I'm on my sister-in-law's $#!% list. Let me give you some background before telling you why. For the past year, she and my brother have been in the process of adopting two little boys. These boys are two of the coolest kids around. This weekend they were in Phoenix visiting my parents and I drove up for a long weekend to see them. As any responsible parents do (or should do), they have been teaching the boys appropriate behavior. My short day and a half with them may have set them back a few months.
It all started with me looking for a cool gift. After all, I had to give them something cool to buy their love. Don't all healthy relationships work that way? Besides, they recently celebrated their birthdays and I missed them. Yeah, that's my excuse. So I went to the tourist market to find something cheap. I have expressed to my wife on numerous occasions how amazed I am that they all can sell the same stuff and somehow eek out a living. I didn't know what I was looking for, but knew it would jump out at me when I saw it. After 20 minutes nothing stuck out as THE present. Then I saw them. Every mischievous boy's dream come true. Cheap, Hecho En Mexico sling shots! Oh, yeah! I'd arm my newhews with BB gun precursers. All little boys need a sling shot in their back pocket. How else will they defend their forts and club houses?
My brother and sister-in-law both had that "oh-no-you-didn't" look on their faces. It was priceless! The boys didn't quite know what they were at first, but they figured it out in a hurry. Mom took no time in laying down the law. No shooting at houses, people, cars or animals. Geez mom. Take all the fun out of it, why don't you. What's left to shoot? My brother said he's getting my kids stuff that requires batteries.
The fun didn't end with the sling shots. Monday we went swimming in the pool. I had also gotten the kids a big, inflatable turtle, which we just had to christen. The water temperature was 60 degrees. Pretty chilly, so mostly we sat in the hot tub. Luckily the turtle is big enough to hold two squirmy boys without getting them too wet. On one momentous occasion, the older boy was sitting on the turtle alone while my sister-in-law held it near the side of the pool. Uncle Sel told the younger boy to push his mom into the pool. We all got a kick out of watching this 3 year old try to shove his fully clothed mom into the deep end. Even with him putting his weight into it, he was just too small to be effective. Then he caught her off guard. She jumped head first onto the turtle and he toppled in after her. We fished them all out of the pool and then laughed until we cried.
When I said my goodbyes Monday evening, my sister-in-law punched me instead of giving me a hug. I guess I desesrved it.
Did I learn my lesson? Yes.
Am I likely to do it again? Absolutely!

Ain't Got No Rhythm

Last night I drove around a part of town I usually don't visit. There's nothing wrong with it. It's not the red light district or anything (Penasco doesn't have one of those), I just don't have a good reason to go except to say I went. I thought maybe that part of town might have some night life. It didn't. And I wasn't too surprised. My expectations have settled a bit this past month. Can you tell? Anyway, I made a loop back to a main street. My window was rolled down so I could hear them before I saw them. Snare drums. Lots of them. Too many to be that Navy drummer(s). But it was about 7:30 PM. What are a bunch of drummers doing outside this late? Then I saw them. They were marching. Or trying to. I've never been in marching band. Our high school band director expected blood from his students. I preferred donating my blood to the hand cracks of The Island or the Bridge Bands, our local climbing hangouts. But I still know a good marching band when I see one. And this was not one of them. I guess that's why they practice. They all wore reflective vests, which made them look like construction workers - construction workers with no rhythm. I thought it was amusing, so I took pictures. They turned out blurry. Sorry.

Super T

While driving down Penasco's main road I noticed something strange. On opposite sides of the street, within a block of each other, are 2 stores named "Super T." Immediately I thought of Starbucks. Maybe the Super T signs are something other than the stores names. Maybe they just carry lots and lots of Tecate. After all, who (other than SB) would put franchises in that close proximity to one another? I asked a co-worker, and no, they're the same franchise. He said it's because one store might sell more beer and the other might sell more grocery-type products. But even he didn't know for sure. I'm not sufficiently curious to stop and check. Remember, these are the same people that sell the exact same tourist-trap crap as their neighbors in the market. I have a feeling the selection of cerveza in one is just as dismal as the other. As far as I can tell, the only draw to one store over the other is which side of the road you're already on. What's your marketing strategy? Oh, we're targeting lazy people that don't want to cross the street. Bueno!

