Day 5: It’s Starting to Look a Lot Like Navidad

Someone turned on Christmas overnight. I woke up to lights and displays hung over the streets in the heart of Old Town, a giant Christmas tree-esque monstrosity near the main plaza, and today was apparently schoolchildren singing day, because I stumbled onto not one, but two school concerts on the malecón. Or possibly the same concert for 12 hours. That is not out of the question.

I also woke up to a surprise visitor — a wookie-sized, dying cockroach on the floor in the living room of my apartment. I though it was dead, as it was lying on its back in the manner favored by deceased insects and recently-passed Soviet heads of state, but every once in a while it would wave its legs or its antennae in a manner that suggested it was only waking up groggily from a very intense nap. (I would experience a similar sensation around 4:30 p.m., only with slightly less antennae-waving.)

Eventually I believe the cockroach fully expired, although I have not yet had the wherewithal to actually attempt to pick it up and throw it off the balcony. For all I know it’s playing possum and will eat my lungs if I get too close to it.

Not to scale, unless you are reading this on an IMAX screen:

After my Morning Cockroach Encounter I went out for a run, which lasted all of 13 minutes before the gentle call of the ocean and a profound laziness had me sitting on the malecón and enjoying the morning breezes. I eventually wandered over to the main plaza, where a group of schoolchildren were singing Christmas songs for peace. The songs were all recorded, with vocals, and the kids were singing along and adding backup. It had a slight Milli Vanilli quality to it, but the kids get a pass because they all wear school uniforms here which makes them 700% more adorable.

My favorite weird sculpture on the malecón:

On my way back home I discovered a fresh-squeezed orange juice stand just blocks from the apartment. (Note to grammar sticklers: “Fresh-squeezed” modifies orange juice in this context, not the stand.) The woman who worked there told me it was the best orange juice in Puerto Vallarta. I asked her if she would be there again tomorrow, and she told me yes, in fact she had been in that same spot for 20 years. It’s the best orange juice I’ve ever had. Fifteen pesos for a tall glass. I’ve got a new morning routine, and it’s spelled O-J!

I spent the rest of the day working, and then went out before sunset for a long dusky walk on the beach. I started by heading south to the gayest of the gay part of the beach (I spent a summer in San Francisco, and this makes the Castro District look like a Michele Bachmann rally), then winding my way north along the shoreline. The waves crash hard on that part of the beach, and it was a spectacular sunset walk with my toes in the sand, dodging the surf.

At the north end of the beach I sat for a while enjoying people watching and people-with-dogs watching, before wandering into town for a longer stroll.

Everyone seems to have a dog here, and of those dogs, approximately 99.99% are chihuahuas with sweaters. Many people have multiple chihuahuas (which still does not equal one normal dog). I have easily seen more chihuahuas in the last four days than the rest of my life combined. I think they must have a chihuahua vending machine at the airport. I don’t mean to speak ill of people’s four-legged companions, but if your dog requires a sweater in MEXICO you might want to rethink your choice in pets.

There was another (or perhaps the same) schoolchildren concert back at the main plaza tonight. I got to enjoy a particularly screechy rendition of “Happy Christmas (War is Over)” (in English), as well as whatever the translation of “Jingle Bells” is in Spanish. (It may be ”Tiny dogs, tiny dogs, let’s all have them spayed…”). 

The other highlight of my day (and this should give you an idea about how languid a Mexican vacation can be) was taking my laundry to the lavanderia down the hill to have it washed. It felt like a delightful splurge to spend $4 to have my laundry washed, neatly folded and returned to me in a bag. Considering that I packed three days worth of clothing and reached day five before doing laundry, that may account for why my apartment is attracting enormous, rapidly-dying insects.

Day 4: The Tortilla Queue

I learned today that the proper way to buy tortillas is by the kilo. My previous forays into tortilla purchasing had always revolved around requesting a certain number of tortillas, but apparently waltzing into the tortilleria and ordering 10 tortillas is akin to walking into a McDonalds and ordering one McNugget.

So today I bought a full kilo of tortillas ($1). I can safely report that tortillas can also be eaten by the kilo.

They had to change out the dough in the tortilla machine while I was there, so I got some extra time to observe the magic that is the tortilla maker. They plop about 100 pounds of tortilla dough in the top, and out the bottom come perfectly stamped tortillas which ride on a conveyor belt through a flaming oven and out into two neat, hot stacks. The woman in front of me was buying tortillas by the metric ton, so I had a good 10 minutes to watch the machine work.

