then another to Guadalajara, where we plan to spend a couple of days before going to Barb's place in La Penita. 

Tarascan women cooking big deformed corn in a molassas-tasting syrup over open wood fires on Thursday night, the celebration of The Last Supper in most of the churches in town. 

Women carrying a statue of Mary in the Thursday parade that reenacted the Stations of the Cross. 

Some young boys looking for excitement as the participants gather outside the Basilica in preparation for Friday night's 'Processión de los Christos'

Members of the Hermandad de los Encapuchados de la Tercera Orden del Templo de San Francisco ( they include women, although the women in the parade were neither hooded nor barefoot), who were the only participants in the parade. 

Some of the few things we've done that have nothing to do with Easter are visit islands in the 'Lago de Patzcuaro'. This is the island of Janitzio which is topped by a gargantuan statue of Morelos. 

This will probably be my last picture of Hidalgo and Morelos. It's a very small part of a mural that covers the inner walls of the statue of Morelos. We climbed up to his wrist from where we had a good view of the lake and surrounding countryside. 

 

Morelia

Barb and I met in the bus station in Morelia exactly as planned, 'milagro'!!!

Things have been going well ever since, aside from the fact that I have pink eye and her back and hips are aching at times. But we're still covering kilometres on foot and in 'colectivos'. On one of our walks after a night when my eye really hurt, we passed a farmacia next to a hole-in-the-wall doctor's office. I had used this combo once before in Mexico, so I went into the Dr.'s office, and, after a five minute wait, had a pretty complete checkup for which I paid 35 pesos, just over $3.00, got a prescription for antibiotic eye drops which I filled at the farmacia next door for 60 pesos and we were back on the road in about 20 mins. The drops seem to be working. 

The 'parte antigua' of Morelia is the most  impressive   Spanish Colonial city I have ever been in. The main street is wide.  Countless uniformed 'ciquistadors' on horseback and women in wide crinolined dresses could have swept abreast along it in grand style.  The side streets cross it at right angles, forming a carefully ordered grid,lined with imposing old government buildings and churches dating back to 1531,what remains of a rich, powerful, cruel and grand empire. Many of the buildings are constructed of a pink cantera stone that has a rosy glow, especially in the morning and evening light.  Walking by them and through them you feel the sweeping power of the Spanish Government and Catholic Church.

 Barb and I stayed in the Alfredo Zalce suite in our hotel.  As a result, I got to know another Mexican muralist. He is from Morelia; we saw quite a few of his works, especially in the Palacio de Gobierno, a building that epitomizes the best of Spanish Colonial architechture. It's a massive square of stone and heavy, carved wood surrounding a bright and airy open centre. The murals are on the walls of the second floor balcony. 

On this trip to Mexico I have been in an area where the complex relationship of church and state in the country's history is hard to miss. In Guanajuato the importance of Hidalgo, the priest who  uttered the first cry for independence from the tyranny of the Spanish Government and Catholic Church in 1810, was everywhere. In Morelia it is the warrior priest Morelos, who was inspired by Hidalgo and led the fighting after the latter was executed in 1811 until he himself was excommunicated and then shot by firing squad in 1815, whose memory kept alive. The city now bears his name. Many of the people in this area are well aware of their past struggles for liberty and see the need to contonue them today. 

Barb and I did not find especially good food in Morelia, except that on our first night we shared some Michoacán tomales with great sauces at the restaurant in Hotel Casino Lu. So we decided to return there for our last meal. We both had ribs with yam chips. It was very good. 

The Cathedral in Morelos in the evening light as seen from a rooftop restaurant with OK food but a really wonderful view. 

Part of one of Alfredo Zalce's murals showing Hidalgo and Morelos

One of my favorite parts of another of Zalce's murals. I like the proud posture and expression of both the man and the woman. 

Me on the main street of Morelia with two enthusiastic students whose questionaire on tourists' comments on Morelia Barb and I had filled out. 

A statue of a bird in a park that runs along part of what remains of a Spanish acquaduct. 

A statue illustrating the legend of the Virgin of Guadalupe. 

The belltowers of the cathedral as seen from inside the main government building.