Sunday School with Jimmy Carter

What an honor and delight to hear President Carter teach Sunday school in his home church on June 24, 2018. I stayed at the Quality Inn in Americus on Saturday night (recommended). It is less than a 15 minute drive to the Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains. I had planned to leave the motel at  4:45 AM, but the receptionist at the motel said I should leave no later than 4:00. Okay, I came all this way; I was determined to do this right. Plus the tour bus parked in front of the motel was intimidating. 

I left the motel at 3:30 and got to the church at 3:40 and received ticket #17. That means I was in the 17th car, not the 17th person. There were actually about 40 people ahead of me. I tried to sleep in the car, walked a mile down the road in the starry clear night, walked in the gorgeous old pecan orchard behind the church, read and talked with people until it was time to line up at 7:45. The church ladies have this process down to a science, and while they tell jokes, they are in charge, and you'd better do as they say. 

The Secret Service personnel at the entrance make you take everything out of your pockets, and by everything, I mean phone, camera, wallet, note pad, pen and car keys. If you have anything else, even a small purse, you will be sent back to your car to lock it up. Then we were wanded with a metal detector, and we entered the church and sat where we were told. I was in a folding chair in the aisle next to the sixth row. This turned out to be a great seat, just as the usher said it was, because I had an unobstructed view of the President at his lectern 20 feet away. I later learned that the people in the front row arrived at 12:45 AM. 

Getting 450 guests into the little church and orienting us to the Secret Service rules and regulations took up the rest of the time until Sunday school began at 10:00 AM. I would guess that anyone who arrived after 4:30 AM was in the overflow room, watching the President on TV. A few people cruised up after 9:00, and if they got in, they were friends of the President or church members, or otherwise got reserved seats, which are not available to the general public. Those of us without connections need to get there early and wait. There is no leaving the parking lot once you arrive and get your number. Next to the church is a campground, behind the 13-foot-tall smiling peanut. The man behind me in line drove over to the church to get his number, left his car in the church parking lot as required, and walked back to his camper for breakfast and a nap. That's about the most civilized method of dealing with this that I heard of. 

While many people know that the Carters still spend a week every year working on a Habitat for Humanity build, alternating domestic and international sites, the church ladies filled us in on the work done by the Carter Center. Thirty years ago, 3.5 million people were afflicted with guinea worm, which causes extremely painful lesions. Last year, thanks to the Carter Center, there were 30 cases, and the disease will soon be eradicated. Carter has said he wants to be remembered for building more latrines than anyone else in the world. The Centers for Disease Control say that no one has done more for world health than Jimmy Carter. 

We learned that when Carter left the White House, his staff gave him a wood working shop at his home. He made the wooden cross you see behind me in the photo, and he also made the collection plates. On the bottom of the collection plate, he carved "J.C." Knowing that everyone will want to look at the bottom of the plates to see the initials, the ushers handed the plates around for the guests to admire before the collection. Carter also paints and makes furniture. As two of the 30 active members of the church, the Carters help with the lawn upkeep and janitorial services at the church. 

Finally at 10 AM, after some announcements, the young pastor asked us to bow our heads to pray. It was a calming and centering moment, and when we looked up, the former leader of the free world, President Jimmy Carter was sitting with his big grin at the front of the church. Some of us gasped. It was very exciting to be in the presence of this great man. 

He asked where we were from, and dozens of states and countries were called out. One person was from Washington, DC. Carter said, "We used to live there".

One of the themes of the President's class was forgiveness. He said Jerry Falwell was opposed to Carter's views on normalizing relations with China and separation of church and state. Falwell advised his followers not to vote for Carter, which Carter says is one of the reasons he was not elected to a second term. Carter is now friends with Jerry Falwell Jr, and they are considering writing a book together of the similarities in their conservative and liberal views of Christianity. Carter is not sure this is a great idea, because he only co-wrote one of his 33 books, and that was with his wife. He would give Rosalynn a draft of his writing, which she considered a very rough draft, while Rosalynn thought that her writing had come down from Mount Sinai. He claims they nearly got divorced over it, but an editor mediated to save the book and their marriage. 