I walked to the grocery store around noon today, which was very hot, but it gave me a chance to take photos of some of the sculptures on the malecón. I also saw a huge flock of magnificent frigatebirds soaring over a local fish restaurant. That’s the actual name: “magnificent frigatebird” — apparently it’s a bird with one helluva public relations department.

The grocery store was smaller than the MEGA, but still had everything I needed, if by “everything I needed” I were to need octopus, frozen whole pig heads and a world-class selection of sugar cereals. I picked up a few odds and ends and caught the bus back to Zona Romantica.

I spent the rest of the day working, then went out for a walk around the neighborhood at night (first burro sighting!). I also cooked up a batch of pollo con random spices found en el apartamento. It was surprisingly delicioso.

A sand sculpture:

The cacophony of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Festival.

Day 3: I Love the Nightlife

I got a good night’s sleep despite the presence of a chirping gecko on the wall of my bedroom (I think it was trying to sell me car insurance). I woke up, had a breakfast of bananas, tortillas and 14 kilos of sugar, and set out for a morning run along the malecón. There were a few other runners out in the morning, and I did about 25 minutes before running out of smooth concrete. The cobblestone streets here are seriously, aggressively cobblestoned. I tried running a half block on the street and found it more dangerous than trampoline dodgeball.

Returning home back up the hill (I have a habit of staying in places on hills — I like views), I took a shower in the condo’s semi-open-air shower (i.e. it has windows, so you can choose between privacy and “Hey, Mexico, meet my penis!”) and then put in a good day’s work. Once again I’m taking a working vacation, and thanks to the magic of the Internet and Skype I’m fairly sure that half people in my morning phone conference were unaware that I was calling from south of the border. Technology is grand.

After work (and the requisite siesta) I went out to explore the malecón at night. It was jam-packed with people. Some tourists, yes, but mostly Mexicans, both locals and tourists. Thousands of people stretched out over the mile and a half, plus food vendors at every stretch, children playing tag, lovers sitting on the benches overlooking the ocean and large bats swooping down occasionally for bugs.

After about a 10 minute walk I reached the main square near downtown. Here there were many street performers, mimes, human statues, hawkers, ice cream carts and locals selling artwork. It’s a giant carnival atmosphere. The downtown main plaza is filled with booths selling food and jewelry, crafts booths for kids and sugar as far as the eye can see.

This was also the last night of the Our Lady of Guadalupe Festival, which Puerto Vallarta celebrates every year from December 1-12, so downtown was extra-packed with people in a lengthy parade to the Our Lady of Guadalupe cathedral. There is singing and floats and tubas and every time a new group reaches the cathedral the bells ring. It’s a quite the hootenanny.

Directly across from the cathedral, there’s an amphitheater where each night a different cultural act performs. I saw a mime who used an audience volunteer in an hilarious motorcycle riding act, a fantastic mariachi band and a group of traditional dancers. I’m pretty sure if I go back every night I will see something new every time. Awesome!

I finished the evening by eating five tacos from a street vendor. They have a giant chunk of meat on a vertical spit, and a pineapple above that, all roasting on coals. When you place your order they heat tortillas on a grill, then slice off meat and pineapple onto the tortillas. If you order them “con todo” you get onion and cilantro, and then you can add hot sauce, radish, cucumber and lime to taste. Total price for five tacos: $3.61.

So morning walks, evening arts and taco time, and daytimes with warm ocean breezes, sitting on the patio overlooking the ocean. I could get used to this. I leave you for tonight with a giant sand sculpture, one of many alone the malecón.

Day 2: Pour Some Sugar on Me

Mexicans love their sugar. It’s everywhere. From the street vendors selling pastries and deep fried doughy confections, to the ingredient list of every food in the grocery store. Lunch meat? Check. Plain yogurt? Check. The word “Natural” in Spanish apparently means “Naturally, this food contains sugar.” This is not the place to visit if you are following a low-sugar diet.

I woke up today to discover the beautiful view from my condo, overlooking Banderas Bay. It’s always an adventure to fly into a new city at night and then discover what it looks like the next morning. Today did not disappoint. Puerto Vallarta is at the same time beautiful and quaint, crazy and crowded, cobblestoned and touristy. After visiting Guanajuato last year it feels familiar and different all at the same time.

It’s also WARM! Delightfully mid-80s in mid-day, with pleasant ocean breezes so it never feels too hot. Mornings and evenings are in the high 60s and low 70s. You really can’t get any nicer than this. 

