brain crabs

We’re so excited to taste the ¡Sponch!

We can hardly wait!

How can you resist?

Uh oh… Big mistake

Allie no quiere ¡Sponch!

Blech.

Aww. Such dissapointment.

The ¡Sponch! winds up in the trash. Some of it regurgitated.

The ¡Sponch! is brutalized by the microwave.

These kids are everywhere. It’s kind of sad. Like, really sad. Many of them are selling gum instead of trinkets. We usually slip them a couple pesos without asking for anything they’re selling.

The beautiful church on the square.

An image of the Instituto.

More of the Instituto

The grounds of the Instituto.

More of the grounds. These people seem to be having class!

Some painting studios in the Instituto.

The mural and the painter.

Little Shop of Horrors

The sushi that was never should have been.

Everyone loves a bimbo!

We found a realty agent near the jardin and made an appointment for a little later in the day. We hung out in the cafe that has the WIFI connection, drank lemonade, and checked our emails. Allie and I went down there and met with Gustavo, the realtor, and he told us that there certainly were places available. Much to our dismay, we discovered that his main mode of transportation (when showing local properties) is a golf cart. On the way there and back, I did not for one single second think that I was going to survive. Barreling down the narrow cobblestone alleys, squeezing between cars, and narrowly missing pedestrians, I clung to the small armrest (past the point of white-knuckle and approaching knuckles-and-veins-bursting-through-skin), and watched the pavement fly by much too close for my liking. Going downhill felt like freefall. It took a lot of strength not to kiss the ground when I finally got off of that thing. On shaky legs, we looked at the apartments he had to offer. Allie did a great job of interpreting until he finally let it slip that he knew plenty of english. I was trying to ask a question through Allie and he answered me in what was pretty good english. So, we gave up (mostly) on the spanish and conducted the rest of the transaction in english, except for moments when our questions were too complicated for his understanding of english but were just pushing the boundaries of our spanish comprehension. These places were really quite nice. Much nicer than the first place we looked at yesterday. They’re better maintained, not a half-mile uphill from everything, and about two blocks from the Instituto. They’ve got nicer facilities, and gas, electric, and water are included. He drove us back to the office and we told him that we’d get back to him in a couple days. We collected Rebecca who had remained at the cafe, picked up some cheese and tortillas, and walked home for lunch. Quesadillas (some with the chicken from yesterday, still tasty) were made. As I type this paragraph, the girls are napping.
It started raining this afternoon and continued through the evening. We wound up having another linguistic adventure when we volunteered Allie to order a pizza for delivery. Our pizza and our Coronas showed up so we were successful. We ate our pizza, drank our beers, and watched Dr. No.
I cut up the pineapple that we bought yesterday. Before I wrapped it up and put it in the fridge for tomorrow, I sampled a few pieces. It was better than any candy on earth. I don’t think I’ll ever be able find fruit that good in the States. Like most things here in SMdeAllende, I just don’t quite have the words for it. I’ve just been soaking up these basic, visceral sensations. How can I come up with the right word that describes the way the air tastes, the town smells, the sun feels, the flavors, and the way that the time passes at it’s own lazy rate?
The fireworks lasted all day, on and off.

