This description of a recent trip to Mexico is written in the form of a letter to my

[kumininexile]

Hi Dad,

Last April, I told you I had just gotten back from another Stockbridge School reunion that was held at the Red Lion Inn. I also told you about a Mexican former classmate of mine who was there with his wife. I told you how they both urged me to come down and see them in Mexico. Well, I ruminated and agitated about it all summer long. Finally a couple of weeks ago, I called Gary to find out if it would be convenient for him and his wife to have me down the following week. They said yes, and I made my reservation right away on Mexicana Airlines, which now has non-stop service between Baltimore and Mexico City. I left on Aug. 25th, and came back this past Thursday night, a day later than I had planned to. Due to a combination of my bad hearing and a screwup by the airline, I missed my return flight on Wednesday and had to spend the next 24 hours hanging around the airport until the following day's Mexicana flight for Baltimore left. My ticket wasn't any good on any other airline.

This was my first time in Mexico, and it was exactly like Santiago, (which I returned from 41 years ago,) had been. Actually, the nostalgia was a little bit more than I could handle what with the memories of all of us in Chile, and in the late evening of my first night there while talking to Gary, I broke down and cried. But the similarity to the rest of Latin America turned out to be the nicest part of the trip, once I got used to it.

My Spanish is still pretty good. After I landed in Mexico City on the way down, I had to take a coach bus down to Puebla which is where Gary lives, a two hour ride over some mountains. I sat down next to an older Mexican guy and started chatting with him in Spanish. This man spoke fairly clearly and slowly, and I was extremely pleased that I could understand him well enough that I could engage in a reciprocal conversation with him. I think if I were to brush up on the vocabulary I've forgotten since Santiago, and learn the verb conjugations I never learned back then, I could become fluent in the language. I've always enjoyed speaking Spanish, and this trip was an opportunity to get lots of that done.

My first afternoon there, I went with Gary to his office at the Universidad de Iberopuebla, a private school where he teaches Latin American literature. As we were driving along, Gary explained to me that while the public universities in Mexico do have a tenure system for faculty members, the private colleges do not. We spent a couple of hours in his office, during which time he introduced me to a couple of his colleagues who wandered into his office to talk to him about one thing or another. Gary kept fiddling around with his computer, and I don't know what he had planned on getting done that afternoon in his office. But he either accomplished what he had set out to do, or else he just gave up the effort, since there was so much reminiscing for us to do and I kept distracting him.

One of the things Gary told me about was how a wealthy friend of the university, (I got the impression Gary knows this person,) had endowed the founding of an intellectuals' club in downtown Puebla called, "Profetica." That night, Gary was scheduled to make a presentation in honor of the publication of a Dr. Spock-type of book written by a personal friend of his who's a pediatrician, (Gary's personal one for his five year old son, David.) The club is located in a crowded section of downtown Puebla, (population, two million,) in a building I was told was hundreds of years old and had been inhabited by squatters before it was renovated for Profetica. As we were walking to Profetica from where Gary had parked the car, we passed a couple of old buildings with their big wooden front doors open to the street, but with curtains drawn shut immediately in front of these doors so as to obscure the view. Gary explained to me these were whorehouses. (No, I didn't go in.)

The club has a bar in it as well as a bookstore, which is located on the other side of the courtyard from the bar. The bar, bookstore, and bathrooms are located in the covered perimeters of the building, but these surround a courtyard which is open to the sky. The club has had some kind of sliding glass roof installed over the courtyard so that lectures/presentations can go on regardless of the weather. The club is open to the public and since this was a Friday evening, the bar and bookstore gradually filled with people who wandered in from the street. I believe I was told that Profetica has only been there for a couple of years, but that in that amount of time, the place has become very popular amongst the public-at-large.

Gary speaks Spanish pretty quickly and not as clearly as the guy on the bus had spoken. As a result, I didn't try to follow along with what he was saying. But I could tell that he was doing a superb job of public speaking, judging by the inflections of his voice. He was very smooth. He talked for a while and then turned the microphone over to Dr. de la Concha, who gave a more brief speech which I also didn't make any effort to follow along with, and who authored the book. While Gary was speaking, I thought of two people again and again; the first person was Gerson with all of his public speaking stuff in Toastmasters. The other person was Bill Ganter, the bald-headed, ex-Marine assistant principal of Stockbridge who once wrote Gary's mother a letter very complimentary of him, and who Gary got along well with.

I guess this presentation had been publicized as about 30-40 people showed up, most of them evidently mothers, some of whom brought their kids with them. Chairs had been set up in the courtyard, in front of the table from which Gary and Dr. de la Concha spoke. After the lecture was over, complimentary glasses of wine were served, during which time Dr. de la Concha autographed copies of his book, (which I later learned was a self-published one,) and people chatted. Gradually people drifted out, and that was the end of the night.