Remembering that Jesus said to love your enemies, Carter decided it was time to mend fences with a Washington Post columnist who secretly obtained Carter's debate prep book and gave it to Ronald Reagan prior to their presidential debate. Carter thinks this also contributed to his loss of a second presidential term. He said if we don't tell anyone, he would tell us that the columnist was George Will. Carter has reached out to Will, and said perhaps they can be friends. Just last week Will said he can no longer be part of what the Republican party has become, and he hopes the Republicans lose the House and Senate majorities this fall. 

Carter mentioned the names of some prophets in the Old Testament, and asked whether we knew who they were. No one did. Yet these prophets were very influential, in that they spoke truth to power and averted some disasters. Carter urged us to choose peace over war, honesty over lying, generosity over stinginess, forgiveness over resentment, and we should speak up and encourage other people to do the same. Even if we aren't famous, like the prophets no one remembers, we can make a difference in the world. He said that through prayer we can ask God to help us be the kind of person we want to be, which will show us our life's purpose and bring us contentment. 

I have ordered a DVD of Carter's class, and I look forward to watching it with Steve. He is already planning to use Carter's ideas in one of his own Friday night sermons.

After the dynamic sermon by Brandon Patterson, the church's new 24 year old pastor, Rosalynn and Jimmy Carter patiently sat and smiled for about 30 minutes as all 450 guests had their pictures taken with military efficiency by the lovely church ladies. 

Carter shared this home with his parents and three siblings from age 4 until he left for the Naval Academy. The house did not have a bathroom when they moved in and the only heat was the fireplace in the master bedroom.

The railroad tracks are about 100 feet from the house. Carter's mother Lillian was a nurse who treated anyone, regardless of race or ability to pay. She also feed the hobos that traveled the country by train during the Depression. She asked one why so many men came to her door, and he showed her the marks on the mailbox post indicating "Good Food" and "Christian Home".

Lillian told her family to leave the marks on the post. 

I later toured the Carter boyhood farm and the 1976 presidential campaign headquarters in the little train station. 

I saw Billy Carter's gas station (a designated historic site because he dished to the reporters after they learned all they could at campaign HQ), the Carter peanut warehouse, and the school where the Carters attended first through eleventh grades. Georgia did not offer twelfth grade at the time the Carters grew up there, and Carter went directly to the Naval Academy with his small town education. The school is now a museum where you can see a film about the Carters' time in Plains, and learn about Miss Julia, a special teacher who inspired Carter and many other students to work hard, expand their horizons and think big. She frequently told her class, "Any boy in this classroom could grow up to be President of the United States".  

The mule barn at the Carter farm in Archery, Georgia.

Before he started school, all Carter's playmates were the children of his father's black employees.

I checked out the political memorabilia store in one of the six or seven stores of downtown Plains. They have a huge and amazing collection of pro- and anti- candidate products like original bumper stickers, books, posters and buttons for all major presidential campaigns going back to at least JFK. I also tried peanut ice cream at the peanut products store.  

The main street in Plains, Georgia has about six shops, the train station, gas station, post office, peanut warehouse and a small hotel. That's it. 

The Windsor Hotel on the main street in Americus was full of Carter fans Saturday night, but I was able to move over there on Sunday night. It is a gorgeous three story nineteenth century Richardsonian Romanesque red brick structure. Breakfast on the second floor in the Rosemary and Thyme breakfast room was a treat.  

I am so glad I made the trip to Plains. 

Saving the Best for Last: Tolantongo

As was the case with visiting the Monarch Butterflies, I wanted to go to the hot springs at Tolantongo, but sort of let go of the idea when I realized how difficult it would be. Taking public transportation would involve a seven hour bus ride to Ixmiquilpan by way of Mexico City, a place we really don't want to go. From Ixmiquilpan, we would find a colectivo to take us across town to catch a shuttle that leaves maybe every hour and a half for Tolantongo. Coming and going would each take a whole day and just sounded like too much hassle.

