THE REMODEL OF PARROQUIA SANTA CRUZ

Maybe you have missed me.  Sorry, I told you that I am basically lazy and I am running out of new topics.  Which is why I have decided to revisit some of my previous topic.   It was just one year ago that I  wrote about the church across from me and referred to it as "the ugliest church in Mexico".  Maybe somebody hear me, for several months ago, the remodel began.

I was told that they have a new priest from Mexico City.  Maybe he is the one who got it started.  I am also told the the priest (and this church)  are the most conservative in Puerto Vallarta.  This may account for all the pregnant teen age girls in town (NO condoms allowed !)  Anyway, it started with the repainting of the exterior  of the church.  I could not believe how artistic it looked or how much a paint job improved the looks.  Who ever designed it knew what they were doing for the added borders of white paint emphasize the architectural details.  I now love the tower which rises above the wall on my roof top terrace (please note my new palm tree)..  I still cannot believe the way the painters raised and lower themselves five stories into the air with just a hand cranked pulley.  Before the painting was finished, they added a stained glass window the the front.  The first morning when I went out to my balcony for coffee and noticed a huge hole in the wall, I thought the cannon must have gone off and blew a hole through the front wall.  Then I noticed a man on scaffolding chiseling away on the hole from the inside. Bits of concrete and lots of dust fell to the side walk below and any unsuspecting passers by.   Once the hole was big enough a stone circle was added.  I watched as they put this is place.  It is put up with what looked like willhold glue.  The bottom piece was temporarily supported by a wood stick, then all the other pieces were added on top and the wood stick was taken away.  No bolts, no screws, nothing  but glue.  I will never walk under it.  The sign when you enter Mexico says "Bienvienitos"  which I translate to "Enter at your own risk".

After the painting was done they started ripping out the inside (why after it was freshly painted ? Well because it is Mexico.  There were several niches in the wall where they displayed their plaster saints.  They ripped through the wall and created tiny little rooms off the main hall.   Who know why?  In order to do this they apparently needed lots of concrete.  For months concrete was mixed in the street and hauled inside.  Yes, they just dump the cement, and sand in the street, add water and mix right on top of the cobble stones.  Once they are satisfied with mixture, it is scooped up into a wheel barrel and taken inside.  Why not just mix it in the wheel barrel (thus sparing the mess in the street)?  Well, because it is ......!  At first I could not tell why they added two more columns in the front.  I thought maybe they added them for the extra weight of the stone edged window.  But when they were finished, banners were hung between the posts.  A much better idea than posting them on the sides of the building.

Semana Santa just ended a week ago and already, they are beginning the celebration for Santa Cruz.  During Semana Santa, thousands of Mexican Nationals descend upon Vallarta in pick up trucks (carrying table chairs and coolers in the truck bed along with a dozen Mexicans.  Some will just sleep in the trucks.  Some will rent a cheap room and put a dozen people in it.  Mostly they go to beach and then get very drunk.  I took a photo of the beach one day and it was not even the week end.  Mexicans with their colorful umbrellas as far as the eye could see.  I really do not mind all the extra traffic, or people at the beach, it is the loud music blasting out of the cars all day and night that drives me crazy.

The festival of Santa Cruz goes on for a week before and several days after May 3rd.  At first I thought that it must be the birth or death of a saint.  No, it is not a saint at all, but means "Holy Cross"  How they came up with the date of May 3rd, no one seems to know.  The remodel must have been planned to conform with this date. Once again my street is closed to traffic (the good news) but along with the many booths and kiddy rides comes the largest speakers I have ever seen  They blast away from dusk to about midnight.  There is no way I can sleep before.   I do love watching the little kids on all the rides below.  At first a large carousel was placed below my bedroom.  Then it was moved aside and one of those rides with little cars that go round and round.  What I did not know is that it comes with an ear piercing alarm.  It sounds like a car alarm on steroids.  The little kids ridding probably have no idea what it is, but the young kid who runs the ride seems to love it.  Of course bells ring all week, but it is the cannons that you would not believe.  I have gotten used to the bells, but every time the cannon goes off I jump (sometimes spilling my drink).

