Death in the Afternoon

Sunday I went to my first bullfight. There is a bullring that is about a 10 minute walk from the house - I find it a bit ironic that it's just up the street from the dance studio where I'm learning to tango (though not learning the Pasodoble).

A bullfight is a cruel spectacle. No one can deny that when death is the objective. I found it fascinating, horrible and beautiful. It's a complex experience. It's certainly an art and not a sport (even though a torero or banderillero risks death or injury, I'd argue that it's not really a "competition" between the bull and the man). Hemingway said that "bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honor."

The arena was pristine when we arrived - we were among the first there. Gradually gringos and Mexicans (more gringos than Mexicans) filled about a third of the cement seating. Vendors sold cervezas and a brass band up in the shade played traditional music, just a bit off key. Compared to bullfights I have heard about in Spain, this was probably more on the scale of community theater than Broadway.

Four toreros performed with various levels of skill, and the small young bulls did the best they could though all but the last looked worn out from the start. The first two toreros were respectable though not particularly remarkable (to my untrained eye of course). The third torero was a young novillero, perhaps 16, whom I might guess will not survive a career in bullfighting without serious injury. He spent much of the fight running from the bull and being coached from the sidelines. He was handsome though and posed with bravado.

The last to perform was young Emilio - only 12 but with a brave talent. His was by far the best fight, and his bull the most honorable. He stood quite still as his veronicas (sweeps of the cape) led the bull just inches past him. At one point he knelt in front of the bull, in respect.

Toward the end of a fight (it's not really a fight, more of a dance), the matador exchanges his sword for a much longer sharper one - the killing sword. After a few more passes with the bull they both stand facing one and other. The bull is tired and his head is bowed from the banderillas which hang bloody from his shoulders. The matador points his sword high and rushes the bull attempting to thrust it between the bull's shoulder blades for the kill. Unfortunately this isn't always done well and the bull is not brought down quickly; it suffers and must be killed by the banderilleros with a dagger to the base of the neck. Young Emilio thrust his sword perfectly down to the hilt and his bull, poor honorable Don Felipe, died quickly.

The crowd gave him a standing ovation and he was awarded both of the bull's ears (the previous matadors only gained one, though I'm really not yet sure what significance this has).

While I turned my head away many times yesterday afternoon, I'll definitely seek out other bullfights, not only to watch but to try to understand.

The sounds of San Miguel

I'm currently living in a little house that faces the Parque Juarez in San Miguel de Allende. This is a beautiful park full of activity where every morning you can find people from all walks of life (so to speak) taking a brisk morning stroll or run, or watching their kids on the jungle gym. And if you want to hear what San Miguel sounds like, this is the place to be.

Beyond the cacophony of birds, kids, and cars, there's a symphony of sound every day. Since I arrived, every weekday evening around 6-ish, there is marching band practice - trumpets and drums sound off for at least an hour. Around 10 am every other day, the trash truck comes 'round, announced by a guy clanging two pieces of metal together - you can't miss the sound. In the evenings, the knife sharpener wanders down the street tooting his little pipe whistle.

Somewhere (I haven't precisely located it yet) someone is blasting their stereo - fortunately they have quite a decent music collection. Saturday mornings at 8:30 is Zumba - group aerobics with about 200 people on the basketball courts - nothing gets you out of bed like heart-thumping disco.

Yesterday evening, a wedding party of about 150 paraded through the parque with giant puppets and the traditional taquila burro (basically a bar on 4 hoofs decorated with flowers). Musicians played and sang in the little band stand.

Beginning at around 4am this morning, the sound of explosions permeated my dreams, then kept me awake all morning. Every 2 minutes, blasting gunpowder (without the sparkle) echoed across the hills as San Miguel marked the beginning of Semana Santo with the parade of El Señor de la Columna from the town of Atononilco to the church of San Juan de Dios in San Miguel. In my predawn sleepy confusion, I only figured out we weren't being bombed by the lack of emergency sirens.

I love the sounds of San Miguel, but I'm also thankful for earplugs once in a while.

I'm living the beginner's mind because I can't help it

The beginner's mind is a concept that according to Wikipedia "refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject, even when studying at an advanced level, just as a beginner in that subject would. The term is especially used in the study of Zen Buddhism and Japanese martial arts."

I am living in Mexico and I do not speak Spanish as well as a 2-year old. I am taking dance lessons, something which I have not done since I was 12. Today's lesson was Argentine tango, one of the most difficult dances to learn (except in my case I'd argue that the hip snap in Bachata scores higher on the difficulty scale). Neither my teacher, nor either of the guys I was practicing with spoke English.