Aug 9

Err…So the Mexican take out pizza might have been a bad idea. I’m definitely still regretting it. I don’t think that I’m permanently ill yet. I just get the feeling that our diets down here should include much more fruit and much less cheese. I’m going to take it very slow and easy today.
No fireworks yet today, by the way
I spent the whole day inside. It seems to have mostly passed. I was so worried about getting sick and was really fastidious in my exposure to possible contaminates that, of course, I’m the one who gets sick. At any rate, Rebecca and Allie had a very productive day.
(Rebecca has the following to say about their adventures:) We went to the instituto first and spoke with a very nice woman about registration, class schedules and payment deadlines (of which there are none apparently….). The school seems very laid back. A sort of “start when you want” policy compliments the “pay when you can” rule. Everyone was very friendly to us. We met a man who is painting his second mural at the school and he tried to explain the Mexican folk lore that the piece is based on, however since he was unable to come down off of the twenty foot high scaffolding, most of what he said was pretty unintelligible. He smiled a lot though, so we knew he was nice.
We walked around the campus which appears to be some kind of old hacienda that has been refitted with darkrooms, painting studios, a small biblioteque, a foundry, sculpture shop and several small classrooms for Spanish lessons. Incredible courtyards were everywhere filled with people having class or studying. All in all, it seems like an amazing place to study.
In a gallery that is housed in the school (though not affiliated with it) we struck up a conversation with a young man who was working there. He asked where we were from and when we told him, he excitedly informed us that he went to school in Philly. Turns out this guy, (Joaquin) went to UArts when it was still PCA. He told us about his deep and abiding love for Philadelphia, which we were unaware anyone felt, and he gave us a little impromptu tour of the current show in his gallery. He was a funny, serious little man, but we liked him.
On our way out we spotted a bulletin board with a couple of posts about apartments and one person looking for a roommate. Allie made some phone calls and left some messages. No luck so far.
We were trawling for se rente signs in the Instituto neighborhood when we came across the biggest plant i have ever seen in my entire life. I am not lying; this was like some eight-foot tall Little Shop of Horrors shit. I stood next to it for a photo convinced that it was going to slide one of its big, green ferny limbs around me and suck me down into its roots.
After escaping the botanical clutches of the the demon fern, we found a Remax realty office. We spoke with a woman named Sue and she set us up with an appointment to see a one bedroom a few blocks from the instituto. We are looking forward to it. It sounds like a great place.
Allie and I stopped for lunch on the way back to the apartment at a small burrito joint we’ve been wanting to try. The place is decorated with all of these small hand-painted tin icons. Some of them are Hindu, some Catholic and some appear to just be cut out of old magazine advertisements. They were really amazing. I am totally overwhelmed with all of the kitchy religious art here. I want to buy everything! Oh yeah, and the burritos were really good too. The waitress seemed to find us very amusing, or more specifically she found our Spanish to be very amusing. She giggled after almost everything either one of us said. Gringa accents, i guess.
We brought a burrito back for Jon and chilled for the rest of the afternoon while it rained off and on.
As dinner time approached Jon still wasn’t feeling up to leaving the apartment, so Allie and I struck out on another adventure to find food for us and some groceries for Jon. The groceries for Jon were pretty easy. We stopped at our neighborhood convenience store and got ginger ale, crackers, some ramen noodle soup (which is what I was given when i asked for sopa con pollo…) and a loaf of Bimbo bread. Yes, that is really the brand name. We bought a loaf of white bread, so it was Bimbo Blanco bread. White Bimbos taste soooooo good.
In our search for sandwiches, Allie and I ran into Joaquin (the guy from the art gallery) having a drink with one of his friends. He called us over from across the street and invited us to sit with them. When we told him that we were looking for food he told us about a sushi place that he really likes. He even offered to call them and order the food for us. Unsure about whether or not we were comfortable with the idea of Mexican sushi, we said we would check it out for ourselves. He gave us his number before we left.
So we started walking towards the sushi restaurant and found it with little trouble. The place was very hip; part internet cafe, part coffee house, part sushi bar. In retrospect, I should have stuck with my gut instinct which said Mexican sushi=bad idea, but it seemed like such a good idea at the time. The guy who had lived in Philly said it was good. We ordered some vegetarian rolls and some miso soup and tempura veggies. As we sat down to wait, I bumped into a nearby table and promptly broke the vase on it. (don’t I feel like the big Gringa boob…). We ended up waiting about a half hour for the food to be ready. Then we paid (for both the sushi and the vase) and headed home.
Now, about the sushi: I have had many different kinds of vegetable rolls in many different places. I find them to be the safest things to order at a sushi place. Let’s face it, they are pretty fuckin hard to screw up. It’s just vegetables, rice and seaweed. But the Mexicans have found a way to make vegetable sushi completely inedible. Cream cheese. They put cream cheese all over the top of vegetable rolls. Why would anyone do such a thing? Is it just to clog your arteries? Was dipping the whole roll in lard a bit over the top, but cream cheese seemed like reasonable compromise? Believe me when I tell you, a Kraft single on sushi would be less disgusting than what I ingested for dinner.
So, if you ever have any doubts, stick with the very true assumption: Mexican sushi=bad idea.

