Holy Week In Pátzcuaro

Semana Santa, the week leading up to Easter Sunday is a huge holiday in Mexico.  It’s the type of week that makes tourism operators drool while causing peace and quiet types, gringos mostly, to curl up their toes with dread. 

It’s a fact that most Mexicans who can take time off like to spend the week at the beach packed like sardines eating copiously and drinking  all with competing musical sources creating the sort of cacophony that makes me fear Hell may be a sound booth gone mad. 

In Pátzcuaro a mountain town we enjoyed on our way south the city has covered over all four sides of the main square and given it up to shopping. This is pure heaven for Lsyne who walked and touched and talked and bargained and bought enjoy small gifts to fill a plastic bag to be stowed aboard GANNET2. 

I followed gallantly along but Rusty copped out and let us know he was tired and wanted to stay aboard and rest. 

Hed already been walking a lot so it was fair enough. And we had a place for him to sleep because we’d found a parking spot in the heart of the action! 

In the evenings we have heard a few fireworks but since Rusty hung around with some campground dogs that paid them no mind he has got over his fear of bangs. One more positive thing he has gained on this trip so far. 

I figured the cops had pulled easy duty standing around at the fair! They were chatting and eating in a group as cops do separate from the civilians around them. You’ll see these trucks on the highways one officer standing up behind the machine gun. Gringos tend to get fearful but I find the Guardia Nacional professional well equipped and keen. Not that I have had much to do with them. They use radar but we are always well under the limit!

I had just been telling Layne in one of our long driving conversations when audio books are off that I don’t like fennel. I don’t like aniseed flavored food. Well I thought that was the case. This woman made delicious corn soup with anise. It was surprising and rich and delicious. Nowadays I have to say I dislike most anise flavored foods. 

In many respects it was a day at the county fair. We strolled and touched and tasted and watched the people. She was stopped to pray because it is Holy Week but for most it seemed this was simply  a little time off:

And for us it was some people watching. Not Mexicans, just people having a good time. That all the snowbirds have gone home surprised us but I’m not sure we saw any on the zocalo. 

With the usual warnings in place. 

And so back to the campground. One neighbor speaks only Chinese and has no patience with Google translate. The others in the big RV are a mother and daughter who live inside and only come out to smoke. They are waiting to complete their home purchase. We on the other hand are getting ready to move. 

The rest of the week is at the beach with Layne’s sister and her extended family who have rented a house in Mexico. We get to park in the drive, use their showers and washer while sleeping aboard GANNET2. Perfect. 

Maya

 This is the story of a dog rescue, one that left me overwrought and upset, even though the outcome was by all other measures a perfect success. My last entry was an abbreviated story of the two days we spent delivering a Mexican street dog to a rescue organization in Chapala, two days drive from where we picked up the dog, and they were very hard days, physically and emotionally. This is the real story behind that frantic drive and she is the cause:

The reason Maya is no longer with us is Rusty. I tried to help overcome his prejudice but he was having none of her. She is young and energetic and he got so pissed off when she came into the van it was obvious to us this was not a match made in heaven. So Layne found an American run rescue organization 12 hours drive north from the campground in Oaxaca and we drove her there and dropped her off. She is safe and up for adoption, getting ready to be flown to the US for some lucky family to give her a home.

We first met Maya at the gates to El Rancho RV park south of Oaxaca. She was a street dog but not like other dogs. She was friendly and curious and came running when we walked outside to drop food off for her. A camper who had lived in the place for more than a year had taken on a personal crusade of neutering as many dogs as she could and putting out random food for them and Maya was one of her charges.

All the campers liked her but no one wanted to take her. I took on the task of feeding her which was no task at all and she gulped her food down twice a day, as though starving. She wasn't starving she just knew packs of street dogs would steal it if she didn't get rid of it. Some days she would be gone, chased away by the roaming local dogs. When I say street dogs they are dogs that are owned and live in local homes but run free during the day. What they lack in human fussing and attention they gain in total freedom. It's an odd pact dogs have with Mexicans. Maya wanted a home that much was obvious to me. She was the outcast as she lurked at the gates not allowed to enter the peace and security of Gringoland inside.

The compound is vast with community areas, a swimming pool, public grills etc and Rusty was not keen to go outside and face the local dogs. If you ever saw the movie The Killing Fields set in Cambodia when the Khmer Rouge enjoyed their killing spree you may recall the scenes in the compound of the French Embassy when the Europeans took refuge there to escape the revolutionaries outside. This campground gave me a similar feeling of refuge, another world inside its high walls. I hope I am not making it sound overly melodramatic but I was having a hard time. Maya was outside and we were inside and she stood at the gates staring at us as we entered the promised land without her. I was torn up.