Fortunately, we got the brilliant idea of asking at the tourist kiosk near Jardín Zenea whether we could hire a private guide to take us to Tolantongo. Within seconds, we were talking to Josué, who would be happy to take us there for $100 each. This was to be at least a 12 hour tour, and he had to rent a car, pay for the expensive gas, about $4 per gallon, and our three park admissions, about $6 each, so we went for it. 

So, on our last full day in Querétaro, we began the three hour drive east to Tolantongo. This place can be overrun by thousands of people from Mexico City on a summer weekend, so we were lucky to be there on a weekday in November. 

As we drove through the chaotic village of Ixmiquilpan, we passed dozens of booths well-stocked with zapatos acuaticos, the water shoes we searched for in Querétaro. There are three pair of zapatos acuaticos in Querétaro but we passed thousands here, offered for less.

We arrived at Tolantongo, changed into swimsuits and stowed our excessive gear in a locker. Josué walked us down to our first event, the cave. We have never seen anything like it. Above the cave, water trickled across the moss-covered rocks. Poinsettia trees flourished in the spray. 

That's us in the middle of the photo, wading into the stream that's gushing out of the cave. It got deeper inside the cave, and we swam. Lovely warm water poured out of the cave ceiling at hundreds of gallons a minute. We swam up a tunnel to a grotto and the current was so strong we had to hold onto a rope on the wall to keep from being washed away. We love hot springs, but in the western US, water is scarce, so the hot springs we've seen flow at a trickle. Just to see this much water is always a shock to us desert rats no matter where we are, but for it to be warm and in a cave--well, we couldn't believe it. So lovely. We could stand under warm water pouring out of the wall and get a massage. We could look at the stalactites on the ceiling and marvel that so much mineral-saturated water could just keep flowing without stop. So much fun.

When we came out of the cave, I yelled to Josué over the roar of the turquoise water, "Is this is the best place in México? Or is it the best place in the world?" He agreed that it was pretty amazing. 

Then he directed us to the nearby tunnel. We walked through cold water running off the face of the mountain and into a long, deep tunnel. At one point, we needed to climb up some slippery rocks and were about to give up when some Mexicans kindly boosted us up. Without their help, we would have missed some of the tunnel. The water in the tunnel was even warmer than in the cave, and the air was steamy. Luckily for us, the other visitors, who all seemed to be Mexicans, had lights on their phones, which were in waterproof cases. Otherwise, we wouldn't have been able to see anything. 

I don't know how we tore ourselves away, but Josué had promised that the pocitas, the hot spring pools, were even better, which was pretty hard to believe, so we had to see for ourselves. He drove us back up to the entrance to the park and down to the river, which was a sight in itself. 

At the bottom of a deep canyon guarded by tall hairy viejtios (old man cactus), the river is about 100 feet wide with pools of clear turquoise water created by check dams of white boulders making little water falls. 

We were the only patrons in the only restaurant open at this time of year. This shoulder-season travel is really working out well for us. Steve had a bony whole fish covered with roasted garlic. He said it was good. It looked so scary I took a picture.

We went to the river while we waited for Josué to change into his swimming trunks. The river was sort of warm, maybe 87 degrees F. We could float along in the current, but the check dams prevented us from being carried too far. We quickly decided we wanted to go to the really warm water in the pocitas. Unfortunately, Josué did not return in a half an hour as we had agreed. There we were with no clothing or money. Steve had given Josué the key to our locker so we wouldn't lose it in the cave. After 40 minutes, I told Steve to wait in the river while I went to look for Josué. Maybe there was a misunderstanding about where we were to meet. I went to the restaurant. He wasn't there. I walked up the hill back to the parking lot. As I feared, his car was gone. I checked our locker. It was still locked. I hoped our clothing and money were still inside. This all took at least half an hour. I walked back down to the river to give Steve the bad news. To my great relief, Josué had appeared, but only 10 minutes before I did. In other words, almost an hour late. He said he had moved the car down closer to the river so we wouldn't have to walk all the way back up to the parking lot as I had just done. 

By the way, this wasn't the first time we freaked out over the thought that our guide had made off with our clothing and money. The same thing happened at a mud bath at Los Azufres, Mexico a few years ago. Once again, our guide had moved his car from where we last saw him and had been watching us the whole time we covered ourselves with mud, went into the steam tent and then into the lake. When we were finished and ready to get dressed, he appeared immediately and all was well. 