Aug 10th and 11th

Sorry about the delay in posting. I was sick one day and the WIFI in the square was down the other day. BUT! We did find a great place for Allie to live. We met with a fellow named Martin, an architect who has an office and an apartment above it about a block away from the Instituto. The space has roof access with a beautiful view (I mean, every place in this town has a view), totally furnished, beautiful wood ceilings, all utilities included and it’s only about $350 USD per month. I’d be excited to live there. We also don’t have to pay the rent for August and September to be able to occupy it in October. We’ve just got to put down a first and last month’s deposit. Anyway, it’s beautiful and we’re going to sign the lease today. We’re still very excited about it. We spent the rest of the day relaxing (like we do) and decided that we wanted a slightly swankier dinner than we’re used to. Up the hill from us, we read, is a fine restaurant that’s part of a hotel. It appeared to be a small, discreet place and we almost walked right past it on our way there. It turned out to be a much more expansive complex, as we walked down the stairs to the hotel restaurant. There was about a half an acre of outdoor seating, much of it covered with a pond and stream that were somewhat concealed in the surrounding foliage. We had a really classy dinner in a really very classy place. We could barely finish our meals.
During dinner, we listened to the industrial strength bug-zappers fry some industrial strength sounding bugs. We all got a few mosquito bites but it was worth it.
Today, the 11th, we took the trip down to the apartment that we visited yesterday and Allie signed her lease. Martin was very nice and helpful and, although the contract is in spanish, the important parts are intelligible. The deposit was $700 bucks in cash, which looks like a whole lot of money when it’s in peso denominations. Anyway, we’ve got copies of the lease, a receipt of deposit, and Allie has the key to her very first apartment.

Aug 7th and 8th

So, we saw an American woman sitting in the square at her laptop and she told us that, yes there is WIFI in the area. We found the reception to be pretty poor and she told us that the signal was stronger in the cafe across the street. We needed a snack, anyway, and we got a table. Chips and refried beans were in order as I uploaded the pictures and text.
Since we’ve gotten into the habit of coming home for a large lunch (already), we decided to go find the market again. We initially went the wrong direction because we mixed ourselves up. I though we were going to the market and Rebecca thought we were going to a pastry shop. I was following her and she was following me, both of us going the wrong direction. We did an about-face after a few blocks, realizing that both things were in basically the same place. We got to the market and bought some more avocados (dos para ahoy, y dos para mañana) for the fantastic homemade guacamole that Rebecca and Allie have been making. On the way to the pastry shop, we stumbled onto a place that does nothing but rotisseries chickens. In fact, there was nothing in there besides the grilling apparatus and a chopping block. It smelled so good that we couldn’t pass it up (and a whole chicken was only something like 4 or 5 USD). We bought pastries and went home and consumed even more of those tortillas that we bought the day before (we’re barely putting a dent in them and we’ve been eating them at every meal we cook). The chicken was tender, savory, juicy, and seasoned in a unique way (I need to make it a point to find a place that makes it that way in the US). I’m finding that one of the most immediately noticeable positive features of SMdAllende is how consistently good the food is. That and the weather. And the environment. And…well, really this whole place is unreal.
We’re going to relax this evening since we’re tired from schlepping the computer and groceries all over town. We might talk to Kate about were Allie can find long term lodging. We’re thinking of staying out later and checking out some nightlife. We’re also thirsty for margaritas, of which we’ve had none since arriving. And that is a sin.
Well, so much for relaxing. Allie and I wound up going to talk to this fellow about renting one of his apartments. The place is right around the corner from where we’re staying and we noticed the sign earlier. I was so anxious and focused about interpreting his spanish that I completely forgot his name. It was quite an adventure and Allie managed to navigate the encounter very well. She was able to ask him questions about rent, utilities, whether or not we can start renting in October, and whether or not we can pain the interior (it looked a little unkept). I however, was forced to make sense of it based entirely on his gesticulation and my very limited vocabulary. He was very friendly and the apartment seemed like it could be really nice after a coat of paint, and some personal decoration. The kitchen is really really tiny (Allie thinks it’s cute and, I guess if you’re only the ever person cooking, it would be). It’s a single bedroom which has these beautiful double doors to the living room area. The bathroom is tiled and nice, also (no tub, just a shower stall). The living room is a corner room and two whole walls are windows. It also has a fireplace. Like many places here in SMdAllende, the apartment is in a courtyard complex. There’s a beautiful patio with a fountain and a large public stove, table, and chairs for cookouts. The view from the patio (the complex being on a mountainside, and all) is spectacular. I’d guess there are four or five units in the complex, total. At any rate, this wouldn’t be a bad place for one person to live and, like most things here, we were astounded by how little it cost. Only $350 USD per month. Monday, we’ll take a trip down to the Instituto area. We’ve heard that there’s a lot of housing geared towards the college students there. I think if we move quickly, we can find Allie a good place to stay. Unfortunately, it looks as though we’re in the difficult position of having to pay for the remainder of August and all of September if we want to have the place available in October.
For dinner, we discovered some strange, classy, spanish-creole/New Orleans restaurant. Before we ordered, they handed us shot glasses of the margaritas they make there. While we had no intentions of spending the evening getting drunk there, they certainly put us in the mood for more.
After dinner, we went to a bar we passed on the way downtown that had a roof-top terrace. We spent a couple hours sitting there drinking some fantastically strong margaritas. (In the states, you get them in those oversized glasses, presumably because they’re really watered down. Here, in Mexico (where the tequila comes from), they give you a small tumbler full. They are really really strong. We each managed two of them.
Sitting on the terrace, we were overlooking the central square and cathedral, watching lightening strike over the distant mountains.
We made it home just fine. It was our first excursion into SMdeAllende after dark and it was quite pleasant. Although most people we asked said that there wasn’t any sort of convenience store open that late (that late being about 10pm), our neighborhood store that we passed every day, miraculously, was in fact open. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to stumbling down the hill first thing in the morning to buy cigarettes and they came through with the save.
Every morning, at about 8-830am, we’ve been hearing very loud explosions. They sound like either a building a few blocks away is being bombed or someone is firing a shotgun in the living room. Well, it turns out that they’re the daily fireworks celebration. They’ve been a vicious and startling alarm clock and they’ve never really lasted long enough for us to actually witness them. I found out that they’re in celebration of saint’s birthdays and they’re supposed to ward of evil spirits or something like that. It’s comforting to know the innocuous origins of the daily morning explosions because the first time I heard them, I was sure that the police were shooting someone or that Zapatistas were invading. So, 8am, not a bad time to wake up, right? Especially when you’re in an exciting foreign country and you’ve got lots of fun stuff to do that day. Well, this morning, they started at about 4am. They’d set off the fireworks and it took just long enough to set up the next batch that I was almost able to drift back to sleep. Then they’d set off more. I thought, “They can’t possibly go on forever.” But I was wrong. Rebecca (who was just as awake as I was), and I went up to the roof to see if we could watch them but as soon we got up there, of course, they stopped. So, we hung out and looked at how beautiful the town is at 530am and went back inside. We both joked that as soon as we laid back down, they’d start back up again. I can’t tell you how much I hate being right sometimes. So, I got back up, not wanting to lay around and be frustrated until they stopped, and watched some rednecks in orange vests hunt deer on TV. I got to sleep at about 7am. Today, we’re on a mission to find Allie an apartment. While the first place that we looked at would certainly be adequate (although a bit of a fixer-upper), it’s always good to have options. I expect that we’ll be heading back to that cafe to upload this post, check our mail, etc and then going to the Instituto area from there. We’d like to get this out of the way early in our trip so we’re not rushing it at the end, panicking about our arrangements slipping through the cracks…

