Celestun

Or, road trip part 2.
Once we finished "El Camino de Diablo", we hit the main highway and headed west for 20 kms to Celestun, home to the 147,000 acre Parque Natural del Flamenco Mexicano or the Celestun Biosphere Reserve as it's also called.
We headed into town and to the beach to enjoy a picnic lunch before looking for the flamingos.
The beach...

 Then we worked our way back to the ecological park which is easy to spot from the highway..

There, we were greeting by a nice guy who spoke English.  He took us into an area that had a topographical map of the ecopreserve and he offered us the choice of a two hour or one hour tour.  At this stage of the game, we opted for the one hour.
He then led us to the dock where there were many boats, no waiting.

 

The Skipper                                             Gilligan

        

We headed up the estuary for about 20 minutes and then they came into view.....(note: click on pictures to enlarge for best viewing)

 

Hundreds of flamingos feeding on the special plankton that are nourished in this area by the unique combination of salt and fresh water.  The Skipper cut the engine and then the breeze caused the boat to silently drift towards the birds.

After about 20 minutes of observing, we continued on our way and into a passage that led us through the thick mangrove jungle surrounding the estuary.

I mean thick...

Where termites build their nests in the trees....

After a short cruise through here, we headed on to a fresh water spring area where we docked and walked through admiring the crystal clear, fish rich sweet water.

As we were leaving, this beautiful bird came walking by us.  The skipper told us it was a "Mangrove Chicken" although since we weren't allowed to eat it, we cannot confirm this name.  We'll  have to take the skipper's word for it.

A fabulous trip, and highly recomended for fellow expats and visitors alike.  Just make sure to stay on the main highway.

More later,

Larry

Road Trip! (Part 1)

So, the brakes on the car checked out fine and it seemed time for a road trip.  For this particular road trip we decided to take the road less traveled.   And, eventually, we would find out that it was less traveled for a reason.  More on that later.
We headed out westerly in the mid-morning towards the border of our neighbor state Campeche, armed only with a map, a picnic lunch and a full tank of gas.  According to the map we were headed into hacienda country which we felt should afford us some good photo ops as well as a look into a very important part of the Yucatan's past.

Haciendas

The haciendas, or ranches or plantations, were basically land grants given by the Spanish monarchy to wealthy patrons.  These huge plantations were worked by native Mexicans under a feudal system (basically slavery) whereby the workers, or peones were born, worked and died serving the owner's interests.  The plantations in the Yucatan were processing one thing: henequen.

 

The fibers of this cactus were (and still are) extracted through a process of shredding, drying and weaving to make rope which, for the better part of a century and a half, was a very lucrative business.  The plantation owners in the Yucatan were, at the time, some of the wealthiest people on earth and their henequen plants were called "green gold".

These haciendas were small cities unto themselves with churches, living quarters for the owner and his family and for the workers and their families.  Of course, the workers bought all their food and goods from the plantation-owned store using plantation printed money.

Hacienda Santa Rosa

It was the Peon family that owned most of the land we were traveling through and they owned it for several generations until 1937 when the newly formed democratic government redistributed all the land to the peasants.

This is Hacienda Santa Rosa outside of Chunchucmil.  Once abandoned and in a state of decay, a group of investors spent the better part of three years reconstructing and restoring the main plantation mansion.  It's now part of the Starwood Hotel group of "luxury resorts".  The work was done by the local descendants of the original peones, and when the work was done they were also trained to work as staff members in the resort.

The old church...

We're not sure about this building.  It was huge and looked like there were many concrete cubicles inside.

Although the rope is no longer produced, the henequen fibers are still processed on a small scale in the area and we were fortunate to run across some local artisans using their skills to make wonderful items.

The bundled fibers look something like sheep's wool...

Articles are woven by hand in a process handed down from each generation to the next...

 

  

 

Next door, the artists were busy making silver filigree jewelry working with torches, hammers, pliers and...rocks.

 

  

 

All items were for sale and we did purchase some of the henequen woven items which were surprisingly heavier than they looked.

Then it was off to Kochol where we found another hacienda.  This one was not, nor will it most likely ever be, restored.  But at one time, it was very impressive...

Kochol

I tried and could not find any information about this hacienda on the internet.  But by looking at it, it had been an impressive operation in it's day.

These are the smoke stacks indicating the drying kilns with a work house behind them..

 

The main mansion.  It appears that there were servant quarters under the main house.  We had to be cautious walking around in this structure as there were collapsed floors testifying to its decaying condition.

 

And in the back courtyard of the mansion, a swimming pool.  We could only imagine the parties that were held here...

