Just stay home, says Calderon

"...high-frequency Uranus raises your anxiety level today." My horoscope.

Just when I was spouting off that no cases of flu had been reported on the coast of Sonora, I hear from Lolita that three cases have turned up in Empalme and one in Guaymas. These are not confirmed swine flu, just people being tested for suspicious symptoms. But it's enough for the masks to start appearing on the streets of Guaymas.

But the masks are almost useless in protecting against infection, according to the chief medical officer of Scotland, Dr. Harry Burns. "You wear a face mask, it becomes damp during the course of the day and that allows the virus to spread across your face." Health care workers are being advised to don a fresh mask if dealing with a flu sufferer. But "the virus is so small they can go through the pores."

So, if we're thinking nonporous, can solid plastic masks be next? Are we going to resemble Darth Vadar in the heat of summer?

President Felipe Calderon wants us to stay home from May 1 to May 5. The 176 professional soccer games scheduled for this weekend will be played (and televised) in empty stadiums. Supermarkets, buses, garbage collection and, of course, hospitals, will operate as usual.

The Capt, down in Barra de Navidad, says the hospitals there are already overcrowded with cases of dengue fever.

Late news flash: According to a CNN report, so far, four month into this year, 13,000 people have died of flu. NOT swine flu, but "regular" flu. Worldwide, the number is between 250,000 and 500,000. Sort of puts everything into perspective, doesn't it?

Hunkering Down

M/S "Ryndam" won't be landing in Guaymas today

I was all set to go to Guaymas today for the Calimari Festival and to watch the landing of the Holland-American cruise ship M/S "Ryndam." Cruise ship arrivals are big events on the waterfront since it only happens here a couple of times a year. But...¡que lastima!...the Calimari Festival, a motorcycle meet and the cruise ship landing have been cancelled because of the flu scare.

There are no reports of flu here on the Sonoran coast, nobody's walking around in cubrebocas (masks), except in the supermarkets where the workers have been wearing them for years. But schools and daycare centers are already closed, and now it's been decided that the cruceros should bypass Guaymas, Mazatlan or any other Mexican ports. I wonder how the passengers feel about that. I remember sitting on our boat looking at the shore and longing to step on land and go exploring. Lines from the song "Wooden Ships" come to mind.

Gringo in Paradise accurately points out that this blow to tourism in Mexico, on top of the well-advertised drug war reports and the fallout from the US banking fiasco, will have a crushing effect on the economy and thus bring about an increase in crime. I wouldn't want to be working for a business that relies on tourism, such as a restaurant, or a dive shop or even a bar (though I suspect there may be an increase in cantina clientele pickling their sorrows). Or a working mother trying to find care for the niños.

It's my favorite time of year: warm enough to enjoy being outdoors, with refreshing breezes and cool nights. The madness of Semana Santa is over, there's plenty of room in the hotels, airline rates are reportedly reduced, and traffic across the borders is minimal.

I'm not losing any sleep over the risk of an epidemic, though I notice I'm washing my hands more often. In the States, stores are running out of liquid hand cleaner. In Mexico City, people are staying home and keeping busy wiping down their telephones, door handles, even their windows with disinfectants. If they can't cook, they go to restaurants that are still preparing food al llevar (to go).

In La Gloria, a major pig farming area near Mexico City, a little five-year-old boy named Edgar Hernandez has achieved notoriety for having been the first reported flu victim. Edgar's fine now, by the way, and enjoying more than fifteen minutes of fame, with visits from numerous scientists, fumigators who sprayed his house, doctors, even the governor himself.

What? No more hugs and kisses?

If the swine flu comes to Guaymas, I could be in trouble. Lately I've been spending a lot of time socializing with the locals. My Mexican friends are more inclined to plant besitos on my cheek and give me warm abrazos on arrival and departure, unlike the more distant, "protecting-my-space" gringos.

Thursday and Friday nights I met with Lolita, Blanca, Lena, Julia and Padre Jorge to practice some songs in Spanish, and then on Saturday night we performed the songs at a fiesta celebrating Padre Jorge's birthday and the opening of a new elder daycare center in Miramar (a suburb of Guaymas). Lots of hugs and kisses all around, even from the Padre.

