Buenos dias Amigos!
The trip to Villa Morelos on
Jan 25 was impressive on several fronts. While there, we met a
youth (seemed to be related to one of Juan's godmothers) who was shot seven
days previous! He was shot in the shoulder, apparently by some one from
a nearby rancho. One has to speculate that alcohol was involved, and
perhaps roosters, as well. He looked pretty uncomfortable, but he walked
all over town with us. Juan says the police were not involved, as they
don't want to get shot. Allegedly, the shooter is paying the doctor
bills, now that he has sobered off. Talk about the wild west!
Speaking of roosters, Cam and
Juan disappeared for several hours while we were in Villa Morelos. Juan
had brought a cock with him, which fought in that gory Mexican tradition,
and won both skirmishes. The process took hours of betting, drinking,
haggling, etc, and the actual fight allegedly takes just seconds. Anyway,
Juan was pretty pleased because he won $800 pesos (about US $80 - a substantial
sum!) and his rooster was barely injured. He then promptly gave the
champion cock to his cousin.
Meanwhile, Steve, Isaac and
I were hanging out with Juan's cousin Adrian and his family, and wandering
around the village. Adrian's daughter was married last weekend in a
huge white wedding, and she and her husband were there with photos of the
big event. They are living in his village, San Miguel, which had "toros"
happening. We all agreed to go see the toros (bulls) once we learned
that this was not a traditional Spanish bull fight to the death, but a rodeo
with cowboys roping and riding bulls - no blood and gore.
San Miguel was a small, traditional
village on a bumpy dirt and stone road clearly designed for horse, burro
and foot traffic! An ancient circular stone wall provided the toro ring
as well as audience seating, and a smaller ring held the bulls. There
were very few vehicles there - most people seem to have come on horseback.
There were 8 - 10 cowboys riding around the ring at all times, throwing lassos
at the bull, or holding it down. They first roped his neck. The
rider who did it rode around the ring keeping the rope taut and simultaneously
avoiding the bull's occasional lunges with his horns. The others took
turns trying to rope his back legs. When they got him, they rode
away and down he went, stretched between the two riders. Young cowboys
ran over, and they attached a rope around his middle, and one hopped on using
this as a handle. Some raised their arms while being snapped forward,
back and every which way, showing off the strength of their leg grip.
Others had traditional bright blankets and ponchos, with which they taunted
the bull. When the rider fell and ran out, the cowboys again roped and
brought down the bull to remove all the ropes. One had the
sense that this tradition had been going on for a long time!
After the last bull was ridden,
the cowboys raced their mounts through the adjoining fields, and chased bulls
around and generally gave vent to high spirits. Several gathered around
us, asking where we are from and asking for photos. Said one, "Send
that photo to Hollywood!" Another made his horse kneel, and drink a
beer, and then had Steve and Cam pose for photos on it. What a scene!
On the way home, we stopped
at a friend of Adrian's, and bought two baby turkeys. Adrian also loaned
us a hen with 9 baby chicks for our back yard. Adrian is a larger than
life character - loud and funny and boisterous. Drinks like a fish.
He is trying to save $1500 to hire a coyote to help him cross illegally into
the US for work. He has done this before, and proudly showed off his
fake SS card, green card, etc. The guy has electric lights and a tv,
but no power bill. Three years ago, he climbed the pole near his house,
tapped into the live wire, and ran a wire over the ground to his house.
The line isn't even buried, but the kids, dogs, chickens etc etc play and
wander all around it. Jeez.
The turkeys and chicks have
been a constant source of amusement for us as we sit in our backyard in the
sun. As Isaac says, the turkeys are so ugly, stupid and loud, they are
cute! Initially the hen allowed the two turkey chicks, already half
her size, to curl up with her and her chicks at night. But during the
day, she chased them away. They would follow along with her little
family, crying and whining loudly. A few days later, we got a couple
of slightly older turkey chicks, and this has created a turkey family more
comfortable for the babies! Not to mention that poor hen!
Our friend Brigit requested
a trip to Morelia for Kentucky Fried Chicken, which she apparently came to
like when she lived on the US border in Mexicali. We couldn't quite
go for that genetically modifed product they try to pass off as chicken, but
we agreed to go to a Pizza Hut. It was a fun trip, though we (the Americans,
anyway) all agreed we would rather eat tacos on the street. Next
door was a Walmart - we went in and got real American coffee (yippee!!), a
bottle of passable red wine, some gouda cheese, and some specialized food
so Cam could cook us a delicious Chinese food feast, a la Single Pebble.
Next day, Juan wanted to go
to a village beyond Villa Morelos which allegedly had lots of turkeys.
We had decided we wanted to get some company for our little ones, and Juan
had decided he wanted some grown turkeys. This little village
was even more isolated in the mountains than San Miquel. The road just
ended in a track, surrounded by old adobe housed enclosed with animal
pens and various outbuildings by ancient stone walls. Each had a hollowed
half of a big round stone for washing clothes and dishes. There were,
in fact, many turkeys in this village. Juan bought three - he tied their
feet together, and put them in the back of the van to flop around. He
put some hens he bought and our littler turkeys together in a grain sack for
the ride.
We had a Chinese feast of salmon,
fried rice and dry fried green beans for breakfast next morning. Then
off to pick up Adrian and family for yet another toro rodeo in yet another
mountain village. The men all are dressed to the nines, with flawless
white sombreros, snappy cowboy boots and decorative shirts. Many also
have a traditional poncho or blanket thrown over their shoulder or saddle.
They sell beer and everyone drinks heavily. Periodically a horse started
bucking wildly, and once a bull got loose and stampeded through the audience.
On these occasions, the audience roars, and people (including us) scramble
out of the way. Once in a while a cowboy fires his pistol into the air,
in a fit of joy. The first time this happened, Juan leaned over to reassure
me. "No problem, Sarah," he says, "it's not dangerous. It is just
Mexican custom." Driving home that night about 9 p.m., Juan tells us
that it is not safe to drive that stretch of road after 10 or 12 p.m., because
bandidos are known to stop traffic, and shoot and rob people. Even buses
don't travel it at night. This is really like the wild west, with a
whole different set of rules. Every time we meet some one, the first step
is to clarify whose amigo we are, and who they are related to. Whew.
We were sad to say goodbye to
Cameron on Feb 4. We tried at the last minute to change his ticket
again, so he could stay another month, but the airlines wouldn't allow it.
So now we are down to just the three of us again. We have spent the
last two days, after the burst of activity detailed in this endless missive,
resting and reading in the sun.
Hope you are all well - did
the groundhog see his shadow? You are almost through the winter, and
we have been here in Cuitzeo for almost two months. Where does the time
go?
Loads of love and warm wishes,
Sarah, Steve and Isaac
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