Whale Walk
When living on Calle Ecuador in Puerto Vallarta, the view of Bahia de Banderas from our balcon stretched wide—an awesome vista. We could see Punta de Mita across the bay to the north. South from Punta de Mita, straight in front, lay the Islas Las Tres Marietas. Scanning the open water further south, our eyes met land again at Punta La Iglesia on the south side of the bay.
Each day we watched the sun as it moved north toward Punta de Mita at the summer solstice, then south to over land to Punta Iglesia at the winter solstice. Every day at sunset, we noted the apparent solar movement. By mid-January, the sun had moved north from Punta Iglesia enough to set over water in the south of the bay.
One morning looking out at the bay, we spotted whales. The whales were here.
Whales, ballenas!
A quarter-mile offshore, a catamaran and two pangas floated dead in the water within a hundred yards of two wallowing whales. The people in those boats were getting a close look.
I had a morning meeting in Old Town, Colonia Emiliano Zapata, so I kissed Alice goodbye, hurried down to the street, and scrambled down the steep Calle Panama to reach flatter terrain. I zigzagged across the cobbles of Colonia Cinco de Diciembre toward the north end of the malecón, the shoreline’s broad walkway.
There they were—the whales. They had moved further south, even closer to shore—now just a few hundred yards out.
I could swim to them from here.
As I eased into a comfortable pace weaving along the broad walkway through strolling tourists and locals, the whales seemed to move along with me. They sounded, came to the surface after gaining a few hundred yards, then dawdled together for a while. I was so pleased my pace synced with the whales’ movements it took me a while to realize most of the people on the malecón were oblivious to the whales. Every hundred feet or so, I met a person whose gaze also had locked on the whales, and we exchanged smiles.
It was like walking along with a dog—until I arrived at the south end of the malecón and the whales turned west—out to sea—untethered—free—wild.
A high-five tail-wag. Gone.
Whales. Humpback Whales.
Forty-thousand Flamingos
unneedfully Ria Lagartos/Rio Lagartos
You don’t pass through the little fishing village of Rio Lagartos, Alligator River, going anywhere. Unless you intend it as a destination, you will never come upon it. The village is remote—at the end of a road in the middle of the northern coast of Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula. However, it is a place rich in wildlife and natural beauty, the home of Mexico’s Reserva de la Biospera Ria Lagartos.
Alice and I drove from Merida to Rio Lagartos. Once there, we hired a guide to take us on a birding adventure. We wanted to see some of the hundreds of species of birds living in or migrating through this reserve. We understood very large numbers of Flamingos were the main attraction, and we were not disappointed.
Our guide, Roman Fernandez, was a gifted naturalist well versed in the life histories and habits of the creatures we saw—birds and others. He told us Flamingos weigh 2.5 kilos for females, 5.5 kilos for males. They may live for 20 years, have few if any predators, lay and incubate one white or green egg per year and mate for life.
Thanksgiving Pineapple
In addition to being thankful for my wife, my parents and sisters, my children and grandchildren,
Nothing to fear??
Another take on elections from Mexico.
Richard Grabman writes a blog, The Mex Files. I find it most interesting and recommend it to all interested in Mexico.
The following is a post from the Mex Files on the US election.
Street Art II
Another slideshow of Mexico’s not so permanent art forms
Colón/Columbus
A Quip for Columbus Day from a Guanajuato Spanish teacher
Cristóbal Colón llegó a America en 1492. El pensaba que estaba en las Indias. En realidad, el estaba perdido. Un grupo de indígenas lo descubren a él, pero la historia oficial no reconoce esta ironía.
Sunrise at the Piramide del Sol
isotretinoin prescription cost A Morning Hike up the Pyramid of the Sun
The idea of watching a sunrise from the top of one of the world’s largest pyramids had grabbed me, and I wasn’t going to let it go.
I planned to climb the Piramide del Sol, Pyramid of the Sun, in the ancient city of Teotihuacán north of Mexico City. This site was established a hundred years before the birth of Jesus.
I had read the placement of the Pyramid of the Sun was over a lava tube thought to be sort of an umbilical cord connected to the gods of the underworld—perhaps the place of human origin.
Chickens in Mexico
On my first visit to our little neighborhood grocery, tienda de comestibles, I carefully requested in Spanish, “Quisiera una docena de huevos, por favor.” I believed this to mean, I would like a dozen eggs, please. I was surprised by the reply, “¿Te gusta blanco o rojo? Rojo? I was stumped. I thought rojo was red. It is, of course. Yet, it took me a minute to realize the patient shopkeeper referred to what I have always called brown eggs.
When it comes to chickens, Mexicans have viewpoints different from most US citizens. Actual contact with chickens for most in the US generally consists of buying chicken parts wrapped in plastic. Mexicans, on the other hand, are not fazed when a flock of hens and biddies strut down a public street—even in the middle of a city. They don’t find it unusual if roving chickens poach a couple of bugs from their gardens, or if a rooster crows at any time of day or night.
Institutional Public Art I
When Alice and I traveled to the city of Vera Cruz, we found a beautiful sculpture in front of the PEMEX building, Torre de PEMEX, just off the Malecón de Puerto de Vera Cruz.
The scale is heroic and the work awesome. We liked it, but despite asking dozens of people who the artist is, no one could tell us.
The Silence of the Birds
Tenochtitlan rises
From the great lake of life
Shines like a jewel
Shines the natural light
*
The causeway is lined
With the birds of their world
With their colors so vivid
With their songs so pure