Meanwhile in Mexico City they're taking the flu very seriously: people are wearing masks in the streets, schools have been shut down and churches have been canceling mass. Then last night a category six earthquake struck close enough to be felt in the capital, and people were evacuating. What to do?

Stop the presses! It's getting hard to keep up with reports now. Schools and cinemas throughout Mexico are closed today. And the casualty count jumped from 100 to 149 as of midday today. That's how many people have died of flu-like symptoms, but only 20 had been confirmed swine flu victims, last I looked. Travelers coming home to Scotland, Canada and Spain have been quarantined with symptoms, and governments in Japan, China and Korea are planning to quarantine and examine anyone returning from the US or Mexico. The tourism industry, already reeling from the economic downturn, takes another one in the chops.

Reports say most of the victims have been younger people, whose stronger immune systems overwhelm their lungs with antibodies and suffocate them (to put it in very unscientific terms). Older people who have been through other flus and respiratory illnesses have less robust responses that don't overcompensate, and they are more likely to survive.

A mask telegraphs to the world that you're not available for kisses and probably wouldn't welcome hugs. Next we'll do away with handshakes, which originally were meant to convey that we weren't carrying a weapon (just germs). High fives will have to go, too. Maybe winks will be the new friendly greeting.

FYI: I've been advised the new, more health-conscious way to sneeze is not into your hand, since you're unlikely to always have immediate access to wipes, liquid cleaner or soap and water. Instead, use the inside of your elbow.

Going to the Dark Side…or not

Warning: if you use a Mac, don't try to buy a cell phone that takes pictures. According to Telcel, there are no cell phones that can upload photos on a Mac.

Yesterday I went to the Telcel office in Guaymas yesterday to try to trade in the cute little pink LG phone the Capt and I bought three weeks ago, for a Nokia or other brand name that would work with my MacIntosh. We were told there's nothing that would work, and furthermore, I can't get a refund on the LG.

I can take all the photos I want, but I'll never be able to share them or look at them enlarged or print them out unless I use a PC. I don't have a PC.

I could blow big bucks on a MacIntosh iPhone and it would work in Mexico but I'd have to buy a contract instead of using phone cards, and I don't want to tie myself down to monthly payments. I'm not so compulsive that I need a phone I can use to check my email, surf the Net and blog. I found a website that says there's a software called FonLink 2.0 that's compatible with Sony-Ericksson phones and will upload files, music, photos and videos to a Mac. That would be fine, if I wanted to buy the software and yet another phone.

I'm getting closer to considering buying a PC, if only for cell-phone photos, Internet and Word (which I need for editing books since authors are sending me manuscripts written and formatted in Word). And those tiny Acer laptops, only slightly larger than a paperback, weigh less than three pounds, come with Windows XP instead of the universally-loathed Vista OS and are $350 at Costco. How liberating it would be to carry something that small and light next time I travel!

My son the webmaster long ago went to the Dark Side and now seldom uses his Mac. My first computer (in 1985) was an IBM, back when you actually had to learn DOS, but I always preferred the Mac OS and still feel a lot of resistance at the sight of a PC screen. After 25 years using computers, I feel grumpy at the prospect of having to learn a new system and a little sheepish about abandoning the Brotherhood of the Mac.

But maybe I'm just being mulish and I need to just get over it. Or maybe I'll just forget the whole thing and keep lugging my camera.

Any of you PC people want a cute little pink LG phone that takes photos?

Newly-Frugal Guy to the Rescue

Cartoonist Mark Fiore's sardonic look at efforts to sabotage Obama's economic stimulus package by simultaneously cutting social services for the "unemployed, old, sick and vulnerable"(published today on Slate.com online magazine).

The Other Shoe Drops

Having heard a few days ago that a friend of ours, Ray on Pavane, fell asleep and ran aground at Cabo Corrientes, I was anxiously waiting for news about another friend, Fred, whose boat had gone missing in the same vicinity, around the same time.