Why Mexicans Will Never Rule The World

See this guy? See the discolored piece of ground where he's standing? This is why Mexicans will never rule the world. About 2 weeks ago I looked out my office window to see a mini van with its right front tire stuck in this hole. I don't know deep the hole was, but it was large enough to swallow a car tire up to the frame. The hole was a rectangular opening in some concrete something-or-other. I thought it was just the Mexican equivelant of a manhole, but now that I think about it, that would mean real infrastructure. In Mexico? Um, no. Whatever this concrete obstruction was (or still is) I don't know. The solution to keep people form driving their cars into it? Put someone there to stand watch. I know! Why not just petition the city to pave the roads? Oh, that's right! There's no money left for roads after you paid for your kid's braces and took that vacation with your mistress! Sorry. I forgot. Well, why not just fill the hole? Yeah! Let's do that! Last week they finally did. Some guys took dirt near those telephone poles and filled the hole. Good job, guys! Way to engage your creative problem solving skills. So, why is the guy still standing guard? Because the concrete sticks up a good 3-4 inches and someone could hit it. That's why. Why not bury it completely? Why not pay that guy to bust up the concrete with a 10 lb. sledge? It obviously serves no purpose if you're willing to fill it in with dirt. Remember, these are the same guys that hose down the ground in front of their businesses and houses to suppress the dust. Never mind that 90% of the town's streets are unpaved.
Instead of creating permanent solutions to problems they find bandaids, which are usually too small. Everything here functions that way. And that, my Norte Americo compadres, is why Mexicans will never rule the world. They may populate it, but they'll never be in charge. At least this guy won't.

Never Say Never

I honestly never thought I'd say this in Mexico, especially not in my office at 11:00 AM. "I'm cold. I'm going outside to warm up."

I no longer will laugh at El Guapo for getting a sweater on his 33rd birthday.

The Air Up There

Have I mentioned lately that I love living here? This week I got to tag along on a business trip to Hermosillo, one of Sonora's largest cities. I have now learned to appreciate flying in Mexico on small, private planes for many reasons.
First, what security lines? We walked straight to the plane. No NSA gorilla asking to sniff your shoes. Nada. If you want to blow up your own plane, go right ahead. Sure, they check to make sure you're not loaded down with obvious weapons, but for the most part, you're free to carry all the deadly fingernail clippers you can handle.
Two, what immigration papers? I was supposed to carry my temporary visa since Hermosillo is outside the zone in which tourists are not required to have one. But, my documents are somewhere getting converted to a permenant visa. My boss said we'll deal with it if it becomes an issue. I was a little worried that it would. I was right; it did. But not like you'd think. The person at the immigration desk wasn't there, so they said we could take care of things when we were leaving. What? I'm trying to enter your country illegally! You have me at a federal facility guarded by, albeit short and scrawny, dudes with machine guns! I'm at your mercy! I could leave and never come back! Eh. Ok. I guess we'll take care of it when we come back. And we did. I don't think that flies on the other side of the border.
Three, what customs agents? After finishing our business in Hermosillo, we flew to Tucson to tie up some loose ends like stocking up at Cosco for the big fishing trip this weekend (if it's not too windy). I'll keep you posted. Anyway, on our way back, we brought all kinds of stuff. Nothing we really needed to declare. Don't worry; I'm not smuggling. We checked with customs in the States before bringing the watermelons (which, by the way we saw at Cosco for $6.79). We were fine. But we could have brought all kinds of goodies! Penasco has no customs agents.
All in all, it was a fun, enlightening experience. I told the guys on the plane that I had flown in a micro-light (one of those hang-gliders strapped to a propeller and a go-cart) when I was living in Russia. Technically that was the smallest aircraft I've been in. But this is the smallest one with doors. It was a surprisingly smooth ride. I didn't even puke!

It's spelled like "stop," but it's pronounced like "yield."

Have you ever heard it said that stop signs with white borders are optional? In Mexico, some stop signs have white borders and some don't. But let me tell you, after 2 weeks here in Penasco, I have found they're ALL optional!

I made it a whole week before falling prey to bad driving habits. I slow down for stop signs, make U-turns in the middle of the road, pass on the right, etc., etc. That woman at the DMV I talked into giving me a license when I was 16 would be mortified. I love driving here!

Cheeseburger in Paradise for $10?

