This trip feels like one continuous meal with short breaks for sleep, study and sightseeing. Instead of exercise it’s been planning where to eat, when to eat and getting to and from the restaurant in question. I’d like to understand the malaise that has kept me from writing, photographing and running. It’s almost too late this trip to make things right on the whole-body front. But if I can reclaim the balance that I enjoy at home in Taos over the next few days I’ll consider it a victory.
There was an article in the New York Times a couple of days
ago that reported on the discovery that septuagenarians who had exercised
throughout their lives had muscles that are virtually indistinguishable from 25-year-olds.
That was me until we came to Mexico. I’m not blaming my dissipation on the
Mexico exactly. I’ll take some of the
credit.
The cold snap didn’t help. When night temperatures dipped to
the low thirties for a few nights the house responded with highs below fifty.
That is not a typo. My memories of the gulag had faded but living in a
refrigerator brought them back with chilling clarity. Our rental house doesn’t have
central heating, a condition not uncommon in these mild climes. So, the job of
heating this barn was left to two incapable wall heaters one of which didn’t
work. Responding to my desperate pleas for warmth, our alleged house manager
sent a plumber with a new gas wall heater which, according to form, didn’t
function.
Then there are the cobbles which make every step an
adventure. To run on those bastards is to move slower than walking. Today I went
for a 50 minute jog and tripped three times, one almost resulted in a face
plant.
When you do nothing but eat and all of the eating is done in
restaurants you run up a tab for starters. Do it enough and you’re bound to score a good
meal from time to time though we’ve haven’t had any world beaters and I’ve had
no food epiphanies. The single most memorable dish was carnitas in a plastic
and Naugahyde emporium on the main drag of Dolores Hidalgo 35 miles north of
San Miguel. Carnitas are best described as fall off the bone roasted pork. I
love carnitas at Guadalajara Grill in Taos. They’re mighty fine, but Vicente
Fernandez’s carnitas at Restaurante Carnitas Vicente take the art of carnitas to new heights. Beg your server to bring you Vicente’s pork rib carnitas and you
will be transported. Those fatty flavor bombs are out of this world. Real carnitas,
by the way, entail roasting the pork in lard till the lard melts and the spices
are added. A direct shot to the artery would be quicker but not as much fun.
When you travel you learn as much about yourself as you do
your new environs. I learned that simply being an observer doesn’t cut it. I
found that I need a purpose and that, though the location may be new, I still
want to do things I want to do. To write, photograph, run and lift just like at
home. The theme of travel and how to do it has been the subject of many a
dining room table discussion since we’ve had our capacious dwelling in
Atascadero to ourselves. As I touched on last time, being a small part of the
actual community is key. Engaging your waiter or taxi driver in their language
is part of it. Putting yourself in places where that can happen is key. Moving
out of your comfort zone is part of the deal.
I went to the enormous “Tuesday Market” this week. I wanted
to do street photography, street portraits specifically, and can’t think of a
better place to do it. The Tianguis Mercado sprawls for city blocks and is a
trove of tchotchkes, new and used clothing (new clothes are ropa nuevo and used
clothes that are new to you and are nueva ropa), housewares and food stalls.
Even before I got there after a 15-minute walk from our house I was focused on
carnitas. There were half a dozen stalls offering them but one stuck in my
mind. Can’t tell you why. It was at the far reaches of the mercado and, even
though I was still walking off breakfast, I made my way to Carnitas Guero at
noon o’clock. That’s early for lunch in Mexico but what they hell. Restaurants
at El Jardin don’t switch from breakfast to lunch until one o’clock.
There were three young men operating the establishment, one
roasting the pork, one chopping the carnitas and preparing the plates and the
other serving. I ordered two carnitas tacos and the server gave me an are you
lost look. I was a stranger from a distant planet. He wrapped the tacos with packets of pico de gallo and salsa in a plastic bag when I told him, “Quiero
comer aqui.” I want to eat here. His eyes brightened and he scootched the tacos
onto a plastic plate. He seemed to appreciate that a lost old gringo would be
ordering carnitas much less eating them at his rustic stall. His eyes kept
shifting back to me as he worked. I was quite the novelty. What’s your story his eyes seemed to say. When I was half
way through my first juicy taco, he pulled an orange Fanta out of the ice and
raised it my direction with a lift of his head that said, “Want one?” I smiled
and said, “Sí, por favor.” It was my third sugary drink with no food value on the
trip. So far. I wouldn’t have had the thing if he hadn’t asked and I’m pleased
that he did. Sugary drinks with carnitas rock. He was saying that you are welcome
here and we’re surprised that you are. When I finished, the apparent boss who
was manning the stove, came up to me as asked if it was good. I said, “Maravillosa. Donde esta la basura?” Wonderful. Where is the trash? He smiled and took my
plate from me. I said, “Hasta luego.”
I have the feeling that if I visit Carnitas Guero a year
from now I’ll be recognized. It’s like my favorite bar in Antigua, Guatemala where
I guarantee the owner Carolina would give me a hug and pour me a dark Gallo beer
before I had a chance to order.