Fred, who had been sailing south from Puerto Vallarta, turned up Saturday night, boatless, in the marina in Barra de Navidad with a harrowing tale to tell. Coming around Cabo Corrientes, he lost the wooden mast when a chain plate broke (that's the hardware that holds the rigging to the deck). He drifted offshore with no motor, no sails, for three days in rough seas before the locals came out in their pangas to tow him into the little Ipala Bay. He caught a bus, arrived home in Barra and began making arrangements to have Mi Sueño towed back to the marina tomorrow. His plan now (written in sand at low tide) is to fix the motor and put Mi Sueño up for auction on eBay.

Mi Sueño (my dream), which perhaps should be renamed Mi Pecadillo (my nightmare) drifted motorless and mastless off Ipala Bay for three days before her captain, Fred, was rescued by pangueros

The Capt, reminded that our boat has a chain plate that needs replacing, has set about getting that done. A failed chain plate caused our first boat, Pollo del Mar, to dismast in a sudden gale in Richmond Bay near San Rafael in 1993. Been there, done that.

In other news, the writing workshop I organized with the help of my friend Julie from Vancouver, brought in seven enthusiastic participants (I expected maybe three or four). Two men, five women. One of the women already has a book in progress, while another one is still working out her concept. The rest of us are noodling around with ideas, but everyone perked up when Julie showed off her book, "A Seven Year Journey Around the World," and talked about the advantages of self-publishing and her program, InspireABook.

Because San Carlos is a way station, most of these people will vanish in the coming months, migrating back to the States. But I'm thinking about how I can make the group a hybrid, allowing each of us to continue sharing our work online, and meet f2f at my house when they're in town.

In fact, if it's online I could open it up to others as well. There are some logistics to work out, but I think it can be done. I'm not a writing teacher, only an editor, but then, I'm not charging for it, either. The payoff, for me, will be the extra nudge to get something written.

Kicking the purse habit

I gave up sugar, dairy, cookies, ice cream, late night dining. Thirty years ago I gave up cigarettes. Now it's purses.

When we first moved to Mexico, I was much more fearful of crime than I am now. In the States I have been mugged, swindled, burgled (from my car, house and boat) and terrorized by a home-invasion robbery complete with guns. Here in San Carlos, after three years, I've yet to be victimized. I'm not the sort of person who wants to live in a gated community, never drives at night, regards all Mexicans as potential thieves.

But that doesn't mean I'm oblivious. The local online forum, Viva San Carlos, reports that Saturday night a gringa was mugged outside a popular local bar by a young Mexican. He knocked her down and took her purse, which was found nearby yesterday morning, minus the credit cards and cash. No weapons were displayed and she wasn't hurt, just furious. She had stepped outside to wait for her husband to pay their bill, and was only alone for about three minutes. The message was that people need to be more careful at night, women especially, and that purses should probably be left at home. The latter, I took most seriously.

I carry a brown leather backpack, which I usually sling over one shoulder rather than wearing it on my back. It holds my wallet, keys, driver's license, sunglasses, ATM card, lip balm, hairbrush, cell phone, a small notebook, pens, passport, FM-3 and my camera. I have other bags, but whenever I switch I usually leave something out that turns out to be crucial, so I've toted the same one now for over a year.

I could tuck a few bills, some ID, and a housekey in a little purse that hangs from my neck on a cord, and leave the camera at home. As long as the evenings are cool I could wear a favorite shirt of mine that has a half-dozen hidden pockets. But so many times I've gone without the camera, only to see a once-in-a-lifetime shot. Besides, a camera can be a good deterrent when it's aimed at thieves and extorting policemen (who are also accosting travelers in Hermosillo). Cell phone cameras are also handy for that purpose.

(Recently I bought a cell phone with a camera, but neither the Capt nor I can get it to upload photos to my Mac. And the girl at the TelCel kiosk says it can't be exchanged for another brand. But maybe I should carry it around anyway, for brandishing purposes.)

The concept of not carrying a purse seems liberating, yet when I do go out purseless I feel somewhat…um…naked. It's interesting how much of my identity is tied up in that leather bag.

I've never understood how men can get around without one, even if they don't need a hairbrush and lip balm. The Capt has even forsaken his wallet, settling for a Ziplock sandwich bag…"It's waterproof!" he pointed out.

Ziplock bags seem like the last resort, but I've never bought into the idea of purses as high fashion. The idea of blowing big bucks for a Prada or a Gucci sounds silly to me.