Puerto Vallarta is very, very gay friendly. It’s apparently the gay-friendliest place in Mexico, and the area I’m staying in (Zona Romantica — the renamed “old town”) is gay ground zero. There are many, many, many gay couples wandering around, old and young, clubs and shops specifically catering to gays, and a distinct lack of Rick Perry 2012 bumper stickers. It’s a great vibe.

The condo I’m renting is owned by (I presume) a gay couple from New York, and there there are helpful touches here like the Gay Guide to Puerto Vallarta booklet, stacks of GQ and Details magazines, and lovely decorative touches. I’m a straight guy on a gaycation!

Waking up this morning I went for a walk down the hill from the condo to the water, and then took the long walk along the malecón (boardwalk, though it’s concrete) into downtown. The malecón is one of the prime features of Puerto Vallarta, and it’s fantastic. It runs about a mile and a half from Zona Romantica, into the heart of downtown. It’s wide and filled with sculptures and benches and palm trees and giant pelicans.

First thing Sunday morning it was fairly empty, and I enjoyed a leisurely walk to the end of the boardwalk, and then doubled back home along the city streets getting the lay of the land.

By the time I got back to my neighborhood I was very hungry, and I finally stumbled onto the neighborhood tortilleria and took care of that problem with a purchase of 20 tortillas. I then ducked into the neighborhood grocery store, which has a big sign on the window that says “Despite what you may have heard, we are not going out of business.” All evidence on the inside pointed to the contrary. There was a distinct lack of actual food. I bought a funny-looking purple thing that might have been a sweet potato, but realized that I was probably going to have to search for food elsewhere.

After a lengthy siesta, it was time to go on a quest for groceries. The new, modern Mega grocery store is not within walking distance, so I strolled a few blocks to catch a bus. The bus system in Puerto Vallarta could best be described as “ad hoc.” There are apparently two bus lines (blue and green), and each has dozens of ramshackle, loud, smelly buses that run on routes around the city with destinations hand-painted on the windshield. Luckily, a bus comes along about every 30 seconds, and for the most part they all run down the main drag between town and the area where the grocery store is, so I hopped on a bus that looked plausible and paid the 6 – 1/2 peso fare (50 cents). The bus driver makes change.

It took about 20 minutes or so to wind through town to the Mega. It’s a modern grocery store along the lines of a Fred Meyer, only with slightly more chicken feet for sale and way more sugar in everything. The meat section was expansive. The vegetable section, less so. I still need to figure out where to get good fresh fruits and vegetables around here.

I caught the bus back home and took siesta #2, followed by an evening exploring the malecón at night, but I will save that for the next blog.

Back to Mexico

Well, here I am back in Mexico again. I’d sort of planned to go somewhere else this year, but the wanderlusties struck about two weeks ago and I found out that it was cheap to fly to Puerto Vallarta, so I grabbed a plane ticket and here I am.

For those just joining this blog, last year I spent two-plus weeks in Guanajuato, a lovely colonial town in the highlands of Mexico. It was small, quaint, artsy, friendly and butt-freezing cold at night. This year I decided I did not want to be cold, so I chose the beach — I’m ready to kick back and be warm. Portland obliged by being freezing this week. I could not be happier about sitting here with the doors wide open to the veranda, at midnight, wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

Today was an easy travel day. All the flights ran on time, there was free wi-fi in the Phoenix airport during my layover and I breezed through Mexican customs. I packed super-light this year, so I have one bag that isn’t even very full. Expect multiple blogs about doing laundry “soon.”

Upon landing at the Puerto Vallarta airport, we left the plane via a stairway and were ushered onto a bus which shuttled us (I’m not kidding), maybe 500 feet to the terminal. It was about 1/20th of the distance I had to walk between gates in the Phoenix airport. It took longer to herd people onto the bus than it would have taken to walk to the terminal.

Upon passing through customs, you walk through a surreal “timeshare room” where you are assaulted by timeshare salespeople offering a “taxi” (and presumably a lengthy sales pitch). The entire room is done up in stark whites, and the salespeople wear white as well, so the effect is similar to what I imagine it must be like to alight in heaven (assuming heaven offers timeshares and everyone speaks English with a Mexican accent). After skirting TimeShare Zone, I was assaulted by slightly-less-officious taxi drivers, and I arranged for a cab to my apartment.

