A beggar asking for alms.
Pig skin turned into sheets of chicharrones (fried pork skin snacks, delicious actually) in a butchers shop window. I’ve never seen them
like that outside a packet.
Fruit seller who offers chunks of papaya and pineapple covered in hot sauce. Sweet/savory is a much enjoyed combination.
An appealing coffee shop called “the struggle.” There’s a story there, I know it.
“¿Photo?” I asked. He smiled. I clicked. I don’t like tripe which is what menudo is.
Coconut seller outside a public notary. In Latin American countries notaries certify all legal transactions. It’s a tough job to get but it will set you up for life. Boring as hell though certifying legal transfers all day.
Toy seller stretching out in his chair.
Rusty and the anonymous street guy.
New vices, video games, in a new building. Essential oils sold next door.
The cathedral complex facing Plaza de Martires, the central square:
You can usually see hills in the distance. Nighttime lows are fresh and cool after a day of hot sun.
Entering the city.
A Token Gringo
Uruapan, a town I’d never heard of until my wife, the inveterate traveler said we must go and relive her youth. She remembered a lush park in the city and little else. We were going to make up for the shortcomings of her youth and see the town properly. Bye bye beaches and swimming and all things vacation, this retiree has homework.
The World Capital of Avocado claims the title not because the stuff grows in the city but because the fruit is processed in many sheds in the city. At 5300 feet above sea level we were hoping for cool nights for good sleeping. With 360,000 inhabitants I did not expect to be the sole North American in town Tuesday afternoon but sure enough I appeared to be a statistical irrelevancy of one.
The journey into town did not go well. The potholes were astonishing. I am not a fan of four wheel drive fads but I wondered how locals got around in sedans such was the rate of lurch and thud in our slow speed home on the narrow streets, reminiscent of driving in Central American cities, where daily living takes to the streets and vehicles, especially stupidly big ones, struggle to get by.
Then I lost a million dollars. “I see a KFC!” my distracted navigator shouted. “Rubbish,” I replied stoutly defending my belief that this was a city clearly outside the orbit of world franchises. “I bet you a million bucks,” I said impulsively. I lost. Through the pine tree trunks the dreaded logo appeared. I was bankrupt. I have suffered this fate quite a few times in 28 years of marriage so I was hopeful she would once again cancel the debt, in the fullness of time.
Then my phone rang. It was my health insurance agent in Boca Raton Florida. I kid you not. My health care supplement blah blah blah was canceled because Liberty Mutual an oddly named company was dropping Florida thus not liberating me mutually in an unexpected one sided demonstration of the power of Corporate America. The voice droned on. Thirty dollars less…same supplemental coverage…Blah blah blah. The newly minted millionaire to my right put the agent through the wringer as she always does and they both got testy on the van speaker phone. “Your call keeps cutting out!” Meanwhile the Tata Lazaro bus line seemed to be developing a desire to drive us off the road in a pincer movement with three of these oddly named vehicles at the same time. Save the Tatas! I thought to myself as I tried to get out of the traffic.
Sod this for a laugh, I need time with my therapy dog. Rusty loves it when I put the Promaster in park. Walk time sure as Pavlov tortured canines.
I have learned grumpiness is a visible condition so when I snagged my camera and the Mexican leash ( the one we used to call the park leash as it is fixed at six feet long) Herself said sweetly she would cancel my million dollar debt and stay aboard GANNET2 to talk to her friend Stacey who hasn’t retired yet and is stuck in a salt mine in California.
I’d never heard of therapy cities before and perhaps they need to be named. Uruapan is one such. The sun shone, people smiled at each other and the tripe man waved cheerfully but not enough to make me ever want to eat menudo again. By the time we got back Rusty was officially dead and I was ready to tuck into crispy rolls and Oaxaca cheese that had leaped into my hands unbidden during the walk.
IOverlander sent us to the campground at a delicious old pile of a hotel overlooking the city. The camping area is somewhat on a slope and if you don’t know what a Jake Brake is the truck drivers pelting downhill outside the old hotel compound’s walls will teach you to enjoy the calamitous sounds of a dustbin factory exploding as they deploy the engine exhaust to slow themselves down. The water and electrical outlets are dubious and the showers and toilets are on the horizon somewhere far beyond the hotel’s inner sanctum. The pool is icy cold and we absolutely love the place. We pad around the silent corridors and swim like lonely billionaires in our own eccentric castle.
Who needs beaches? We have the entire city of Uruapan to our solitary gringo selves. I can’t believe our luck. Worth a million bucks any day.
Lunch at the market meat and vegetable ( cactus I think) tacos.