To me, this orange Versace bag doesn't scream "High Fashion!" It screams "Steal me!"

The purse issue is on my mind because I'll be out alone a bit more in the evening, on the streets of Guaymas, coming home from choir and English school. As a child, I was constantly fed the notion that, being female, I'm a potential victim, although I was never taught how to defend myself.

Recently an acquaintance mentioned to me that a judo class might be starting here in San Carlos, and I said I'd be interested. Imagine the surprise of some young ladrón , if I were to deliver a couple of well-aimed judo chops!

A mini-meetup

We may have missed out on the big annual Mexico bloggers' meet-up in Mérida, but we had our own mini meetup at La Barca restaurant in Guaymas last night when our intrepid friend Steve arrived with his brother Darrel and Mr. Jiggs, Brenda and Roy. Steve is on his way to Melaque, where he's starting his new life. Heady stuff!

Steve's stoked, even after two days of driving, and we were glad to have a chance to hear about their adventures on the road. These past few days are the longest the brothers have been together since they've been adults, so it's a long-overdue never-to-be-forgotten experience for the two of them. I was thrilled to be a small part of it.

Buen viaje, Steve, Darrel and Jiggs!

(clockwise) Roy and Steve, me and Brenda. Darrel was our photographer. Thanks, Darrel!

There but for the grace...

The morning ham network reports that our friend Ray lost his boat Pavane when he was attempting to round Cabo Corrientes single-handed this week. Ray's OK, but his boat was totaled and is now breaking up on the rocks. With his many years' experience sailing alone on the Mexican coast he was a mentor to us.

Our British friend Fred on Mi Sueno was in the same area, with a disabled diesel, and is now two days late getting home. The Capt is waiting in Barra de Navidad, Fred's destination port, hoping to hear from him. And next week it's the Capt's turn to sail around that notorious cape, also singlehanded. I'm hoping he'll buddy-boat with another friend, Herb on Synchrony.

I've been around Corrientes at least six times, and though it wasn't a cakewalk, it wasn't all that bad. But there have been some gales coming through that area in the past week and it's a scary place to be when the winds are on the nose: no place to tuck in and wait it out. It has a reputation as the roughest stretch along the Mexican mainland coast.

Semana Santa by the numbers

People in San Carlos during Semana Santa, 2009: 362,000.
Accidents: 23.
In custody: 157.
Red Cross services: 118.
Rescate of San Carlos ambulance services: 162.
As far as we know, nobody died.

La Cantadora

I love the Mexican musicians' tradition of wearing giant sobreros onstage. They make it look easy, but having worn one myself (briefly!), I can attest that the shade they offer doesn't make up for the distraction of that weight and visual limitation when they're performing.

Placido Domingo sings rancheros with a sombrero-wearing mariachi band, including a lady mariachi

Sombreros were originally a guy thing, but I've noticed on the Mexican version of MTV that songstresses are wearing them too, now and then, just as the women in mariachi bands wear a long-skirted silver-studded version of the classic mariachi outfit.

My mother collected a whole album of photos of me at all ages, and this was one I must have sent her when I was in my twenties, decades before I ever conceived of singing in Spanish.

Back on Track

I've broken out of my cocoon, and though my wings are still a bit soggy, I'm beginning to fly… a little.

We had a very enjoyable, sometimes hilarious Spanish conversation class at Lolita's house yesterday, and afterward I agreed to join her church choir again for El Día de San Fernando, coming up next month. I'll go to her house on Wednesdays, have a private singing session with her, and then the choir will trickle in and we'll practice. I've missed the people I sang with at Christmas, and the immersion experience (out of the ten members, only Lolita and the tenor speak any English) will be good for me.

I also talked myself into finally starting a weekly writers' group, with a little help from my friend Julie. We'll be meeting on Monday afternoons, so I'm going to have to come up with writing of some sort every week… and no, the blog isn't adequate for that, although there's a lot of material here. I'm not a writing teacher, but what I have to offer is the loan of quite a few writers' books, some editing help and some encouragement.