I invited my friend Filipe and his kid and wife (well really just the mother of his child) for a few drinks before letting little Ian loose on the rides.  Last year he was just eighteen months old  and most of the rides scared him.  One scares me.  People are strapped into a circle of seats and then turned upside down.  There are no safety checks here so you won't catch me hanging upside down.  To my surprise, he still would not get on any of the rides.  All he wanted to do was to play a little marble gambling game.  He had a good time anyway.

There are sermons all week long and every night the loud speakers blast, bells ring, cannons go off,  and the rides run until  midnight.  On the second block are all the stands selling food and trinkets.  But the culmination comes on May 3rd (Santa Cruz Day)  That is when the bonfire like fireworks stand is installed in the cross street.  At the start of any event at the church a bunch of Indians in colorful feathers will dance.  Of course this means that a two block square is completely blocked to traffic.  No one seems to mind.  Everyone crowds around this tower of fire as fireworks scatter burning bits into the crowd.  Last year it set off a fire on the dry weeds growing on the restaurant across the street.  This year I watched them assemble the structure in the street.  It turned out to be at least one story higher than before and was much more spectacular.  For the finale, the top blew off into the sky and fireworks displays fell back onto us for several minutes.  It did not start any fires, for the restaurant across the street had carefully removed all the dead leaves from their roof.  I had my friends, Richard and Hector over again and this time served dinner.  After dinner we walked the three blocks of rides, and booths.  Unfortunately it did not end that night.  No !  the racket (minus the cannon blasts) is still going on.  Last year it was one week, now they are talking about keeping it open until Mother's Day.  It is impossible to sleep until after midnight.

It may sound like a living Hell to you, but you should see the people.  When I go down stairs and mingle among them, I am impressed by the happy, laughing faces (knowing that most of them live with several generations in a few squalid rooms)  They have barely enough to buy tortillas and beans to feed their families, but here they are enjoying (and drinking) during carnival.  Whole families are here to watch their kids take turns on the stupid little carnival rides set up below me.  They will spend their precious few pesos to let their kids have fun.  The children are so beautiful here with their large dark eyes (especially when they are looking at the carnival)

.  You just have to love these happy crazy people.


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UN VIAJE A LOS ANGELES

The trip began in Laguna Beach (No! actually it started in Mexico)  But I had been staying in my old home town of Laguna at my lawyers guest house.  Laguna is one of the most beautiful places in the world and I was lucky to have lived there for 35 years. (Now I can only afford to visit)   I drove to San Juan Capistrano to pick up Kathie (my favorite travel partner) and we headed off to the train depot in old San Juan

The depot is across from the Mission San Juan and the architecture is similar.  I could not find a plate that gave the date of the original structure.  In the front patio is a very nice restaurant and in the rear is another more upscale restaurant where you dine in some of the old dinning cars.  It is a short pleasant ride on Amtrax into Grand Central Station that takes a little over an hour.

Grand Central is now an historical monument built in 1939 (which makes it younger than I am, but unlike me, it has had several face lifts)  The exterior is California Spanish, but the interior is more art deco.  The restoration has preserved all the original features included the huge leather arm chairs in the spacious lobby.  Inside is the old Traxx restaurant and now at the opposite side is the Traxx bar.  On both sides of the lobby are beautiful patios for drinking, eating or just resting between trains.

The entire area is in the process of a complete renovation.  But just one block away is the famous Phillipe's which has been in business since 1908.  They serve the best french dip sandwiches in the world.  The floor is wood covered in saw dust with long high tables and bar stools.  You will find everyone from the very rich to the very poor sharing these tables every day.  I had the pork, with a side of cold slaw, Kathie had a lamb sandwich.  Sooo Good!  We walked through Chinatown, but not much of interest and unlike the area around the civic center, it still looks like a slum.  Lot of graffiti and litter.  Even the old dragon gate at the entrance looked old and tired.

From there we went back toward the station to Olivera Street which is directly in front of the station.  This dates back to the 1700's and the beginnings of the tiny pueblo of La Reina de Los Angeles.  Many of the original homes and building are there to the delight of tourists.  The street is more like an alley and is packed with stalls selling everything Mexican you can think of  Facing it is a large open plaza where you will find music and people dancing almost every day.  I felt like I was back in Mexico.