Change of plans...

Our next stop was to be Chunchucmil, an archeological site we hadn't heard of, but wanted to check-out.  When we got to the town of Chunchucmil, the road came to a "T" and we had no signage to indicate which direction to turn.  So we went north.  It soon became apparent that we were headed in the wrong direction, so we made one of those on-the-road decisions:  Since we were headed in the direction of Celestun, why not go up and see the flamingos?  Good idea!  And, according to the map, it was a straight shot, 25 kilometer, piece-o-cake drive to get to the highway that would take us there.

O.K.  Think of what most North Americans imagine all Mexican roads are like.  This is what we were on.

 

 One-lane.  And this picture was one of the better stretches.  I am not exaggerating when I report that we had to dodge hundreds of potholes, downed trees, road apples, you name it, rarely getting out of first gear.  And I kid you not, we were being tracked by vultures  in the trees above.  And little indication of civilization anywhere within eyesight.

So this little 20 or 30 minute jaunt up to the main highway ended up taking about an hour and a half of some of the most nerve wracking driving I've ever done.  Avoid this so-called road at all costs.

But we made it, and in Part 2 of Road Trip, we'll show you those flamingos.  They were magnificent.

More later,

Larry

 

Gimme A Brake!

We brought a new 2005 Subaru Outback with us from north of the border.  It seemed like the perfect car to have in an area which may experience driving problems from time to time, say during a hurricane.  With All Wheel Drive and a ground clearance of nine inches,  it is a rugged vehicle and quite favored by drivers from the Great Pacific Northwest.  Yes, it is a law that we from that region of the country have to say "Great" before we can say Pacific Northwest.
The problem is this:  when taking this wonderful example of Japanese engineering into a local Yucatan auto shop, one might as well be pulling up in the Mars Lander.  Subarus are rare in Mexico and seemingly even rarer on the peninsula.  Fortunately at the local tire shop in Progreso Llantica, they do our oil changes with no problems having found a suitable oil filter replacement that isn't exactly Subaru genuine but seems to do the job just fine.
This week, however, a little bit bigger task was at hand.
The brakes started making that grinding sound that indicates new pads are in order so we took it into Llantica in Progreso to see what they could do.  In short order, they said they could do nothing but no problem.  If we went to the Llantica in Merida (the big city), they could help us there.  Well.....yes and no.
The hombre in charge at the Merida Llantica sadly informed us that he could not do the job.  However, he steered us to another place, Clutchs y Frenos Chuburna.  They deal with clutches (clutchs) and brakes (frenos).  This was not in Chuburna the little fishing village, but Colonia Chuburna in Merida.  For the uninitiated, Merida is made up of many colonias or small neighborhoods and driving around town is very, very confusing as the street names and  numbers change from colonia  to colonia.
The hombre in charge obviously could see my confusion from the open-mouth stare I was giving him, i.e "this gringo will never find this place on his own", so he commanded one of his muchachos to get on his "moto" (motorbike) and lead us to Clutchs y Frenos!
All of this day so far, by the way, was being conducted in Spanish.  Sort of makes it a little tougher, but not impossible.
So off we went.

 

...for about 4 blocks before he ran out of gas.

No problem, he informed us and went trotting down the road with his moto to get some gas.

One thing you quickly learn about Mexicans.  Most things are "No problem" even when they are a problem.  So we waited.  And, about 10 minutes later, back he came and we were on our way again.  We never saw the gas station where he refueled....

Eventually we came to Clutchs y Frenos.

We bid farewell to our guide, marveling at the helpfulness of the guys at Llantica.  Before we headed out to the brake place we had asked the head hombre to quote us a price for a full tune-up which he did.  Do you think he earned our business?  Damn straight!  We will have that work done there.
At Clutchs y Frenos we were warmly greeted by the Gerente de Servicios, Mario Can Cuevas.  We told him we were possibly looking for a set of rear brakes as the front brakes appeared just fine.  He assured us he would have a look and to give him a call bout 2 p.m.  This was a 10:45 so we had some time to kill.
Let's look around Clutchs y Frenos.
It's a very basic and busy shop.

 

The machine shop complete with nudies on the wall...

And evidence of mucho clutchs replaced.....

So with over 3 hours to kill, we hot-footed it (literally it was a cooker in Merida today) to Avenue Technologico  and caught a combi bus  to the Gran Plaza Mall to have lunch and do some shopping.  If you've never ridden in a combi, you're in for a treat.  They have no shock absorbers.  That task is performed by your spine.

Only 3 pesos for a ride on a senior rate(see senior card)
And when you hit a topes (speed bump)

...it's a lot of "pow for the peso".