Now let me add that when I was taking dance lessons in my youth, my mom painted the nails on my right hand red so that I could remember left from right since I had a little dyslexia-ish problem that resulted in my turning left when everyone else faced right (I think it had something to do with all those mirrors). I apparently still have this problem. And now I have a teacher who is telling me something like "no, go forward on your right foot, turn and go backwards" in Spanish. OK.

So, I've paid my tuition and now I have no choice but to embrace this subject with "openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions" because if I didn't I would just have to break down and cry in the middle of the dance floor. And believe me, in a room full of mirrors that's just not a pretty sight.

Seriously though - I really am having fun.

Back in crazy San Miguel...

Continuing my recession strategy of dramatically reducing my expenses in lieu of submitting to gainful employment, I find myself again in Mexico. San Miguel de Allende to be exact. See map above if you want to know EXACTLY where I'm sitting at this moment.

And even though I am spending a lot of time in the familiar environs of Google, Facebook and the NYT online, it's now accompanied by the delighted screams of children playing in the park across the street and, as of 5 minutes ago, the blaring trumpets and drums of a Mexican marching band practicing for some nationalist event no doubt (it's a parade a month in San Miguel).

Nope, I'm not in California anymore!

Beautiful California

In three days I leave for Mexico. I'll be living in San Miguel again - in the middle of the high desert, this time for 4 months. As if to say, "are you SURE this is what you want to do?," California has burst into a flowering abundance.

Driving down I5 Sunday was, for a change, a joy, with miles of blossoming fruit trees. Poppies, lupine and a variety of wildflowers peppered verdant hills. At one point just before the Tejon pass climb I actually out load exclaimed "oh my god" as I suddenly came upon acres of ultraviolet - it looked as unnatural as it did striking. (a Goggle search has still not revealed what I saw - if you know, please tell me!)

Yesterday I walked the beach at Huntington, trying to absorb a bit of Pacific Ocean salt before I head inland. The sky was brilliant and the warm water was teaming with surfers.

As much as I keep telling everyone that I'm done with San Francisco and ready to see what could come my way beyond US borders, I'll always be a California girl and feel very lucky to say so.

The simple life

Ever since I spent my junior year of college in France, I've wanted to live abroad. I've dreamed of a simple little stone house in Provence or a sunny cabana in South America or maybe a nice little cottage on the coast of Portugal, and adventures in far away places.

But I could never completely uproot myself from California. As carefree as I dream of being, the reality of the tumbleweed lifestyle - rolling with the wind - isn't that easy. I need a home base, if only to park my cherished family heirlooms and my tax records.

So my goal lately has been to figure out how to ultra-simplify my life, to be more mobile but still maintain a solid connection to my SF life. I've found some awesome solutions as I get ready for 4 more months away...

Earthclass Mail is helping me manage my snail mail super cost effectively - and in an earth-friendly way as well. They'll scan the outside of everything that comes in and I can chose to recycle, shred, scan the contents, archive or forward. So far, it's been working great.

PayPal is helping me manage rent payments from my tenant - I realize bank transfers are also possible, but I like the ease of this solution. It's my first run though, so we'll see how it works.

Google just announced Google Voice. I'm a big fan of Skype (which I couldn't live without) but Google Voice seems to have raised the bar incredibly high (no surprise). I can't tell yet how this might be a benefit in Mexico, but I'm excited to see how it rolls out.

I know you have to develop a huge level of trust with these online solutions, but as David Pogue said on Marketplace yesterday, "Dude, get over it. We're already being watched all the time." (I'm paraphrasing a bit, but it was something like that.)

Lastly, what better way to simplify your responsibilities than to just ignore them. I thought I had a problem with online Scrabble, but I just downloaded Drop7 and I now know the meaning of tech crack (thanks Christopher for the dark circles under my eyes this morning).

It's the economy, stupid

For the past 2 weeks I've been trying to sell my slightly old, but very well-cared for digital piano on Craig's list. I know as well as anyone that Craig's list is notorious for flakey people, and I've had a few. But I've never come so close to selling something on Craig's list and had so many people beg financial reasons as their last minute excuse for backing out.

All the market statics give us a clear view of the dismal state of our economy, but nothing brings it home like the local community.

Like many homeowners, I've taken my piano off the market until better times.