Pigs

Yesterday, I spent most of the morning on the internet checking out real estate links of Mexican properties mostly here in the Lake Chapala area. I also ran across some links to articles written by Americans living in Mexico and caught up on some Yahoo groups that I follow. By the time I started to think about food and a cup of coffee it was almost noon. I caught the bus into Ajijic and went to Salvador's like I usually do. I got an outside table and coffee. Salvador's was not as busy as it usually is and Brian was not in his office.

Then I remembered that it was Veteran's Day and the American Legion in Chapala was having a pig roast. Roast pig is a favorite food of mine so I decided against eating at Salvador's, finished my coffee and caught the bus to Chapala. I had been told where the American Legion Post #7 was located and found it after a short walk. As I entered the grounds, a fellow named Hank introduced himself and showed me around and introduced me to some of the other members. I bought a ticket (100 pesos) for the meal, got a Corona and sat at one of the tables.

The pig is almost ready for the meal.

Some of the people I spoke with preferred to live in Chapala (instead of other lakeside towns) and rent instead of buying. This idea appeals to me too. However, it would be difficult to find a place where I could park my rig off street.

My mind is still open about living in Mexico and whether it would be right for me or not. The fact remains that gringos are not from this culture; they are strangers in a strange land. Many may be well intentioned and think they can help the Mexicans live a better life like teaching them to not throw their trash on the ground but it also seems to come with a subtle sense of superiority that we know better than they do and we can help "the little brown ones". In the days before the white man came, the trash was organic and soon was recycled by nature.

Some gringo ex-pats try for total immersion in the Mexican culture by living in small towns with no other gringos around and speak only Spanish. But I don't think that even after living that way for 30 years and becoming fluent in Spanish they will still be able to avoid the "blue eyes tax" and be totally accepted. They are still strangers in a strange land.

The pig roast meal was good with beans and Cole slaw but I would have preferred to have had some of the crispy parts and pork skin on my plate. When the entertainment started with karaoke, I decided to take my leave and catch the bus back to my San Juan Cosala camp.

The buses are customized by the drivers with religious icons and their favorite music playing on CD. It is not unusual for their children to ride and help their father make change. On this ride the kids helped also by cleaning up the bus. They picked up discarded plastic drink bottles and papers and threw the basura (trash) out the window. I didn't yell at them or interfere. It may not be right to litter but I am a guest in their country and their father knows best how to teach them to be a good Mexican citizen.