The taxi driver was chatty, in Spanish and English. We made a stop so he could buy peanuts for his wife and then took a detour because he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and we needed to avoid a large festival. I think this is what he said. My Spanish is still rusty. I might have been kidnapped.

It was a bit of a challenge to find the apartment, as addresses in Mexico are often just expressed based on cross streets, and he didn’t, technically, know where either of the cross streets were. Eventually we found the apartment and I got myself situated. The apartment is nice. It’s night, but I have a lovely view out the window of a lighted display of someone riding a seahorse.

Tomorrow I will go find food and get the lay of the land, and hope I can find my way back here.

Days 15 and 16: Sunset over Guanajuato

And so it ends.

After 16 days in Mexico I head home tomorrow, Continental Airlines and a 6:15 a.m. taxi ride to the airport willing. It took me about a half hour tonight to figure out the proper protocol for calling a Mexican cell phone from Skype, and in a half-English, half-Spanish conversation I arranged with the taxi driver where to pick me up tomorrow morning (there isn’t actually a passable road by the house). I’d put the odds of actually seeing the taxi driver at 6:15 a.m. tomorrow somewhere around 20%, but I’ve left myself enough wiggle room that if I have to walk into town and find a taxi I should be OK. If I’m posting tomorrow night from Guanajuato you’ll know this theory didn’t hold.

I finally kicked my cold to the curb today and spent the better part of the afternoon on one last walk around town. I did some small souvenir shopping, took a last turn around Mercado Hidalgo, walked through a part of the city I hadn’t visited and stopped at a restaurante on the main plaza to have a bowl of soup and do some people watching. My verdict, to quote Depeche Mode, is that people are people.

Before stopping for soup I spent some time sitting on a bench in my favorite plaza, just enjoying the warm afternoon sun. I was joined on the bench by a guy named “Brian” from Guanajuato, who looked to be in his 20s and who proceeded to strike up a conversation in English complaining that Guanajuato was “too boring,” had “not enough nightclubs” and that Mexican women were not as interesting as American women. I wasn’t sure if he was bored, looking to practice English, trying to hit on me or just a general chatty Cathy, but we had a lengthy and amusing conversation in English and Spanish.

On my way home I took the funicular (a Spanish word meaning “tiny rickety mountainside cable car operated by what looked to be a 12-year-old”) up to El Pípila, a famous monument overlooking the city. El Pípila was a hero of the Mexican War of Independence, and the monument (and the view) were both quite spectacular.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_P%C3%ADpila

Conveniently, the monument is also up on the same mountain as my casita, so it was a 10 minute walk and descent on a staircase to get back home, instead of the usual climb. A very nice way to cap off the trip.

Reflections On This Trip

Overall I consider this trip a marvelous success. I’ve had fun, I was able to work seamlessly with my office back in the U.S. (and very productively), it was delightful to spend the dreariest part of the Portland winter bathed in the Mexican sunshine and I never got overwhelmingly lonely or homesick thanks to the Internet.

Some key learnings and pluses:

It was a great decision to pay a few more bucks and get the casita I wanted. Having a comfortable home with a great view made being here extremely pleasant. The difference between the place I stayed for the first three days (decent) and the second place was night and day. It was also much better to be within five minutes walking distance of downtown.

Skype is my friend. I brought my iPhone but kept it in Airplane Mode the whole time so it wouldn’t get any calls, texts or data (the AT&T international rates are obscene). But with Skype on my iPhone, which works via wi-fi, I was able to make calls for a nominal two cents per minute that were better quality than regular phone calls on my iPhone at home. Seriously, the quality was stunning. I also used a service on my iPhone called Line2, which works via wi-fi as well. It was not nearly as reliable as Skype, but came in handy the last two days when Skype blew up worldwide for 48 hours. The only negative to the whole communication plan was that I was incommunicado any time I was away from wi-fi. For the most part that was fine, as I could always have popped into an Internet cafe or other place with wi-fi if I’d needed to while I was out. In practice, I didn’t need to.

I was worried that everywhere would be filled with smokers, but very few people were smoking here, and nobody smoked in restaurants or anywhere else I was in public. It may still be a problem in other parts of the world, but not here.

Coming to a town that is a cultural hub was a happy accident, but a great one. Going to see awesome and cheap concerts in beautiful venues was one of the highlights of being here.

I think I picked the right amount of time to be here. Long enough that I had time to settle in and stop feeling like a tourist (and I didn’t have to feel disappointed for losing a bunch of days to being sick), but not so long that I got too homesick. I do miss my gal, though.

