Buen día, mis lectores!
 
As the initial month of the first year of the of the second quarter of what was a bright new century, now acting like an old dark one, barrels towards its mercifully short calendar neighbor, the weather, now the supreme barometer of old-age contentment, here in the high-dessert of central Mexico responds dutifully by cutting the daily temperature gap from pre-dawn to mid-afternoon from 40 degrees to a mere 30 (47F at 5am and 77F at 3pm). Hard as it is for northeastern émigré gringos to fathom, even after some eight years of assumed acclimatization, in just over a week we’ll have the Candaleria flower market marking the start of spring here in SMA. In February!
 
Still, one must acknowledge the elephant in the habitación (or horse in the hospital) as all this cogitating on the perennially satisfying warm and sunny passage of time is not so subtly influenced this new year by the aggressively intrusive news around the recent regime change in our homeland. While we refuse to accept the envious congrats of our non-migrating compatriots for some sort of long-term clairvoyance in putting a border between ourselves and the info onslaught following the election, there is a definite psychological advantage we recognized many years ago in embracing the distance, both real and cultural, in getting outta dodge each January. It does lend perspective along with respite. I will admit, however, that the jarring political jump-the-shark re-run at home has set my inner where-are-we-in-history compass spinning. Now I promise not to attempt after-fact-glib-NY-Times-plaining, even if I could, but I do have thoughts and fears with which to bore you.
 
This week’s blitzkrieg at re-setting the nation’s governing and societal magnetic poles suggests being in Mexico right now is perhaps what it was like to be in the Baltics or Poland as Stalin’s rule took hold of next-door Soviet Russia. Consider how the long-assumed promise of the all-powerful neighbor state bringing a stable peace and universal prosperity as its noble goal was worldwide and everlasting cultural and economic revolution in favor of the forgotten classes is suddenly replaced by an unapologetic Russia-centric self-aggrandizing dictatorship where all surrounding acolyte countries are pressured to serve her interests and who now live in constant fear of angering the lurking Russian bear. In other words, at this slight remove, the US is looking like the new Soviet Union this week.
 
After all, I read that Steve Bannon is an ardent admirer of the Bolsheviks: tapping the simmering resentment of the working class, encouraging tactical political violence, re-writing history when necessary to advance party goals, leveraging propaganda, and using a small but disruptive political toehold to quickly create a one-party system. Think about it: wholesale political “Purges” via musk’s HR trick of making civil servants disposable “at-will” employees, “state-terror” threats via passive-aggressive executive orders, and even “executions” via removing security from perceived disloyal but vulnerable apparchiks. Most striking of all is breaking the existing system by overwhelming it with rapid change and the coinage of dog-whistle condemning phraseology in official memos: “sharks of imperialism”, “rootless cosmopolitans” and of course “enemies of the people” are now “Marxist equity”, “social engineering”, “gender ideology”, “green” and the biggest boogaboo, “wokeness”. What’s old is new again!
 
Ok, I admit that these presumptuously lofty and far-fetched historical comparisons were probably brought on brought on by a guiltily long and delightful weekend in CDMX where Trotsky also enjoyed long delightful weekends in banishment with Freda and Diego. But really, is anything based on observable events far-fetched any longer?
 
So, In the midst of this swirling political mishigas we somewhat surreally carry-on with the assumed subject of this blog, our improbable extended Viaje en Mexico and this year’s ritual sojourn to what has become perhaps our favorite and most comfortable locale after NYC, Mexico City. We decamped to the very upscale Polanco colonia, staying in an art-filled boutique hotel, The Pugseal vs. our usual Airbnb cum gringo fav, hipster Condesa.
 
(Venue Review: While lovely, quiet, safe and BeverlyHillsesque with Avenida Presidente Masaryk* making Rodeo Drive look like a strip mall, we prefer the treed and chill Condesa or vibrant and partying Roma Norte.
*Named after the Premiere of Czechoslovakia from 1918 to 1935 known for bringing democracy to eastern Europe: see heady digression above for strained ironic connection.)
 
We traveled with our Rincón nabes and California besties, Ken and Mary Scarlett, pooling our extremely favorably exchanged pesos to take the ever-reliable BajioGo car service the 3.5 hours there and back from SMA (when solo, we take a bus). Jackie set the theme and purpose of our Thursday to Sunday jaunt to the 7500 ft high city of 22 million: Food y Barragán! The culinary destination that CDMX has become gave us an embarrassment of choices although our original plan to hit the famous Pujol and gorgeous Rosetta were foiled by waiting too late to make reservations. Still that blunder allowed us to discover two new venues and re-visit one old standby. Best of the trip was the stunning and gorgeously decayed décor, amazing service and wonderfully prepared family style Mediterranean fare at Taverna in colonia Juarez. Lardo in leafy Condesa never disappoints and Nueve Nueve in Roma Norte, the new favorite of our pal Rod who lives in the vibrant nabe is a monumental venue with first rate cuisine. The big duh is that evidently why we like going to CDMX so much is that architecture and design are as important to the Mexican restaurant aesthetic as is its cuisine. And we’re nothing if not superannuated groupies if of architecture and food.
 