Okay then. Take us to the pools.

Wow. Warm water pours out of the side of the mountain in man-made pools constructed of masonry. That would be wonderful enough, but what's really great is this water is full of calcium that coated the masonry pools with calcium carbonate, giving them a soft pinkish orange cast. The water of course is clear turquoise and soooo warm and relaxing. And no sulfur smell as you sometimes find at hot springs. 

The ultimate infinity pool. The river is about 1,000 feet below. 

You can just barely see the turquoise river.

Just a channel next to some steps. 

The warm water never stops flowing and depositing colorful minerals.

What a glorious end to another delightful Mexican adventure.

As he dragged his roll-aboard across the six-inch tiles in an old part of Terminal C at DFW, Steve asked me, "Do you hear what my luggage is saying? ZAC-a-tec-as-ZAC-a-tec-as-ZAC-a-tec-as." Even Steve's luggage wants to go back to Zacatecas. I guess we know our next Mexican destination.  

Cultural Experiences

Jardín Zenea has an elaborate nativity scene complete with flying angels, prickly pear cactus and kings approaching from other parts of the park. 

Missing from the scene is El Niño Jesús. 

My ¡SpanishDict! word of the day is pesebre, which means manger. The examples given:

1. Juanito, ¿qué hacen estas ovejas en el pesebre de Jesús?

     Juanito, what are these sheep doing in Jesus's manger?

2. El pesebre estará vacío hasta el veinticinco de diciembre.

    The manger will be empty until December twenty-fifth.

Okay, that makes sense. 

What we couldn't figure out was the message of the devil scene across the plaza.

We were told that life is a struggle between good and evil. That is also reflected in the seven-pointed piñatas we see everywhere this time of year, including hanging from the ceiling of the mercado. The seven points represent the seven deadly sins, which are pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth. 

Where the pedestrian walkway Calle 5 de Mayo meets the east side of Jardín Zenea, next to Templo de San Francisco, is a stunning statue called El Danzante Conchero Chichimeca. 

The dancer has a headdress of pheasant feathers, and on his legs are rattles made of seeds from the ayoyote tree. 

We were shopping for souvenirs on our last night in Querétaro when the sound of drums drew us to El Danzante. We were really pleased to find modern conchero dancers dancing. 

Many mysteries surround the Dance of the Concheros. Some claim it originated in Querétaro to commemorate the defeat of the Otomí by the Spanish conquistadors, but that doesn't make much sense to me. It is more likely a pre-Hispanic ritual that the conquistadors were not able to suppress, despite the punishment they inflicted on the indigios who didn't fully abandon their own culture and embrace Catholicism. 

In the center of the circle is a drummer who plays a variety of rhythms with a stick on a conga-like drum. Some of the dancers wear rattles around their calves to simulate the sound of rain. A few played mandolins, although the traditional instrument associated with concheros is made from the shell of the armadillo, which is believed to have ancestral wisdom. 

The dance is said to unify the participants with the cosmos and establish harmony. In the middle of the circle, in front of the drum, are some ritual symbols. The incense burner represents Fire. The conch shell, which a dancer occasionally blew, represents the Wind. Water is in a container and the dancers, some of them barefoot on this cold night, dance on the Earth. 

We were told that the dancers were probably members of the Otomí tribe. The dance may have spiritual, cultural and political meaning to the dancers. Each year on September 12 to 15, dancers come to Querétaro from all over the country for La Fiesta de los Concheros. 

Steve said, "That's why we love México! There's always some amazing happening!"

Learning Our Way Around a New City, Querétaro

We've been in Querétaro for a week now and have gone to a few museums. The old palaces that house the museums are more impressive than the collections.

Based on nothing more than a poster advertising a dance festival called Oximoron, we went to see a performance by Genius for Anjali Dance Company from England. In Spanish, the program described five scenes that would illustrate through dance important episodes in the life of Beethoven: the discovery of the child prodigy, his training, exposure to Hayden and Mozart, his mother's death from tuberculosis, his own eventual hearing impairment. 