What happened to cheap food in Mexico? I studied free trade economics so, yes, I know the answer. World commodity prices, blah, blah, blah. At one time the cost of living here was relatively cheap. Not anymore, my Norte Americano amigos. I found a restaurant by the ocean the other day that sells tacos for $15 pesos. That's a little under $1.50 dollars. (They use the $ for pesos here. When you see something listed for ten times its real value, you know it's pesos.) They're pretty small, but they taste good. Worth $1.50? Yes, but barely.

Then, last night, I went to a little cafe for dinner, mostly to use its free wireless internet. It has free (unsecured) wireless, but no power outlets. Bienvenido a Mexico. Bring a good battery. The pasta dishes start at $14. For pasta? Really? What's the markup on that? I went "cheap" and got the cheeseburger. It still ran me $10 with a soda.

And the dog taco shacks aren't much better. They charge just less than the restaurants. I'm not quite ready to gamble with my guts just yet. I know my wife says they're safer because you can see the meat cooking in front of you, but I'm not sold on most of the ones I've seen.

Honey, I should have brought more pots and pans.

Where's the flood, Noah?

This I found amusing. It never rains in Penasco. Ever. Why, then, would anyone sell ponchos? Because they have them. That's why. And as long as you have something to sell, anything at all, you put it on the shelf. I took this picture from the same spot as the one below.

Reasonably What Person?

In case you're wondering, this is a bucket of machetes. I found it in a general store called Numeros when I was looking for a shower curtain. The reasonably prudent person is different south of the border. Thanks for ruining the way I see the tort world, Professor Russell. And in case you're also wondering, why yes, they do sell children's toys here. I shook my head in disbelief, too.

Oh, and the Aviso in the picture above, says that children are not to remove machetes from the buck. Yeah, that'll work. I don't know what kind of child you were, but this one would have listened as well as all the other disobedient mocosos that get transfixed by the mirrored finish of gleaming blades. I've never had occasion to discipline a machete-wielding child, but I may yet get my chance.

Navy Pride

The other morning I went to the beach. My office is literally a stone's throw from the sand. I know. I threw a rock and almost hit a kid. From the harbor I could hear the lone snare drum of the Mexican Navy's marching band. When most people hear that Mexico has a Navy, their first questions is: "Mexico has a Navy?" Inevitably their second question is: "Why?" Back in the day, Mexico negotiated with the Army Corp of Engineers to build a port. In retrurn the US could use it to get supplies to the war in the Pacific. Not a bad deal. The Sea of Cortez is a very protected water way. Now the Mexican Navy has a small outpost in this remote fishing village. They throw loud parties at the officers club. We heard the music as we were coming back from that cruise Saturday night. They rivaled the karaoke bars in the old town. Because Mexico isn't exactly a terrorist target, its soldiers here are highly-trained bugling/dancing/partying machines. Until Penasco comes under attack, keep those instruments tuned.

Ahoy, Matey

My Sailing merit badges make me no more a sailor than the First Aid merit badge makes me a doctor. Luckily I wasn’t driving. I’ve been on large commercial boats before (ferries in the San Juan Islands and the Viking line from Helsinki to Stockholm), but they don’t really count. I’m talking true blue, private use cruising yachts. And I’m not sure what threshold a boat has to cross before it’s considered a “yacht” in the ocean, but I’m pretty sure my boss’s counts. In Wyoming a yacht is anything with a motor. I used to guide a “limo” down the Shoshone River when I was 18 if that gives you any idea how we mountain folk view watercraft.

I tried to act cool, like this was no big deal. It wasn’t to them. They do this all the time. When asked how often they “get out” on the boat, the answer was, “oh, about once a week for something like this and once a month for a longer trip.” Longer trip? How much longer? How many people go “longer?” I was intrigued. Turns out they do a few big fishing trips every year.

The back deck has 10 chairs set up with plenty of standing room along the rails. Inside the main room are 2 large tables that seat 8 each. A couple benches and other chairs by the TV round out the seating arrangements. The kitchen is larger and better equipped than the one in my condo. The master bedroom has a king-size bed and a king-size bathroom – by boat standards, that is. Downstairs are the 8 state rooms, each with its own bathroom.
Above the main level is the cockpit with captain’s quarters and a couple rooms for the staff. I think we had 5. Then, if that isn’t enough, on top of that is a lounging deck, equipped with a small bar.

The boat is called the Melanie Rose, after my boss’s daughter. Everywhere you look there are hand-carved roses in the woodwork. The boat even has its own printed napkins.