Cali the campground manager and caretaker talking to the long term resident, a German, who spent a lot of time and money feeding and neutering the dogs. The Germans had settled their paperwork and were planning to leave in a week. That meant Maya was no longer going to be fed and soon the rains would come and with that not many travelers. Her chances of being given a traveling home were dwindling and I knew it. The forecast was for a cold windy night and I couldn't stand the thought of her under the bushes freezing so with that excuse I bulldozed Layne's objections and went out to bring her in. "Just for tonight mind!" were the words ringing in my ears.

She came up to me but instead of feeding her I leashed her and walked her to the imposing gates of the compound. As I opened the pedestrian door to one side she dug in and refused to come in. She had been advised in no uncertain terms she was not allowed in and she wasn't breaking the rules.

She dug her feet in so I picked her up, subsequently a vet confirmed she weighs 45 pounds and threw her on my shoulder. She didn't fight me, and that was how she entered the promised land at dusk, over my shoulder facing backwards. I could feel her head craning round as I walked across the gravel and she took in the forbidden sights. At the van Layne prepared her a bowl of food and we made a place for her to sleep on a soft rug and a towel in front of the passenger seat. She took her place, curled up and didn't move until I got up to walk her in the morning.

Rusty was not thrilled. He ignored her and stayed away from the van, spending his time under neighbors' vehicles and sunbathing in the middle of the lawn away from his invaded home.

The formerly outside dog was now in and everyone pitched in. Verna from British Columbia contributed a harness and flea soap for her bath as well as loaning me a flea comb to get her civilized!

Everyone pitched in and it was a celebration of us taking in hand the dog everyone liked but that  couldn't fit in their cramped lives. It was perhaps an illustration of the sacrifices we make to be travelers. There was a wistfulness present as our neighbors came by to check on her progress and pet her and look at her longingly. Maya really had been ripe for plucking off the streets.

We put her on Rusty's US campground 30 foot tether, the one we carry for the rare occasions Rusty has to be tethered when we are staying in places where it's required. She watched the world go by and house trained herself, never making a mess anywhere near our camp. Rusty walked with her when I took them round the camp but neither of them wanted to go anywhere near the gate. I don't think Maya wanted to go back on the street one bit and by now Layne was hoping as was I, that Rusty would accept her.

Saturday night was potluck night and Maya got pets from everyone and we got encouragement  that Rusty would get used to her. He sat aside looking miserable and I knew this wasn't going to change. He has never wanted another dog and in our minds we had always promised him a road companion only if he chose a partner for the van. Maya was not chosen as much as I wanted him to pick her. I so wanted him to like her, to choose her as a partner to back him up on the streets, to go running with him but he refused. And that's the story. I had no choice, and I wasn't going to make Rusty suffer. Maya had to go.

Verna is the hero of the story. She herself adopted a street dog thrown out of a moving car, just a few weeks old right in front of her friends who picked the tiny puppy up and Verna gave little Tule a home. I wished she would take Maya back to Canada when she left in a few days as the two puppies, Maya is probably less than two years old, played all the time together. Rusty sat stiffly with his back to them. Verna's partner has issues of her own, walking with a walker (I know how that works!!) and Maya was ours to rescue. So we did. We took to the road.

Layne found a rescue organization in Chapala called Lucky Dog and we spoke to the manager who was brisk and efficient and said they were flying a dog out Monday to the US and one space would be available if we arrived  Monday morning. That's how tight the rescues are there. Put her name down we said Saturday afternoon so Sunday morning we faced a twelve hour drive around Puebla and Mexico City and Morelia. We set indeed off Sunday morning early before the campground was even awake. We tipped Cali fifty bucks for his joyous work keeping the camp clean and he thanked us for taking the dog.

The drive was hell. We hoped to spend the night within a couple of hours of our destination but it was Palm Sunday and protestors were out blocking roads. I wrote some stuff about it in the previous essay, the bald facts but inside I was dying all day. I was driving to dump her and it has felt like nothing but betrayal all the way. She was perfect, curling up and laying down quietly for hour after hour. When we stopped to walk the dogs she came when called, and encouraged Rusty to walk further than I have seen him walk even with street dogs nearby. She seemed like such a good influence but he wasn't buying. Had he eased up on her I would have called the operation off in an instant but he never did. I drove with the pressure to arrive on the one hand and with a growing sense of dread and despair on the other. It was unbearable, especially as what should have been an easy straightforward expensive drive ($100 in tolls) turned into a series of blockades and disasters. We even came across an accident early Monday morning as we were pressing on and I couldn't not stop.