From the phallic looking City Hall there are now three blocks of parks and fountains climbing up to the Music Center.    Tall glass towers line all the streets on either side.  At the top of the hill is devoted to arts and music.  The old Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, along with the Ahmanson Theater and the Mark Taper Forum.  The newest addition is Disney Hall by the world famous architect Frank Gehrig.  When he finished it many of the panels were very shiny stainless steel, but too many of the offices around it complained about the glare.  So the entire building was sanded down to give the steel a duller look.    Next door Eli Broad is building his own art museum across from MOMA (contemporary art).  All around these building are beautiful parks, fountains with sky ways linking some of the buildings high above the traffic below.  We missed the old Bradbury building which is also an historical monument.  It is most famous for all the wrought iron work.

We then discovered the Metro system.  We hopped on and it took us under Grand Central where you take an escalator up one floor to the trains.  I was amazed at how beautiful and efficient it was.
We were told it went all the way into The Valley.  There was no graffiti or even a gum wrapper anywhere.  What they did with all the homeless winos and crazy people who used to inhabit the area, I have no idea.  The old downtown area is now truly beautiful and well worth the trip. We hopped back on the train and after dropping Kathie off, I drove back to beautiful Laguna Beach.

Now, I am just very happy to be back in Mexico.

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LOCKS ON LOOS

During my last cocktail party someone came up to me and said there was a problem with the lock on my bathroom door.  He said that someone had been locked in there.  It was late in the party and I was pretty well looped, so I remember glancing at the bathroom and seeing the door open.  I could not understand the problem and at the moment I did not care.

The following morning (after my hangover eased) I remember the incident and took a look at the lock.  There  is the usual little twist lock on the inside with just a small hole on the outside of the door knob.  Since I live alone, I rarely even close the door.   You can lock it from the inside, but when I twisted the door knob, the lock released.  Briefly I thought about getting one of those little keys you use in emergencies when someone falls or faints inside with the door locked.  But where would you get such a tool in Mexico and I quickly forgot about the whole incident.

Last week I had invited one of the guys I play bridge with over to see my apartment. He had heard about what I had done with it and wanted to see it.    I love showing off my apartment, for everyone comments on how beautiful it is.  We had some pizza from my local coffee lady and a few drinks (quite a few actually).  At some point he asked to use the bathroom.  Sometime after he left and just before I was going to bed, I decided to use the bathroom myself.  It was by now after eleven at night.   In spite of my advanced age, I have a remarkable bladder so I had not even noticed that the door was closed.  It was locked !  There was no way to get in.  Immediately I thought of that little key I needed to open the door.  Well, I did not have one but maybe an Allen wrench would work.  I had purchased a set when I had to put my glass topped desk together.  But that was years ago and of course I could not find them anywhere.

I tried a small screw driver, then a kitchen skewer, but the hole in the door knob was so small that nothing would fit into it.  You see people crashing through doors all the time on T.V, so I tried that.  Apparently the door was stronger than my shoulder.  Besides what if the whole door splintered?  Where would I get one to match?  I was sure that Saul could open it, but getting him here before noon tomorrow would be a challenge.  I could pee over the wall on my deck, but what about in the morning when I needed to do more than pee?   In the remodel of the church across the street they added some  public bathrooms with an entrance fee of five pesos.  I do not like living across the street from a public bathroom (although it is quite attractive for Mexico).  At the moment it seemed like a God sent.  But at night it was closed by a sort of aluminum garage door and I was not sure when it would open.

It was by now almost midnight, but I knew my friend Richard did not go to bed until late, so I called him.  I think he was still up although he did seem a little irritated when I asked if I could come over in the morning and use his bathroom.  Because he stays up late, he does not get up early.  Well, I thought I could just lie in bed longer and hope I could make up the hill to his house in the morning.  None of the above really seemed like a viable solution, so I went back to the lock. The hole was really small.  I took a ball point pen apart and inserted it into the hole and pushed

and "voila" the lock popped open. What a relief and I am sure my neighbors would be happy to know that I did not have to pee off my roof.