After lunch and shopping we opted for a 40 peso cab ride back to the shop to spare our senior skeletal system further combi abuse and prepared for abuse of another kind:  the dreaded "repair bill".  Sr. Cuevas met us at the cashier's window and they presented the tab:  $350 pesos (about $30.00 U.S.).  Indra immediately sensed something was wrong and they didn't replace the brakes as we had requested.  Sr. Cuevas calmly informed us that the car didn't need new brakes after all, just a cleaning and adjustment.  And sure enough, there is no more grinding sound.

I don't know of your past experiences north of the border with this type of situation, but Indra and I agreed it probably wouldn't be too difficult to find a repair shop that would have just replaced the brakes, and probably would have given us a scary story about a soon-to-fail master cylinder to boot.

Two plus years into our Mexican adventure and we continue to be amazed on a nearly daily basis.

More later,

Larry

What Flu?

A Trip to the U.S. Consulate

It all started when I contacted the FBU, or Federal Benefits Unit, in Mexico City via email that I wanted to apply for Social Security benefits as retirement is looming.
They emailed back that they would be glad to take my application over the phone after I sent them (1) a certified copy of my birth certificate and (2) a certified copy of my passport.  I had the birth certificate copy and asked them where to get the passport copy.  At the U.S. Consulate office in Merida, came the reply.
Having passed it every working day for over a year, I knew it was located on Calle 60.  I went to their website and found a form to fill out requesting an appointment which I made for 9:30 this morning.

 

By the way, this lovely courtyard is something you are not likely to see.  I stole this picture off their website.

First of all,  know that there is no parking here.  One must cruise the streets looking for a place to park that won't block a driveway lest someone gets pissed-off and lets all the air out of your tires.

Then it's a walk back to the building.  The building itself sits off the street protected by anti-crash barriers, a phalanx of rent-a-cops dressed in paramilitary combat boots and berets, and two state police officers sporting real live semi-automatic rifles.  Obviously I was not going to fall victim to the dangers being trumpeted by the north-of-the-boarder news organizations.

So I checked in, presenting a printout of my appointment, as directed, to a guard inside a control room who was looking at me through double-paned, bullet proof glass.  I slid the paper under a stainless steel slit and after writing some things on a clipboard, the guard directed me to wait as I was 10 minutes early.  I observed many Mexicans being buzzed into the building armed with passports and stacks of documents.

Eventually another guard came out of the office and indicated that I was to come inside.  The first stop was the security room which resembled nothing more than what you would find at the average airport.  Two guards asked me to put all valuables and metal objects in a tray.  Then my manpurse was put under the x-ray and one of the guards said please remove your lighter and your electronic device.  I had forgotten that I carry an extra cigarette lighter.  I removed it and the electronic device which was an MP3 player.  As I  did so, the guard noticed a book of matches I carry for backup in case the lighter goes bad and I was asked to remove it too.  Then it was through the metal detector where my watch and ring made a buzz, but that didn't seem to concern the guards.

Next it was through a door and into a room where there were about 20 Mexicans waiting to be called to a service desk.  A new guard led me past them to a security door manned by another guard who was sitting in a room with bullet-proof glass, security monitor screens and an array of buttons one of which she pushed to unlock the door.  The guard ushered me into another small room and to another security door manned by another security guard behind his bullet-proof glass, looking at his monitors.  This guard passed us through the door and I was  handed-off to a new guard.  

This room was the payload.  About 50 or 60 Mexicans were seated and waiting for their number to be called to one of about 6 windows sporting the LED number signs above them.  I would have loved to have taken some photos but, of course, cameras were not allowed.

My guard handed me a number:

I noticed a few things right away:  First, the U.S. Consulate did not get the message to "spring forward" one hour.  (2)  At number 2,002 I was in for a long wait as a glance at the windows showed they were now serving #37 or so.  And (3) the mere possession of this ticket indicating that I was an American Citizen should suffice for the folks over at Social Security.

The guard then led me over to a small, two window area that was just for American Citizens and they were serving #2001.  #2001 was  Steve Bell.  More about him in a moment.

There was a doorbell looking thing on one of the support pillars indicating that I was to press it for service, but "DO NOT PRESS MORE THAN ONCE".  At this point I wasn't about to break any rules.  I took a seat and after about 5 minutes, a nice young woman motioned me up to her window which, in keeping with the decor de jour, was double-paned and bullet proof.