Thus the other theme of our weekend was Barragán (Mexico's Frank Lloyd Wright)! Jackie booked us hard-to-get tours of both his longtime studio/home in the decidedly non-gentrified Miguel Hidalgo colonia followed by Casa Pedragal in the upscale Pedragal colonia built on a vast volcanic field in the southern part of the city developed mid-century not far from the Coyacan and San Angel homes and studios of Freda and Diego. The subtle but pronounced contrasts between where the famed architect spent his last decades and the work he created for his wealthy clients was a revelation. We, of course, took notes for our own Barragán wannabe casa. The biggest takeaway were  the “pulque pelotas” Jackie glommed from the museum shop. Those ubiquitous glass globes that popup all over Barragáns interiors are now filling our place in San Miguel. Surprise!
 
Our final Jackie induced wanderings had us discovering El Bazar Sábado in the comfy San Angel nabe where makers galore from all over the city offer pretty impressive crafts and, closer to our Palanco digs, Classicos Mexicanos, a museum-like showroom of updated classical Mexican furniture design from well-known contemporary designers.
​Food and design in other words, the staples of Mexico City consumed in three days.

All in all an undeserved and extremely civilized respite from the deliberate chaos of our northern home wherein several times I felt like I should go-off on a rant decrying the audacity of reveling in the luxury and comfort of entitled viejos gringos like Kieran Culkin in A Real Pain. But I didn't. 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Hola, mis lectores perdidos!
 
Sí, soy yo, Rip Van Werito!
 
Why, you ask, is this once semi-ubiquitous display of self-referential and needlessly digressive musings by a demi-expat alter-cocker, waking-up now? Surely the adventure of building a house in and navigating the commerce, culture, language, and politics of gringo-infested central Mexico is long completed by now. What’s left to convolutedly muse over?
(Well, you’re not really asking, are you? It’s me pretending you’re asking as an ashamedly clunky device for making excuses for this awkward, much delayed return to the overcrowded, evidently Chinese-controlled blogosphere. But it’s all I could come up with, so chill.)
 
Let’s see if I can manufacture a few rationales as I’m serenaded by Mexican marching bands in parade here at the edge of centro for Allende Day!  (Yes, we’re still here in San Miguel! And yes, I still get a kick out the civic desfiles with their numerous drum and bugle corps! I’ve concluded It calls up the southern marching band competition in the Carrollton Parade that passed near my grandmother’s house in mid-city New Orleans during Mardi Gras season of my childhood. It was, by far my favorite parade. Loved The Citadel’s storybook military uniforms!)
 
An obvious if presumptuously serious excuse for this unexpected (and, no doubt unneeded) web-intrusion is that today is the first full day of the re-boot of the political reality show that my native land has decided to put back into the schedule, presumably because it’s lost the ability to develop anything new in that realm. American, if not global, politics has become like Broadway, always defaulting to revivals. Unfortunately, this time it seems we’re retroactively FOMO for Stalinism and want to give it try! So, before they send me out to clean, I’ve decided to leave behind a journal of the upcoming plague years for future Silo rebels to dig-up and study for clues as to what the hell we were thinking!
Another, more truthful excuse is that Jackie keeps not so subtly hinting that she liked me better when I was engaged in this self-absorbed exercise while in self-imposed seasonal exile. So, here we go again.
 
Obviously, a lot has transpired within and without the family in and out of SMA, but I’ll (re)start with today here, Jan 21, 2025. The day after the Inauguration burlesque back home just happens to be Allende Day here in San Miguel. We celebrate one of the most important
“insurgentes” of the first Mexican revolution and our tourist-driven town’s namesake with parades, historical pageants, and of course fireworks. What’s different about the patriotic displays here than in the good old Estados Unidos, is the overt participation of the country’s military. There are more Guarda Nacional marching with lethal weapons than schools with snare drums. For my Nola friends, it’s like having the Nuclear Weapons Center from Kirkland Air Force base marching with samples of their arsenal in Endymion! (Come to think of it, I’m sure it’ll happen by next carnival, n’cest pas? They'll throw purple, green and gold geiger counters!) The effect of seeing a sudden phalanx of heavily armed mixed gender commandos and motorized artillery amidst high-stepping ER nurses, restaurant servers, ax-wielding bomberos, caballeros on beautiful palominos, and uniformed school children is now disturbingly reassuring. Is it assimilation or capitulation? 
 
Coming this unwarranted season: Succumbing to SMA ‘s dental tourism, Jackie vs the HOA’s new rule committee, a culinary and Baragán sojourn to CDMX, a road trip to Troncones on the Pacific, and more, yes, more house fixes! An essay on Fugas, Mini-splits, and ceiling fans.
 
Hasta maňana, weritos!