Next time I see Saul, I will have him take a look at it.  If I was ever actually locked in there, it would be days before anyone found me.  If you wonder how I come up with all these situations every month, let me tell you that they are all based on fact and true (well, maybe a little embellished for amusement purposes).


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THEATER IN PUERTO VALLARTA

You may be surprised to hear how much live entertainment we have in our little village.  Many bars have either jazz bands, mariachis, or single acts.   Yes, many of the performers are drag queens or strippers, but we do have a lot of legitimate theater.   Several years ago the Theatro Vallarta was built.  It is still the largest (though not the most attractive) of all the performing arts centers.  It is also located way across the river (which I rarely cross) and most of the entertainment is designed for the Mexican population.  They do have live broadcasts from the Met, however.   Its future is also somewhat in doubt as the mayor just stole 6.5 million pesos from its budget.  Welcome to Mexico.

Most of the smaller venues are in the Zona Romatica where I live (and most of the expats).  There is a sort of senior community center that has live performances every week end during the season (mostly singers and musicians).  There is also The Palm, a night club with nightly entertainment.  They have singers, comics, and put on plays as well.  It was one of the first and started many of the other groups that have opened in the last few years.   I have seen Broadway plays and entertainers from the U.S. and Canada and Europe (Mexican too, of course).  My problem with the stage at The Palm is that there are too many pillars in the room and it seems I always get stuck behind one of them.

The Boutique Theater was formed by a group from the Palm and originally opened in a tiny place just around the corner from my former apartment (you will remember it as the Little House of Horrors).  After a couple of years they moved to a larger venue just a few blocks from my current address.  A friend of mine has performed in several of the plays (he was Dennis in Auntie Mame).  The performances are all quite good and entertaining, though not quite Broadway quality.  Since some of the performers are Mexican I have trouble understanding their English.  But for less than $20.00 it is a very enjoyable evening.

This year Act II (who had been staging plays at the Palm) opened its own theater. They broke away for the Boutique Theater several years ago.   Where they are getting the money, I have no idea.  I just hope they don't run out of money.  It was built just two blocks from me above the Argentine Steak House.  It is the largest venue on this side of the river and definitely the most beautiful on any side of the river.  There is a very large theater with a professional stage where I saw the opening act of "A Chorus Line".  It was certainly as good as any off Broadway production I saw in California.

Next to that theater is the Red Room.  A sort of cabaret with a stage, small tables and chairs and a horse shoe shaped bar.  There are different venues every night and sometimes two a night  It is very upscale and beautiful done.  Lorna Luft will be there in March  (not as good as Liza, or her mother "Judy", but still a class act).  A friend of mine was the original designer for the renovation of the theater.  When I first saw his plans, I was astounded at how beautiful (and expensive looking) it looked.  There is a sort of lounge or martini bar planned next to the cabaret.  The design called for an elaborate tile floor and bar and a stained glass and chandelier ceiling.  The opening has been delayed and delayed.  My friend finally quit as they have not paid him (typical Mexico) although the owners are all American.  I do hope it opens this year, but we will see.

Dantes (the largest art gallery) has opened a wine bar above the gallery.  It is a very elegant (and expensive) and has a lot of art work displayed on the walls and over looks the sculpture garden.  They also have entertainment (sometimes jazz).  Even at $5.00 for the cheapest glass of wine, it is well worth the experience.  I highly recommend it.

UNA PEQUEÑA NUBE NEGRA

A friend of mine told me years ago that I must have a little black cloud that follows me everywhere.  Maybe, for I do seem to have more crisis es and accidents than anyone I know.  Or maybe I am just a born klutz.

Some friends of mine arrived in town from San Francisco for just a few days to check on a remodel they are doing on their condo.  When they called and invited me to join them at one of the many beach clubs that dot the shore line along Los Muertos Beach, I was delighted.  It had been weeks since I had been to the beach and I did not want to be whiter than my friend from Minnesota who was arriving in a week.  It was not one of my favorite spots, but I was looking forward to spending the day with my friends.