Days One and Two:

The flights were utterly uneventful. But the Leon airport is so small that we disembarked down one of those stairways that they wheel up to the plane.
A fellow at the airport was holding up a sign that read, “Hauptman” so we followed him and the small group of old, Texan, lady tourists to a minibus parked nearby. We drove for about 15 minutes until we reached a gas station at which point, we were joined by two Mexican gentlemen who informed us that the three of us were traveling separately. So, we loaded our luggage into the other car, got in, and were driven off. We had a moment of, “Oh God. We’re going to be abducted and murdered and nobody knows where we are.” However, were were comforted by the fact the one of the men had given us his “Rafael Tours” business cards and the other was snacking on peanut M&Ms. Everyone knows that killers hate M&Ms.
Anyway, we drove for about an hour and a half through some of the most beautiful country that I’ve seen in a while. We rode almost entirely in silence due to the fact that not only were we completely exhausted but we didn’t know enough conversational Spanish to make small talk with the driver.
It was a relief to arrive.
In San Miguel de Allende, we were met by Kate, who’s renting us the apartment and lives downstairs. She gave us a map, the keys, and brief introduction. We unpacked, rested, and then went and got a feel for the town. The terrain of San Miguel is as extreme as San Francisco but the streets aren’t nearly as well paved. It’s mostly cobblestone with little to no sidewalk. The town is a web of narrow, winding, steep little streets. When cars drive by, going down hill, you can smell their brakes heating and burning. Going up hill, you can smell their tires burning as they try grip the stones. Most streets are subtly and discretely marked, if at all. Nothing here looks new, at least on the exterior. Convenience stores, internet cafes, restaurants, and markets look like squatters in the husks of these old buildings. The facades of nearly every building seem to be uniformly decayed, in a gentle way that seems deliberate and photogenic, as if someone had built their ideal Mexican town from scratch. The town seems to have accumulated gradually in this location and the buildings are encased in a sediment of history and use. Electrical cables, phone lines, and gas meters stand out as slapdash additions to these structures. They’re obvious scars and accessories that are only now beginning to blend in with their parent structures as they wear and rust accordingly.
That evening, we went out for a quick dinner at the first place that looked good (dinner for three at a place that was nice by any standard only cost us 250 pesos -divide by ten to convert to dollars-) and picked up a few necessities at the nearby store (bread, eggs, cheese, and beer -Corona, of course. Driving through Mexico, about a third of the buildings we passed had huge, hand-painted signs emblazoned on the faces of the Corona logo.)
When we got back home, we hung out on the roof-deck and drank our beers, watching the sunset, grateful that we didn’t have to travel any more.
I watched a little TV before I went to sleep. Alien Resurrection was on.