And a few things to improve on for next time:

Guanajuato was sunny, but cold. The nights here get down to the mid-30s, and insulation is non-existant. I was cold a lot, even during the day. I think my next winter trip will be to somewhere warmer, or at least somewhere that has more insulation and heat. 🙂

I’m not an extrovert, so I didn’t spend a lot of time striking up conversations with strangers. I might arrange for language lessons or some other kind of forced socializing the next time I travel, just to have a reason to meet people.

Speaking of Spanish, with a little more effort I could actually be much more passable in the language. I think future trips to Spanish-speaking countries would be enhanced by considerably more practice than just listening to an hour of podcasts on the plane flight down. I did fine, but I could do way better. And I think more confidence in Spanish would help with the above point about meeting people.

And finally, while the iPhone camera is decent, I wish I’d had a real camera. I don’t think I completely captured the beauty of the city.

As I was walking down the callejon into the city this afternoon I was feeling wistful about leaving. The beauty and peace that I’ve found here have been renewing and invigorating. I reminded myself that, sad as I am to leave, I can always come back another time. But on reflection, I doubt I’ll be back. Not because I don’t love Guanajuato, but because there’s so much more of the world to see. This trip has opened up doors for me. And for that, I will always remember my time here with a special fondness.

Thanks for reading.

Andrew Berkowitz
Guanajuato, Mexico
December 2010 

Days 13 and 14: In Sickness and in Health, But Mostly in Sickness

I’ve been holed up in the house with a cold the last two days (and by “holed up” I mean sitting in the sun on the terrace, sipping fresh squeezed orange juice and reading celebrity gossip on the Internet). Today, as I sat on the tiled patio, a hummingbird with a beautiful red body flew past my ear and hovered over my head. I took it to be some kind of a magical sign. In fact, the Aztecs of Mexico prized hummingbird talismans as being emblematic of sexual potency, energy and vigor. On second thought, I think this hummingbird just had the wrong address.

I was completely out of food yesterday, so I did venture out to the tortilleria, the mercado and the grocery store to pick up enough to eat for a few days. The nice lady at the fruit and vegetable stand where I’ve become a regular (if 10 days makes a “regular”) laughed when my purchase came to the exact same 22 pesos as it had the day before. Apparently I have a knack for buying 22 pesos worth of fruits and vegetables. Twenty-two pesos here equals 10 mandarin oranges, two chile peppers, four tomatoes, an onion and a lime. Not bad for $1.77.  I’ve been buying 10 mandarinas every time I go shopping, which makes two nice glasses of fresh squeezed orange juice, and adds enough weight to my trip back up the hill that I feel like Ivan Drago training in the Siberian mountains in Rocky IV.

Being sick, my shopping trip yesterday completely wore me out. Today I didn’t have the energy to venture forth, knowing I’d have to make the trudge back up the hill at less than full strength. Luckily, I don’t have to leave the house for entertainment — there’s always the nightly fare at the plaza just down the hill. Last night it was loud Mexican versions of Beatles music, with lyrics that in no way resembled the original lyrics. Tonight it was some sort of foklorico dance group.

On my walk yesterday, a group of teenage boys were hanging out at the end of the callejon giving each other buzz cuts with an electric razor. They tried to convince me to let them buzz my hair, but I declined with a smile. If I’d been feeling better I might have gone for it. What better souvenir then a Mexican faux hawk.

Other excitement in the neighborhood, as viewed from the terrace, has included a man carrying a car battery along the callejon, nightly Navidad processions with candles and singing, and a fair number of opportunities to watch the courtship rituals and post-coital pillow bark of local dogs.

There are dogs everywhere here, vaguely wild, barking and howling at all hours, all across the city. Bob Barker would be spinning in his grave if he were here, and if he were dead. This week leading up to Christmas also appears to be fireworks week in Guanajuato, so there are fireworks going off in the neighborhood at all hours, each of which sets the hundreds of neighborhood dogs to a new round of barking. 

I have only seen the occasional cat (perhaps owing to the dogstravaganza). While walking down Calle Tecolote yesterday a pretty gray cat sat in a doorway regarding me with the typically cat-like mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I knelt down to pet it, talking in a low, soothing voice. This thought flashed through my mind: “Why are you talking to the cat? It only speaks Spanish.”  The lack of oxygen at this altitude may cause brain damage.