During the season you have to reserve the chaise lounges, but even with three chairs, you only get one small umbrella so only one person can get away from the sun.  So I took one in the sun and after unpacking my beach bag with all the stuff that I deem necessary for a day at the beach. I laid down on the chaise, but found the back was broken or something.  Why I did not just call for another one, I do not know. Instead I reached back to try to steady it and got my finger caught between one of the metal joints.  I screamed and my friend could not seem to figure out what was wrong, but finally I got him to raise the back and release my finger. It was smashed and cut all the way across to the bone.  Blood was shooting everywhere so someone brought me some napkins to wrap it in.  Then the owner (or manager) came running over and said he had a first aid kit in the little hut at the back.  He wanted to pour alcohol over it, but when I carefully unwrapped the napkins and saw the gaping wound, I knew I needed more than a first aid kit.  I needed a doctor to stitch it up (besides I knew I could not stand the pain of pouring alcohol over it).

My friends wanted to accompany me to the hospital, but I did not want to spoil their day at the beach.  It was my finger, not my toe so I was sure I could walk the ten blocks or so to the hospital. I certainly knew where it was having been there so many times.  I think that I have been to the emergency room four times, so I just walked through the lobby and pushed my way through doors (dripping blood everywhere).  Of course they wanted to see it, but unwrapping was painful and more blood was pouring out.  I told them that before anything, I wanted a pain killer.  He did not speak much English so I was not sure he understood, but he did say, "In the butt?"  I said where ever, I just want to pain to stop.  I do not know if he was a real nurse or not, but he seemed to want a doctor to give me the shot (or maybe he did not have access to the drugs).

It seemed forever before a real doctor arrived and he seemed to understand and left the room (I guess to get drugs)  I waited some more while they tried to get me to lie down on one of the gurneys,  but I preferred to stand where I could drop the blood in a bucket. There was one other man in the room who seemed to be almost comatose. But some men arrived who looked like bomberos (firemen) and transferred the man to a portable gurney and hauled him out the door.  Maybe they were moving him somewhere by ambulance.  I thought I would then get more attention, but all the nurses left the room when the man did.   Finally the doctor came back with a syringe and gave me the shot.  I do not know what it was, but I know it was not morphine (the pain continued).  The doctor disappeared again

He reappeared with a package which he unwrapped on a table next to me.  I could not look at it.  I again told him I needed something for the pain. He said he would give me a shot in the finger, but it would hurt for a while.  It was excruciating pain, and then he gave me another shot.  The finger went numb and he started to stitch it up.  This went on so long the anesthetic wore off and I could feel the needle going through the skin.  He said, just a few more (it took twelve stitches)  He was so slow I figured he must have skipped sewing class in medical school.  After he was done he wrapped it and put a sort of sock on it.  I held my arm up and blood poured down.  He had to take it all off and re wrap it and told me to keep pressure on it.   I have to change it every day.

He said that the finger should be all right as long as I keep water away from it for ten days.   He did tell me that should it turn black that I should come back, otherwise he did not need to see me for a week.  BLACK ??  TEN DAYS !!  He said that I would need some drugs (tell me !)  He could get them from the hospital or I could go to a pharmacy.  I knew from my last experience what they charge so I told him I would get them at the pharmacy.  I went to the lobby to the girl to check out Strangely, she did not seem to remember me (all old fat white haired men look alike to them),  I picked up the bill and told her I would return with cash the next day.  She frowned and picked up the phone.  Who was she calling, Security?  I told her that last year I walked out owing 180,000 pesos, so I think she can trust me for 2,200 (about $170.00)   I explained that I had been at the beach and had no identification with me, nor did have have 2,000 pesos.  After dropping up my beach bag at home and picking up more cash, I went to the pharmacy and spent another 600 pesos.

That night I took a sleeping pill (along with several glasses of scotch) and slept for eleven hours.  Doing almost anything with one hand is difficult.  I discovered that a plastic bag secured with a rubber band worked pretty well.  Later I bought some rubber kitchen gloves.  Changing the bandage was another challenge.  The dried blood caused the gauze to stick to the stitches.  I had some spray on antibiotic but it still did not seem to work.  Finally I managed to pry it off, but the wound opened and it started to bleed again.  At least it was red and not black.