We pulled out of the harbor around 4:30 and headed for the sunset. Dinner consisted of chicken marsala (you’ll have to check my spelling on that one) and ribs. And all the beer you could guzzle, of course. These guys no how to put on a feed. I excused myself to watch he sun finish its plunge into the mountains of the Baja from the upper deck.

I’ve seen few sunsets that rival the one tonight. That one from the top of Ptarmigan Mountain back in 199? comes to mind as a contender. Apples and oranges, I guess. It’s one thing to watch a pretty sunset from the shore. It’s entirely different riding high atop a vessel in the middle of the water as the colors play off each other, the contrast becoming more defined as the sun fades. A picture is worth a thousand words, but 2-D images can’t capture the view from all the angles. You have to take in the sky and water behind you and to your sides. Besides, I forgot my camera.

We turned around just before the sky got dark. A bunch of us sat on the upper deck, content to take in the stars and to enjoy the breeze. From where we sat the Big Dipper was about to scoop up the water in Cholla Bay.

To date this stands as my most awe-inspiring moments on the ocean. It’s not my most memorable moment in the water. That place is reserved for the time I popped that “limo” and dumped most of my French passengers into the Shoshone River all those years ago. I just hope I get invited for the next cruise.

Until then, it’s still sunny in Penasco. I saw the sunset to prove it.

No Hay Agua

I’ve been here for less than 1 week and I’ve already experienced waking up to no water. My pump turned off in the middle of the night. And I thought it was just the quirky Mexican water system. No. It’s the quirky Mexican electrical system that kicks off your pump that sucks water from your quirky Mexican water system. I may have dust scented water, but at least it's running.

Whew! I made it! Bienvenido a Mexico!

I’ll be honest. The border crossing had me worried. With my trusty burro loaded down I looked like someone trying to smuggle junk into Mexico. I left Denver on Wednesday morning early and drove to Phoenix to stay with my parents for a few days before finishing the cactus leg of my journey. We bought one of those monster-sized travel bags you strap to the roof of your car so I’d have another 17 cubic feet of space. It’s too long to fit lengthwise (the proper way to install it), so I had to turn it sideways. It fits now, but just barely. And it looks funny on top of a Honda Civic. It’s so big that the added wind resistance killed my gas mileage by about 1/3. The guy at the border crossing had me open my trunk and look inside only one of my suitcases. I figured I’d get the vehicular version of the rubber glove, but I didn’t. When he asked what was in the bag on the roof I told him golf clubs. He must have liked my answer to the guns, bullets, and drugs inquiry because when I offered to open the bag he said it wasn’t necessary. Pretty trusting folks, those Mexican border agents. I bet their U.S. counterparts aren’t. As a side note, does anyone know what the border agents do when you admit to having guns, bullets, or drugs? And who does that anyway?

So there I was in Mexico. A lot of good stories start that way. Mine does.

Puerto Penasco is about an hour southwest of the Arizona border on the Sea of Cortez (Gulf of California). When I pulled into town I went straight to the office. Nothing says “welcome to your new job” like going to the office before unpacking. After the obligatory greetings I got the keys to my new digs.

Our place is a little 2-story townhouse in a recently constructed development on the edge of town – and by “edge of town” I mean away from the beach. It’s a comfortable 3 bed, 2.5 bath with tile floors and nice wood trim. It’s well built, but poorly designed. Who tiles the walls of the entire bathroom? But more specifically, who tiles the walls of the half bath? And who builds a kitchen with an electric range but no stove? And who builds a balcony but makes the door to access it an added feature? At least the AC works. I’m proud to say the company I work for did not design these townhouses.

I said earlier that our place is recently constructed. In fact, it’s never been lived in. It still has that new-house smell. It also has (or had) its fair share of quirks. For a while we couldn’t figure out why there was such a strong sulfur smell when we turned on the hot water. After draining the water heater we found the answer. The thing coughed out mystery chunks in varying shades of grey. I really don’t want to know what it is, so I tell myself it was just sediment of some kind. Luckily the hot water heater is outside.

The sulfur smell is gone from the water, but there’s still the aroma of dust. It’s the smell of the hot, dusty Mexican breeze you cover your face to avoid – only it’s in the shower. On a scale of 1 to 10, I’d rate this problem a 2. I’ll take a sedimentary smell over sulfur any day.

Despite a few hiccups, Rocky Point is sunny.