There's also an ongoing English class in Guaymas, two sessions a day, and I've volunteered to help with at least one session Thursday afternoons. The format is fairly relaxed, so we just go in and have conversations with students of all ages. I'm drawn to this sort of class because I want to work with motivated students looking to improve their job prospects, instead of spoiled ninõs who only show up because their parents pay for private school, who have no real interest in learning English.

Then there's a yoga class I'd be silly not to participate in, since they're all friends, I desperately need the exercise, and it's free. What's not to like? I won't be able to do the standing and balancing poses right away, but I can at least get into the mat work.

Meanwhile, I'm hoping to hear from cruising friends who'll be passing through San Carlos to put their boats in dry storage before heading back to the States, and I've invited quite a few of them for dinner.

These past two weeks of solitude and inactivity have taught me some things about myself. That I need other people. That when I've isolated myself too long, it's difficult to re-engage with the world; even driving and talking on the phone become challenging. That even brief time spent with friends elevates my whole day. That being by myself for too long makes me weird.

Feliz Pasqua...and Happy Easter, too

Forget the dyed eggs, the candy and the new spring outfits. I can't think of a better way to celebrate Easter than to listen to Handel's "Messiah." Not just the "Hallelujah Chorus" which is the part most familiar to all of us, but also the "Amen" which brings tears to my eyes with its gorgeous and complex interweaving of voices. When I first joined the local choir in Mendocino, CA, the "Messiah" was the first piece we worked on, and singing it was one of the high points of my life. Handel wrote "Messiah" in 24 days, for the Easter season, and the first performance was to benefit hospitals for the mentally ill.

This YouTube version of the "Amen" takes you on a journey through the galaxy.

A Jones for the Tube

My name is First Mate and I'm a TV-holic, also a readaholic.

It's getting close to hunker-down time here in San Carlos as the hordes descend for Semana Santa, Mexico's Easter Week. I made a brief foray for provisions and the streets already remind me of an anthill when you stir it up with a stick. By this time next week, the swarms will have taken over until Easter when they'll all disappear again. Normally I would just forsake the car and bicycle, and walk anywhere I needed to go. But that's out, as long as I'm on crutches.

The red flag went up on the TV issue when I turned on the idiot box to catch my favorite show last night, "Weeds." After two months cruising, I was far behind the story line, and found that it had been shifted from Tuesday to Wednesday night. Then I found that the schedule had it all wrong, and it actually started an hour earlier than expected. Darn! I'll never figure out what all these characters are about.

If you want a hint of what has hooked me about "Weeds," here's just a sample clip, on the hazards of single motherhood. View at your own risk, I won't be responsible if you get hooked, too.

While I'm confessing, I must add that I also watched two movies all the way through. Granted, these were movies I'd been wanting to see for a few years, but still... One, "Love Field," about the day Kennedy was shot. Another was "Isn't She Great," a bio of Jacqueline Susanne. Tote it all up, and I must have spent nearly six hours sprawled on the couch (foot elevated, of course) glued to the tube.

This is what happens when I become a hermit, which I do every now and then. I don't even have to go out for my fix: the TV's always there waiting to zone me out, and I have a huge supply of books, mostly unread. I've also consumed two Greg Iles mysteries (extra-long at 500+ pages) and a couple of other novels in the past week. Reading is good, but after a while, when you gobble books the way I do, they all become a blur.

Time to think of all the constructive things I can accomplish sitting down. Step one: turn on some music!

A little help from my friends

I don't go to doctors unless I absolutely have to. That's one of the reasons health insurance in the US was such an insult: the Capt and I were shelling out $600 a month to Blue Shield for years, and never used it. (Well, ok, once or twice a year, maybe.)

Two weeks after I jumped barefoot off the bow of the boat onto a concrete fuel dock, I still couldn't put weight on my right heel, and it was swollen and bruised. The Capt had suggested I might have a bone chip, and there was always a possibility of a hairline crack. So just on the off-chance that it was more than a sprain, I finally located a doctor in Guaymas a few days ago, with a little help from my friends.

My amiga Alma, a pediatrician, referred me to a foot specialist, Dr. Martinez in Guaymas, and I got a 5pm appointment. There was no parking available anywhere near his office, and I marveled at the irony that to see this foot doctor you'd have to walk at least a block and a half. His receptionist, who looked about 17 and obviously never heard of office dress codes, wore the usual micromini, tight low-necked top and bedroom hair. She spoke no English, yet she was engrossed in an English-language Nicholas Cage movie in the waiting room. She had the sound turned off, and read the subtitles.