Having successfully changed the bandage for several days (no more blood), I thought it would  be just fine.  The following week, I went back to the hospital.  After at least an hour wait, the doctor told me that it should be another five days before he could take out the stitches.  When I went back again, he removed all but two or three.  He was afraid that it was still too soon and the wound might reopen.  So he said to come back in three more days.  I asked why it was taking so long to heal.  He said that I smoke and drink too much and it depletes the oxygen in my blood.  (Well, nothing we can do about that ! )  When I complained about how painful the removal of the stitches was (he had a nurse do it),  he said maybe I should take a pain killer an hour before.  "YES YES"
Then he asked if I had any Ibuprofen.  When I talk pain killers, I am talking about morphine and he is talking about an aspirin !  Clearly, we are not communicating.

How do I cope with all life's little problems, well I try to think of the bright side.  I could have lost my entire finger and it is my left ring finger, it could have been my right hand and sadly or not, there will never be a ring on that finger.


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SAUL TO THE RESCUE, AGAIN !

Since I had recently been to the beach, on Sunday I decided to do laundry and mop the floors.  First I started the laundry.  Half way through mopping, I decided to take a break (it only takes about twenty minutes for the floors to dry here).  I took a beer up to the deck and checked on the washing.  It had stopped at "spin".  I tried to get it going again, but nothing worked.  Then I decided that it must be my fault.

I had  tried to do a large load of two beach towels, two large bath towels, several hand towels and a weeks underwear (all white).  I pulled several large sopping towels out and tried again.  NO!  It would not spin, so I started the whole cycle over again (minus a few large towels).  The same thing happened.  When it got to spin and it's supposed to lock the lid, it stopped.  I gave up and tried to remove the towels and wring them out.  This is not easy to do with beach towels without dropping them on the floor.  The laundry is on the deck which is hosed down, but not mopped and is always dirty.   I was unable to wring out much water.  I threw them in the dryer anyway.  It took five hours to dry it all in several batches.  Of course, I was also afraid of drowning the dryer and thus ruining it too.

  .

Monday morning I called my trusted Saul.  He said he would be there in one hour.  I told him to make it two hours as I was off to my Spanish class.  An hour after he was due, I called again.  He said he was in his shop and would be there in a "few minutes"  One more hour passed.  You just must accept this as part of the Mexican culture.  Saul has saved me so much money, I cannot get mad at him.  I put the machine on the spin cycle and showed him that it does not spin. He unplugged it and holding on to the wire and touching the copper pipe, plugged it back in.

Well, I thought this was the dumbest thing I had ever seen (well, maybe not The Dumbest, since I live in Mexico).  He then wanted to start the whole cycle over again.  I screamed for it would take at least 30 minutes and the machine would fill with water which we might not be able to get out. So to shorten the time, I switched to Lavado Express.   He said he was going to get a taco and would be back in 20 minutes.  Two hours later he showed up (must have been a very large taco ) and the machine had completed its cycle.  I was sure that Lavado Express, must skip the second rinse and spin, so we started it over on the normal cycle.  We had a beer (or two).  Sure enough it finished the cycle.

I was amazed, but Saul calmly said that he had done this before.  The problem is that none of the plugs are grounded and all appliances have a "tarjeta"  We had to look that up in the dictionary and it turns out to be a computer card.  At that point I told him that "when he had time"  I wanted all my plugs grounded.  He said he could, but all I had to do was to hold on to the plug and a copper pipe.  I told him I would rather pay for the rewiring.

Maybe the overloaded machine shorted out.  But why didn't the circuit breaker go off.  Or do we even have circuit breakers here?  You never get to the bottom of anything in Mexico.  You just accept everything for what it is (or does) here, and be very thankful for a Saul.



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"NO GRACIAS"

If there are two words you must know to live in Mexico, it is "No Gracias".  Poverty is everywhere for Mexico is a very poor country.  There is a growing middle class (unlike in the United States) but it is mainly around the industrial towns like Mexico City, Gudalajara and Monterrey.   Mexicans are very poor, but most of them are very hard working honest people (just trying to survive and feed their families).   I read somewhere that Mexicans work the longest hours per week of any industrialized country (but that assumes that Mexico IS an industrialized country).   There are a few who (maybe because of poverty) try to scam the tourist.