The next day, Saturday, neither Gary nor his wife, Maria Clara, made any effort to wake me and I didn't get up until 3:30 in the afternoon. Feeling ashamed of myself, I sheepishly got dressed and went out to say hello to them. Maria fed me, and neither she nor Gary said a word about how late I had slept. So, I just pretended I didn't do it. This is the kind of reason, though, as to why I keep my visits with people short.

After I had eaten, Maria told me she and Gary had thought I might enjoy walking around the campus of the Universidad de las Americas, where Gary had briefly taught before moving on to where he currently is, and asked me would I, indeed, like to go there? I said sure, and we got in the car. Unlike the university Gary currently teaches at which is located in Puebla, this campus is located in a somewhat poorer, Indian suburb of Puebla known as Cholula, where Gary and Maria actually live. The campus of this university has been endowed with manicured gardens by another wealthy friend of that school, and we walked all around these. Oddly, the campus was deserted, even though the schoolyear was in session. Walking through the gardens was so much like walking around the manicured grounds of the Estadio Israelita we belonged to in Santiago that I was, again, overwhelmed by nostalgia. We then went back to the car and drove into downtown Cholula. We parked and strolled into a bakery, where Maria bought a bunch of Mexican pastries for us. From there, we walked over to a large open plaza area where kids ran and played, and where a man and his son comprised a two-man band: the father blew on a trumpet while his son beat on a worn bass drum and a snare They played for the people like us who sat around drinking tea. The hot tea warmed me and I began to feel better. Tell me now, was this or was this not Latin America?

Sunday morning, I got up at a very reasonable hour. We ate, and then hung around the house. At that point, Maria explained to me that we had been invited to the same Dr. de la Concha's house for lunch, who was the author of the baby book Gary had spoken about at Profetica. Maria herself, however, wasn't going to go, since she knew there would be someone there she didn't want to see. So, it was just Gary and I.

Dr. de la Concha lives with his wife and son in an elaborate house in a community built on the side of a steep hill, which overlooks Puebla. He's very nice, as is his wife. Dr. de la Concha went to medical school in Chicago which is where their son was born. I suppose it's in addition to his private practice that he now teaches at some medical school himself, I guess in that area. His gracious wife, May, teaches the Philosophy of Art, though I don't know where.

Gary and I got to Dr. de la Concha's house around two in the afternoon. We were two of ten guests who were invited, all of whom were academics except me and one other person. There was a Cuban exile there who would have been forced to pass a test on Marxism if he had wanted to be awarded the doctorate degree he had done all the work for. He refused to take the test and not only didn't get his degree, he was exiled from Cuba. I think he plans on going back after Castro dies, provided that things in Cuba change enough that he'll be allowed back in. Meanwhile, he's teaching somewhere in the Puebla area. His very goodlooking daughter was there with him, too. She didn't speak any English, but I managed to talk to her with my Spanish. She looks like she's approaching age 30. We had lunch on their outdoor patio where we stayed until just after dark, at which point the mosquitos became a problem and we moved inside. I didn't have any of it, but the liquor flowed. The party went on until 11:00 p.m. Even then, we weren't done. Gary offered the Cuban guy a ride home, and along the way, he and Gary evidently decided to detour to a popular part of Puebla where there are a lot of bars, similar to Fell's Point here. So, we sat outside while Gary and our Cuban friend ate and drank still more. Finally we dropped the Cuban off where he lived, (someplace that's a refuge for exiled writers,) and went home. I don't know how Gary made it to work the next day.

Monday, I once again got up at a reasonable hour. Maria had gone someplace or other, and Gary left me a spare key to the house as he left for work. I dressed, and left the house. I felt like getting some good Mexican coffee at any one of the hole-in-the-wall restaurants that populate the neighborhood Gary and Maria live in, but I was out of cash, and credit cards are like something from another planet to most store owners in Mexico. So, relying on my sense of direction to get me back home again, I walked and walked until I found a bank that was open. The didn't want to cash my travelers' check though, because it was a different color from what they usually see. So I went to another bank, where it was cashed. I had a very good breakfast at a place next door to the bank. And, of course, my sense of direction let me down on the way back and I did get lost afterall. I was rescued by a neighbor of Gary and Maria's who they had introduced me to when I first got there, and who saw me walking around.

Tuesday, I outdid myself with sleeping the day away. This time I didn't rouse until 4:30 p.m. The rationale I pretended to myself was acceptable was that this was my last full day there. Again, neither Gary nor Maria made any effort to awaken me, nor did either of them say anything when I finally got up. They just fed me.

Gary and Maria, (especially Maria,) pretty much waited on me hand and foot while I was there. I've got to laugh when I think about how Susie bristles at the very thought that she should dole out such treatment to a guest. After reading this letter, maybe she'll be able to see that it can be done.

(Peace, sister. I'm just kidding, just kidding.)

[Nomad]

Nice writing

[kumininexile]

Nomad;496513 wrote: Nice writing


Thanks, Nomad. You're a good guy.