We had got up at 5:30 and drove in the dark to make good time to Chapala after Sunday's repeated blockades, but then we came across a car that had rolled and landed in the median, and there was a body lying next to it. Layne passed me the first aid bag and I ran over dreading the thought of doing CPR by myself on a dead Mexican miles from anywhere familiar. Why that mattered I don't know but I felt very much alone. Grandma was awake happily and could answer my questions, her son had called emergency services and her grandson was trembling like a leaf and looked to be in shock. I cleaned her head wound, she had a bleeding goose egg the size of Manhattan developing on her forehead and I checked for any other head wounds of which she had none. How I don't know, as the car was totally wrecked and squashed almost flat. She could wiggle her toes and Layne came up with a blanket and put socks on her feet so she was comfortable after a fashion. I got them to turn off the ignition in the car because all we needed now was a fire. I have to say the sedan was amazing. The windows were punched out but there were no shards of glass, the roof was flattened but of injuries no one else suffered a cut. Modern engineering is astounding. Wear your seat belts if you want to live! The police arrived and we left and as we drove away the ambulance showed up so I can hope she was going to be okay but this drive to dump poor Maya was turning into a farce with tragic overtones.

I don't want to dwell on the next part but it all went smoothly and Lucky Dog's vet gave Maya a very clean bill of health. The volunteers were amazing and the last I saw of her she was in a cage staring at me backing up with Sam trying to comfort her and I couldn't stand it.

She has a future now without me and I miss her. She is an amazing dog and if you want her she is available to adopt and be flown to the US for a new life. Rusty immediately returned to normal and his tail went up  and I can't blame him. Layne asked me if I would like to travel with a teenager in the van and when I looked at it that way I understood Rusty's disdain but I wish she were here. And that is the story of the past four terribly difficult days.

I can say no more.

Driving North

We left the campground after a fabulous get together Saturday night with all the overlanders except the French; why they sat apart and ignored everyone else I couldn’t say! There was lots of laughter and travel stories at the multilingual table and it was all great fun. I hope we meet at least some of them down the road. 

It was a long Sunday of driving. We are alive after it all and are making tracks north as we have a date with family members who have rented a house on the coast. 

We did stop to enjoy some spectacular canyons and mountain views which in the States would be turned into a National Park. 

The road was actually quite pleasant and when the smooth asphalt reached the level plain we had hopes for decent mileage, to get the road done and arrive after a fast hard  day behind the wheel. 

Then we hit a roadblock. We still have no idea what it was about but it was just one of those Mexican political protests that interferes with the lives of the working class. On this one we were saved a lot of waiting by toll officials who stopped traffic at a toll booth and directed us to get off the freeway. He said go through the village and on the other side you’ll find the non toll highway. Kind of but it wasn’t as simple as he suggested! 

Follow the locals, Layne said but I lost faith and figured the two cars in front of us weren’t quite local when they drove off in a ruinous dirt road into the desert. I didn’t create a route on the electronic phone map but just read and followed the street plan laid  out by Google. I did get us into a narrow alleyway (above) but by the time I figured our way of the village turning this way and that, but I was pleased to see the red sedan and the white pick up truck that took off in the wrong direction on the dirt were now behind us turning out of a side street. Pretty satisfying for the gabacho from far away who didn’t know what he was doing! 

Then we settled in to make up for lost time. Fat chance as Palm Sunday was apparently protest day. We got caught in another snarl caused by an unseen roadblock far down the highway. The cars got on the shoulder and drove past the big trucks to an exit that led to the free highway. One truck decided to block the shoulder to the gringo van while I was asking a couple of locals parked in the dirt alongside the freeway how to get out. Oh they said: “He’s blocked you!” Drive the dirt they said pointing to their own van parked next to the field alongside the freeway. So I did, by finding a spot that allowed us to drop safely to the dirt and drive forward alongside the 18 wheelers stuck on the asphalt. I stopped next to the offending truck and asked him why he was offended by me? I may be a foreigner I said but I have good manners unlike yourself. He looked away and said nothing. Then we were gone through the dirt and back on the bumpy free road. 

It was a good day. We didn’t get very far and when we found a gas station to park for the night it was dusk and threatening rain. We buttoned up and ate dinner in our home. More driving tomorrow of course.