On the streets and on the beach, they try to sell you everything from fish on a stick to jewelry, to sex.  In Mexico sex is regarded pretty much as a commodity to be sold just like tacos.  Being an aging male I am constantly being asked if I want a "massage",  Some are men and some are women.  But beware for a lot of the prostitutes here are really transsexuals (and some of them are just gorgeous).  There are legitimate masseurs, but they are in the minority.  There are dozens of "strip clubs" in Puerto Vallarta where you will find total nudity.  I was happy and surprised to learn that the "dancers" must have an HIV test every three months to work in these clubs.  Some of you may be shocked and think this is all too depraved.  No! It is just sad.  These are young men and women who happened to be born beautiful, so they use the one gift God gave them in an attempt to escape the oppressive poverty into which they were born.

You have to steel yourself against the poverty.  Every other block there will be an old woman squatting on the sidewalk with her hand held out (actually she has a paper cup).  One such lady (I use the term loosely) always sits in front of an old mansion on Badillo.  She looks just like all the rest of them, but for all I know she may live in the mansion.  She also did not want her picture taken (maybe she was afraid someone would recognize her).   Also there are the obviously homeless and deranged.  There is no government service for the mentally ill (pretty much the same in the U.S, but the crazy people don't have guns here)  Most of them will just try to bum a cigarette or a few pesos (probably for cheap booze).  What I really hate are the poor young women who drags a gaggle of kids behind her (all under the age of 3 or 4) begging for money.  You want to throw a box at condoms at her.  The law here states that having sex with a male under the age of 18 will get you 30 years in prison.  By the time the girls are 18, they have had a couple of kids.   I must say that the children are adorable.  They are extremely well behaved in spite of their situation (or maybe because of it).  The kids are very good about watching out for and taking care of each other.  Of course they have to for their mothers work and many of them have no fathers.

I ignore all of them.  There are Mexicans that I really like who are hard working, but poor and I do what I can to help them (mainly with outrages tips, sometimes "loans").  If you walk down any of the streets frequented by tourist you will be accosted by the sales people of the various shops catering to tourist.  "Hey Amigo" they all shout and then try to lure you into their stores.  Walking through the flea market on the island in the middle of the Rio Cuale, is like working your way through a mine field as you keep repeating, "No Gracias".    You will also encounter the street vendors, but no where are they more aggressive than at the beach.

During the summer months, the vendors will out number the paying clients.   You can't imagine all they try to sell on the beach.  The beach I was at is a private club where a sign is posted at each end stating,  "No No Gracias"  But it does not stop them (nothing does),  What I really get a kick out of are the guys selling huge wool rugs.  They trudge down the beach with dozens of them thrown over their shoulders.  Lots of jewelry (who knows if it is silver or not, but it is shinny and pretty) but also clothing, pottery, other trinkets.  Of course lots of fish on a stick, but what really gets to me are the guys carrying trays of fresh oysters (yes that plate in the old man's hand is a plate of raw oysters).  No refrigeration or anything just a platter of raw oysters baking in the sun (some how I have managed to avoid this delicacy).  You can also buy lots of pot pipes, then they will try to sell you the pot or hash to go with them (maybe crack cocaine as well, I never sampled any of it),  I have also been told that some of them are actually undercover cops, but I highly doubt that.  Henna tattoos and massages are also popular (I assume no "happy endings" on the beach).  Some of the vendors quietly move on when you say, "No gracias"  but some are relentless and get almost angry when you try to ignore them.  There are always musicians roaming the beach playing for tips, but I was shocked to see a harp last week.

As an example of the hard working (and fearless) Mexicans, I included a photo of the painters working on the church across the street.  There they are, five stories above the sidewalk with no safety net.  They are standing on a platform hung from two holes in the top of the tower and is operated by a hand crank.   In truth, I wanted to show the remarkable transformation of this church.  The painting was done to show off the architectural detailing that was lost with the original white.  In the remodeling they also added a round stained glass window.  The first morning I noticed a huge hole in the front of the church I thought maybe their cannon had gone off and blew a hole through it.   In closing, I must restate that the great majority of Mexicans are very honest and very hard working.  They just do what they can to survive.