I’m off to Mexico for a while, I think

Dear Readers, such as you are, well, I’m off to Mexico for a while, to recharge my batteries. Doubtful I’ll post stuff for a few weeks, doubtful it makes a difference anyway. Mazatlan is a beautiful place, and well, it’s a great place to watch the sunset, too. The weather is near perfect; the people are friendly; and I got plenty of friends there – as the joke goes “Soy el gringo favorito de la ciudad” – I’m the favorite gringo of the city. Maybe I’ll be back quick. Maybe it’ll be a few months. Just not sure. Maybe I’ll wind up with a house in New Orleans – the deal is in the works, somehow, who knows? Maybe I’ll wind up somewhere else; who knows? Stranger things have happened in my life.

Weirdly, when I plan something it goes kerflooey. When I don’t plan, it slips into some sweet place. Why, the first time I went down there I wound up playing the piano at a nice little coffee shop and had a nice apartment two blocks from the beach. “Whoosh,” went the waves, waning myself to sleep each night. I had made no plan, I just kept taking buses south and wound up there – within days it all fell into place.

Maybe while I’m down there the US economy will tank – that may or may not help the house hunting. Maybe while I’m down there something else will come along in my life to keep it at the nail-biting excitement that permeates my existence. Sure, I’d like the dull life in my own house – but that somehow never quite seems to work. Maybe I’ll even get back on the Prague to Mazatlan commute – Prague in the Summers, and Mazatlan in the Winters, and across the US during Spring and Fall. Well, it’s quite a journey, those oh, 8,000, 9,000 miles, whatever it is.

It’s all “maybe” though – nothing is set, nothing is plain, nothing is ordained. Topsy-turvy seems to be my means of living. Of course, I never quite know where I’ll wind up next, either. But hey, at least I get to see lots of places. It’s rather incredible, when I think about it, all the places I’ve been to – and not just for a week or two vacation, but no, for months at a time. Oh, don’t try this at home; it takes a professional to do what I have done. It’s been going on for quite awhile. Sometimes I even settle down for a year or two. Other times, well, no, most times, it’s a few months in one place, then on to the next.

Meanwhile, of course – my posting here will become even more erratic. Not that that makes a difference. I’m not sure if I’m making a dent in the world. My hundred or so readers a day seem to be from all over the planet. My posts range from economics to foreign policy to the “gay issue” – of which the latter there is no issue except what some wackos make of it. Indeed, recently some of those wackos are being quoted on a site: http://www.glaad.org/cap – and the poor folks being quoted are besides themselves in fire and brimstone at the audacity of GLAAD to quote them. Yes, well, if one says and writes mush, then one should stand as firmly with your own mush as you can.

Still, I have no real house nor home at the moment. I’m not really living anywhere. I’m just bouncing around from one person’s house to the next. And well, that gets tiresome quickly if it’s in the same city or two (right now, Baton Rouge and New Orleans.) And it’s oh so much easier to just go on vacation for a few months and worry about whatever I should worry about whenever I return to wherever I might wind up next in the US. New Orleans would seem the most reasonable, from my perspective. Other people have other ideas. Still, an apartment in Mazatlan for a few months never hurt anyone (well, only if one drinks the tap water.)

Is it safe? Oh, that’s always the question for Mexico, isn’t it? After all, there’s State Department “advisories” about not traveling down there. And the “news” (or, as I might refer to it “the sensationalist mush,”) is filled with reports of violence. Only, well, it is surprisingly safe down there, as I discovered. Oh sure, some places are like Detroit, or a Chicago Housing Project, or even like the edges of the French Quarter in New Orleans, where the local criminal class picks over the drunken tourists. They are easy pickin’s, I’ll grant that. But if one stays away from drug dealers in Mexico, and the burgeoning revolutionary nuts, well, it’s quite nice. And if one stays out of small hill towns next to marijuana fields, and down in the seaside tourist districts, it’s not so dangerous at all. Frankly, I have felt safer in every Mexican city I ever went to than most places I have strolled around New Orleans.

Will some banditos seize the bus I’m taking, haul it off the road and steal everyone blind? Maybe. That could happen in any American city too, from what I gather. Will some drug dealers all of a sudden start using their Attorney General of the USA Eric Holder’s guns (Fast & Furious, the scandal that is slow brewing in Washington, DC,) to shoot up a bus terminal, or some police or military road block? Maybe. Who knows. On the other hand, one can be walking through a US shopping mall, or be on a city street, or at a restaurant, and have some crazed wacko shoot up the place just as easily. One’s chances of being in the fracas are the same in either place.

Still, I’m not really worried. Though maybe I’m a fatalist – if one is shot and killed in the ambush, oh well, that solves a lot of problems in one’s life, no? Certainly bills, medical care, housing, etc etc, are then nothing of much worry. Though what to do with the body is always troublesome to one’s survivors. Of course, sometimes I think more people worry more about the dead than they do the living. Which is backwards to me, but hey, I don’t make the emotional mush my stock in trade.

And that’s it for the moment, I think I’ll end here. The future is tomorrow, and so is, I think, the bus trip. I’m sort of tired dealing with morons here, maybe I’ll go deal with morons elsewhere. Here, a picture or two of where I’m going — for the fifth time — so it’s not like I don’t know what I’m getting into:

The beach at Olas Altas (the High Waves)

The Plaza Machado — a charming location, (and it was at El Restaurante El Memorial just beyond the yellow flowering trees where I played piano for so many months at a time.)

The Plaza Republica — oh, look at all the perils of the place! Why, a palm frond might drop on one’s head!

Me, high above the North Beach, with the Golden Zone (where the prices are in gold, for the gringos, and to which I rarely ventured,) in the background, and Mazatlan’s three signature islands right off the coast. They are strange lumps in the sea, and seemingly not connected to the flatlands of the city which they face.

The hustle and bustle of a downtown street — the criminal violent class doesn’t even have room to maneuver through the crowds and vehicles!

Ah, the Faro — supposedly the highest light house in the Western Hemisphere, if the tourist brochures are to be believed, and the second highest in the world, after Gibraltar. Well, those are the claims, who am I to argue.

And so, ta-ta for now, I’m off on another adventure while other things brew at home. Like I said, maybe I’ll wind up living in New Orleans, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll return to a new rationality in politics in this nation, or maybe the mush heads in power will continue to spoil the place. Who knows? I got no crystal ball.

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