She asked me how she could assist me and I explained that Social Security up in Mexico City was requesting that I  send them a certified copy of my passport.  She said she would  be glad to do that and asked for the passport.  I slid the passport through the slit under the glass and then she informed me the fee for this service would be $30.00.  I was a little stunned by this and then I recovered, rationalizing that someone had to pay for all this security.  I informed her I only dealt in pesos these days and she replied that would be fine.  

"That will be $510 pesos."

Now, I'm no math expert and I haven't checked the exchange rate in a few days, but by my reckoning, $510 pesos was  going to work out to be nearly $39.00.  Now I was starting to get a little steamed.  It's one thing to charge the fee, but quite another to offer an exchange rate that would make the money changers at the Cancun  airport blush.  But, they had my gonads figuratively in a set of vise grips and if I was going to get my monthly retirement check I'd been paying into for 45 years, I'd have to go along.

"Have a seat and I'll be back in a few minutes", she smiled.

Which brings us back to Steve Bell.  Steve was in a wheelchair being assisted by a Mexican fellow, and was obviously missing his right leg.  Steve was wearing an Army Ranger First Brigade cap and I found out he was 74 years old.  He was a Vietnam veteran and had been awarded 3 purple hearts in combat and was there on his third visit to renew his passport.  He had a flight leaving for Miami in two days and was getting understandably nervous about not making his flight.  I found out Steve was going to Miami as that was where the nearest veterans hospital was and where he was to receive a new prosthetic leg.  He being a military guy, I said to him, "So, those Navy Seals did a hell of a job on those Somali pirates, huh?"

"They always do", Steve observed dryly.

Steve had been living in Merida for many years and regaled me with many stories of how much things had changed and prices for houses had gone up over the years and so forth.

I digress only to demonstrate how frigging long it takes to make a copy of a passport.  Oh, and a letter saying they looked it over and all was Kosher.

Then a new young woman appeared and motioned  me to the window.  There was my letter, passport copy and a receipt for $510 pesos.  The new woman said to me:

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you getting a certified copy of your passport?"

"Well", I replied, "As I told the other woman, it's to send to FBU in Mexico City so I can get Social Security checks when I retire."

"Do you have the letter they sent you?", she asked.

"They didn't send  me a letter."

"Oooooooo.  That's too bad because if you had the letter, there is no charge for this service as it involves another Federal agency", she advised.

"Well, they did send me an email telling me to come here, would that work", I asked.

"Let me check", she said walking away.

I turned around just in time to see Steve holding his newly minted passport which meant his new leg was just a short flight to Miami away.

We said our good-byes and I added, "Enjoy Miami!", to which Steve grumbled, "I hate Miami".

Woman #2 returned with the following information. "We can take a copy of the email, but it has to be today and it has to be before 1 p.m.  We can't take it tomorrow."

"I'll do better than that",I shot back, "I'll be back in 20 minutes.  And because you've been so nice, I'm going to give you a free puppy!"

"What??" She eyed me warily.

Thinking she could press the panic button at any time and send a squad of baton-swinging rent-a-cops down on me, I didn't press my offer.  Instead I found my escort and we doubled back to the security room where I was given back all my possessions.  I hoofed it back to my car and drove back to the office where I took a screen shot and printed the email from the FBU folks.  Then, a brief drive back to the Consulate office.

Then I repeated the check-in process (minus all offending items which I left in the car) and made my way back to the window where woman #1 met me to take my email to the back room for inspection.  This time I had no one to talk to, sitting next to a sea of Mexicans waiting to obtain and pay for visas to the States.   It's easy to see what really generates the cash here and it's not my measly $30.00/$510 pesos, which was cheerfully refunded.

So, for a 2 hour investment, some misunderstandings, and an interesting look into the bowels of the U.S. Consulate, Merida, I am now ready to tackle Social Security.  Wish me luck.

More later,

Larry

Homeland Security Merida Style

While walking to my office this morning I was struck by the weird beauty of something so common and mundane around here that one hardly notices it...the broken bottles on the top of the wall.  Set in cement, the inexhaustible supply of raw materials makes this an economical and effective deterrent against would-be nogoodnicks. 

And further down the street, I came across this handsome couple.  Obviously the owner of this house doesn't have dogs....

More later,

Larry

Attention Yolisto Dog Lovers!

Well, while coming back from the beach today, we found these two beautiful female perritas abandoned in the bushes on the beach access road:

Since we have four dogs, including two beach rescues, we simply cannot keep them.  And we couldn't leave them.  So now we are looking for homes for them.

They were cute, friendly, hungry, and infested with fleas.
The fleas are gone...

And they are still cute and friendly...and need homes.  Email me at larry.baker@gmail.com if you want to have one.  We'll toss in the puppy breath for free!

Larry