Last night was the eclipse, which of course was spectacular here as there have not been any clouds in Guanajuato since 1937 (estimated). I had gone to bed at 10:30 p.m., but awoke around 1:30 a.m. and was able to see the eclipse through most of its cycle. It was a transcendent and magical sight, dampened only slightly by the barking of 24,398 dogs (estimated).

Today’s big excitement (and this should offer a window into what it’s like to hang out with Andrew when he’s sick) was shaving with a blade for the first time in, oh, 25 years. I had brought my electric razor with me, but neglected to bring the charging cord, so it was inevitable that the shaver would eventually run out of juice. Like the miracle of Hanukkah, my shaver hung on for a whopping 12 days of shaves, but on the 13th day, lo it did creepeth to a halt. Thus I faced the choice of either going unshaven for five says (not unprecedented) or going down to la farmacia and getting myself a razor blade and some shaving cream. I decided I didn’t feel like playing the part of the scruffy, unshaven American backpacker for my last week here, so I dutifully lathered up and took a clumsy but ultimately successful whack at shaving off two+ days of stubble. I have to say, my face is now baby smooth, much more so than achieved by my electric shaver. I could get used to this. I want to find the teenagers at the end of the callejon and see if we can get a shaving party going. I’m probably going to get myself deported.

Although it’s been kind of dull cooped up at home with a cold, I do feel that I’ve already done my share of touristy stuff, so the last couple days have been a good opportunity to slow down and just “be” in Guanajuato. I’m glad that I planned enough time here that I don’t have to frantically rush around trying to see and do it all. A big part of my master plan was exactly that: just being somewhere without having to play tourist all day.

It’s past midnight as I write this. The wind is blowing outside and every so often I hear voices outside my door as someone walks up the steps that lead past this casita to other houses higher up the hill. I have two more full days here, and then I fly home on Friday. There are a couple other things I’d like to see in town if I have time, perhaps a few more souvenirs to buy, but I feel as though I’ve gotten what I came here for: Some peace, some sun, and a chance to explore what it’s like to work away from home for a few weeks during the dreariest part of the Pacific Northwest winter. I’m ready to go home, but I’m glad to have been here.

The moon rising over Guanajuato, hours before the lunar eclipse.

Day 12: Viral Marketgoing

Well, I came down with a cold, so I didn’t really do much of anything today other than laundry. At night I wandered into town to eat some fajitas (delicious, made with some sort of chile pepper) and bought 10 mandarinas at the mercado to make orange juice.

Here’s a photo of the moon rising over Guanajuato, while I was eating dinner.

Day 11: No Molestar Mi Siesta

This is the week the 2011 Guinness Book of World Records is released. Coincidentally, I attempted to set the new world record for napping today, piling one siesta on top of another for a grand total of nearly four hours. In fairness, I’m coming down with a little cold, which is why I was so wiped out.

Napping in Guanajuato, particularly on a weekend, is always a challenge because of the sheer volume of loud music pumping throughout the city, coming from clubs, plazas, houses, and in today’s case, from a wedding reception at the bottom of the hill. I fell asleep to Girl from Ipanema in one nap and awoke to Creep by Radiohead. Later, a rock band started playing just down the hill, ripping through a Mexican cover of Iron Man by Black Sabbath. This almost certainly cost me the World Nap Record.

In the evening I dragged myself into town to the Teatro Juárez to see tonight’s concert: Pancho Madrigal y El Borlote. Pancho is a well known singer, songwriter and guitarist, in his 70s with a rich voice that has echoes of Johnny Cash. His band featured a guitarist, an acoustic bass, percussion and jarana (a tiny guitar-like instrument that’s like a ukelele on steroids). They sang beautiful traditional songs with lovely harmonies and a wonderful give and take on all the instruments and voices. In the middle, all of the musicians except Pancho left the stage, and he performed three corridos, funny songs in which he would frequently stop playing music to tell a piece of the story before returning to his guitar. Unfortunately, though his Spanish was easy to understand when he was addressing the audience, the stories were mostly above my pay grade, Spanish comprehension-wise.

At the end of the concert, the band made the most token show of leaving in order to get the requisite shouts of “Otra!” from the crowd so they could do their encore.

After dinner I popped into a restaurant for a bowl of chicken soup. Although I’m worn down by this virus, the good news is that I’m finally starting to acclimate a bit to the altitude and the climb back up to the house has gone from punishing to merely difficult. Ah, progress.