Here is another shot of it for you, Scottie, complete with the door to the ladies' shower in the foreground. I hope to get this up in time for you to see it yet tonight on one of the newspaper's computers. Terry, too.
The train has not run out of track yet, Scott. I may pull her even further south. San Miguel de Allende is wonderful, and I intend to take a good deal more time to get acquainted. However, there are a great number of Americans here. It is not yet a dump for Americans like Cancún or Cozumel. But still, there are a great number of Americans here. On the one hand that makes this a good transitional place, so to speak. On the other hand those Americans who choose to travel abroad are such assholes in inordinate numbers. I don't understand what the deal is there.
I am speaking in generalities based upon predominant percentages now. After all I myself am an American traveling abroad, and I like to think of myself as fairly presentable in manner and deportment. With that disclaimer I simply wish to say that those Americans who would make the very best ambassadors of good will abroad tend to be those Americans who choose not to travel abroad at all or to travel abroad very seldom for some reason. It is a weird state of affairs.
At some point I may make a move to a place with very few Americans circulating about. Oaxaca beckons. If my nest with the Mexicans is fouled there, it will have been I who fouled it, not some jerks from the near north side who preceded me.
But wow! That is a long haul. The train will very nearly have run out of track if I get there.
I know that I am oddly sensitive to attire for a male. See blog entry of 13 May 2009 concerning Levi Strauss and Wrangler jeans in Texas. Still, I was conveying some observations concerning attire in Mexico to my granddaughter today by email that I though might be of interest to some of the rest of you after I thought about it.
Women here, and that most certainly includes young women, do not wear shorts. None. Period. Many wear the snugly fitting blue jeans. Others wear dressy looking sweat pants or slacks. Quite often the young women are wearing cute skirts. No shorts though.
As for the men, no self-respecting Mexican man would think of wearing shorts. Some of the teenage boys do wear the very long shorts—are they still called cargo shorts? But that is it. If you catch sight of a man in shorts from the back here and then catch up, it is sure to be some geek from Peoria. An older couple walking down the street both wearing shorts viewed from the back here stand out in a rather ghastly American way.
Those attending this blog who have known me personally for a long time know that I am not a big fan of adult males wearing short pants in public. . . . . . .unless the occasion clearly calls for it, such as jogging or bicycling or some such. However, admittedly in Iowa there are days in the summertime that are so oppressive that I grant waivers.
The difference between Iowa and here is the humidity. Long pants here are perfectly comfortable—or as comfortable as anything can be—in ninety degree weather. Your clothes do not stick to you here. Today it was right at 90, and I was wearing my original model rodeo style Wrangler blue jeans made with the extra heavy duty denim in the street and at the market. These are the very same jeans preferred by the saddest cases of testosterone poisoning among Mexican men. Not a problem at all, I assure you. I did pull those bastards off and get into shorts real fast when I got home though.