When we woke up, we made eggs and toast for breakfast, making our plan for the day that we would buy some groceries to have around the apartment. So, we meandered around town with a vague idea of where the markets were. We found a large indoor market and the first stall we stopped at was a fruits and vegetables stall run by a single little old lady. We were able to communicate our needs successfully. We got avocados, tomatoes, bananas, cucumber, peppers, limes, spinach a mango, and a nice plastic mesh bag (with an image of the Virgin Mary on it, of course) to carry our groceries in. All in all, it only cost 70 pesos. At a nearby supermarket, we bought some salsa, beans and butter. We found a place that makes tortillas on the premises, watched them roll off the conveyor belt, and they were still hot when we got them home and had them for lunch. After cleaning the veggies in the prescribed manner (soak in a little bleach, etc) we made some guacamole, I cooked some ground beef I had bought, and we had ourselves an enormous, late lunch. It was delicious, to say the least. We just sort of relaxed for the rest of the afternoon.
For dinner, we wandered down into the center of the town and at Kate’s recommendation we ate at a place called Mamma Mia’s. She said that they had good pizza but we were skeptical. Mexican pizza? Anyway, we soon were made believers as it wound up being really tasty. There was live music and we might have been the only people there who didn’t know all the words to all the songs.
When you go out to eat in the States, the bill comes quite promptly. The waiter notices that you’ve finished your meals, clears the table and then immediately brings you the check so you can leave. In Mexico, I’ve noticed, no matter how crowded the restaurant is, it seems as though they expect you to just hang out after you’ve finished. Getting the check from the waiter takes some patience and persistence. It’s a different pace that we’ve got to get used to. It makes me feel like I’m in too much of a hurry.
After dinner, we made our way down to the Instituto but they were having some sort of function and we couldn’t get in. At any rate, we know where it is now and can visit it later. It’s a spectacular place, judging from what we were able to see of its walled in, muraled courtyard. On our way back, we stopped and got a few more beers and drank them on the roof deck when we got home.
Right now, I’m sitting in the central square, looking at the magnificent cathedral using some mystery WIFI connection. The library was closed today, open only to tourists visiting the gardens there.

So, I’ll be in Mexico for the next two weeks or so. San Miguel del Allende, to be specific. I’ll be using this space on braincrabs.com as a travel log and photo database. So, check back every two days or so for substantial updates.

(On the shores of Titicaca,
in the Puno altiplano of Peru)

I’ve been to Machu Picchu
Where the natives try to eat you¹ –
Though nowadays they treat you like a king.
But of all the esoterica
To be found in South America,
Lake Titicaca’s still my favorite thing.
I didn’t like Caracas
So I hopped on my alpacas,
And headed for a little place I knew:
Laguna Llacasapa,
On the shores of Titicaca,
In the Puno altiplano of Peru.

A pilgrimage to Mecca
Or a visit to Tribeca
To Llacasapa’s beaches can’t compare,
For there’s not a holy city
That can e’er outshine the Titi-
-Caca region’s special magic, anywhere.
Not for me, the ivory towers
Of the major global powers.
I far prefer these equatorial climes.
New York has hot baristas,
But Peru has Sandinistas
(Who are really Nicaraguan, but it rhymes.)

My vocabulary’s tragic;
To describe the Puno’s magic
I can never find the proper adjec-tive.
But it’s here that I’ll retire,
Whatever may transpire,
For there’s nowhere else on Earth I’d rather live.
Titicaca’s limpid water
Stretches toward Bolivia’s border
Underneath an azure sky; it’s quite a view.
Here at Laguna Llacasapa
On the shores of Titicaca
In the Puno altiplano of Peru.

         ¹ (Possibly untrue.)