Unsure whether I could explain the injury in Spanish, I asked my amiga Ale to talk to Dr. Martinez on the phone, sort of a telephone translation. He heard her out, smiled, hung up and addressed me in English! He examined the foot, then pulled down from a shelf a little model of a foot showing the bones, muscles and tendons, and showed me where he suspected I might have damaged it. Then he sent me off to the X-ray lab for confirmation.

I've been to the radiographica lab before, and there's a parking lot right next to it, minimizing limping time. I was ushered right in, and we got the shots done immediately; then I waited a bit, my nose buried in a book. I was handed the X-ray in a big white envelope, drove back to the doctor's office and had to park, this time, a block away and up a hill.

Dr. Martinez looked at the X-ray, brought out his little foot model again and showed me where the damage was done to my Achilles tendon. The good news was that the bone wasn't broken, chipped or cracked; the bad news was that I needed crutches for at least two weeks. He loaded me up with samples--two kinds of painkillers and a salve--and ordered me to soak in Epsom salts, and keep off the foot as much as possible. "You were very lucky," he told me. "You have good bones."

Two doors down from his office I rented a pair of crutches for less than $30 for two weeks. I have never used crutches before in my life, and it took a bit of practice before I was able to walk the block to my car. I noticed that people stared, and it occurred to me that it's unusual to see someone on crutches in the street in Guaymas.

Total cost, including the doctor, the X-ray and the crutches, was under $100. I went home, soaked the foot, applied the salve, propped the foot up on pillows, took a pain reliever and dozed off to my favorite music. Was it my imagination, or did it feel better the next day?

Changing the things I can

Just about everybody is suffering to some extent from the financial crisis, except maybe the AIG execs who are cashing bonus checks paid for with my tax money. I finally figured out that the carefully selected mutual funds in my IRA have sunk in value to what they were worth in 1999. We're all asking each other, "Should we bail out now or is it just going to get worse?" I remember thinking when my funds were doing well, "Should I bail out now, or is it just going to get better?"

Since we got home last weekend I've been spending hours on the couch or bed, my foot elevated on a pile of pillows, reading, dozing and pondering issues like finances, health and aging. Far too much thinking time is available when you're laid up with an injury. And lurking in the back of the mind is the knowledge that I haven't had any exercise in almost two weeks, and nightmare visions of myself as Jabba the Hutt are haunting me.

So when a friend we hadn't seen in a few months came by and told us about the diet he adopted this year, I paid attention. Fit for Life, by Harvey and Marilyn Diamond, is a somewhat dated book with an approach that has quite a few detractors, but our friend JB has just about made me a believer. He has lost more than 30 pounds and has considerably more energy than last year, when he looked somewhat bloated, drank too much and had a scary cholesterol count. The Capt is interested, in hopes he can beat the sinusitis that has been plaguing him for the past few years, making him feel like he has a perpetual cold.
The ground rules are:
Eat nothing but fruit before noon. This rules out coffee, too, although we haven't been able to live up to that restriction yet.
Concentrate on fruit, vegetables, whole grains
No dairy. Dairy, says Harvey, is for baby cows. (Although, curiously, a small amount of butter is allowed.)
No sugar or refined flour (hard to avoid in Mexico)
There are also quite a few guidelines about combinations of food, which I'm still learning about.

JB stressed that the rules don't have to be followed religiously, and in fact the book itself has at least one recipe calling for a little heavy cream (aha!) but he says after a while he lost the craving for the foods he used to think he couldn't live without.

We've only been doing this for a couple of days. JB and the book both warn that the first month we will be processing and discharging toxins. I'll spare you the disgusting signs we'll be experiencing, but I've got extra incense and mouthwash in the bathroom.

All my pondering hasn't resulted in a single solution to my financial crisis, beyond getting out of debt, on which I'm making headway. So I've been applying the Serenity Prayer a lot lately. And how I feed myself and the Capt is one thing I have the courage to change.

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change
The courage to change the things I can
And the wisdom to know the difference