The curtain rose to show a three-sided room, open toward the audience and made of 20 foot long vertical strands of tinsel, illuminated by colored lights. Dancers who weren't particularly athletic or graceful entered the tinsel-walled room and struck poses, then went back to the other side of the tinsel. The dancers were dressed in black shirts and shorts, with black knee-high socks, black bow-ties and red gloves. The entering and exiting went on for about 15 minutes. Then some of the dancers bit the necks of other dancers. We're thinking, what does this have to do with Beethoven? Then it was over, the dancers took a bow, left the stage, and returned to the stage several more times for several more joyous bows. Then the lights went up and a 20 minute intermission was announced.

Years ago, my siblings and I gave my father a certificate stating that a star had been named for our family. My father's reaction in his Maine accent was, "Whaught is the puhpose of this supposed to be?" Steve and I have found that question handy on numerous occasions, and when the intermission was announced, we looked at each other and asked that question. 

We noticed there were some people with Down Syndrome in the audience, and unlike us, they were not baffled by the performance at all. They were enthusiastically circulating and chatting with other patrons. We decided if there was going to be a 20 minute intermission between each incomprehensible scene of Beethoven's life, we would only last for one more scene at most. 

Finally the auditorium went dark and the curtain went up again. The tinsel room was gone.  Now the dancers were dressed in white, in sort of 18th century costumes. An announcer stated in English what we had read in the program about the scenes from Beethoven's life. This made a little more sense. We stayed to the end, but left still confused. 

I looked up this dance company later and found it is composed of people with learning disabilities. Prestigious choreographers have created works for them and heaped lots of praise on them. And I finally learned the tinsel room dance was not about Beethoven, it was called Bloodsucker and it was about vampires. Okay then. 

Yesterday was a splendid day. We hired a guide named Rodrigo to take us to the Sierra Gorda, a nature preserve a few hours east of Querétaro. Rodrigo has taught Spanish in Rhode Island and Florida, as well as teaching Peace Corps volunteers in México. So his English is very good. He also speaks French, and gave a lecture in French to some young people from France the day before our trip.

We knew that we wanted water shoes (zapatos acuaticos) to wear in the river we would be visiting, and we went to five stores in Querétaro looking for them the day before our trip to Sierra Gorda. This odyssey involved a search of three stores in the historic district followed by taxi ride to a spectacular mall, which was out of everything but three pair of children's zapatos acuaticos in pink. We ended up back at the first store and bought two pair that are a little too large. We hope they stay on when we walk in the river. 

As we left the city, we passed many miles of factories. The air was filled with smog. Our first stop was Peña de Bernal, the third highest monolith in the world after Gibraltor in Spain and Sugar Loaf in Brazil. Even though it was 9:30 by the time we got to the sweet little town of San Sebastián Bernal, it was still covered with fog. Rodrigo said he had been to this town hundreds of times, and had never seen Peña de Bernal obscured by fog. 

We started climbing and for about an hour we had the place to ourselves. There were some stone steps, but at times we walked across slick rock covered with powder that made it sort of scary. It's only about 7/10 mile to the end of the trail, but the elevation change is about 690 feet, so it's pretty steep, with some parts that I did on hands and knees so I wouldn't have so far to fall, but I never did fall. For you Tucsonans, this is about the same elevation change as Tumamoc Hill, but in one half the distance. It's vertiginous. The fog cleared and we could see mountain ranges many miles away beyond the villages and a huge gravel mine.

We went as far as we could go without climbing gear. When we got to the end of trail, other tourists started arriving, and they happened to be the French people Rodrigo lectured the day before. The French did a lot of hooting and hollering the whole time they were on the monolith, and I told Rodrigo they are as noisy as Americans. He said the French were always like that. I didn't know that. 

After our descent, we had a wonderful lunch in a cafe in Bernal. Gorditas stuffed with mushrooms, nopales and cheese, plus some beautiful flat blue corn tamales made with sour cream. 

Then we started the long winding drive up into the mountains to Sierra Gorda. It's like driving up Mt Lemmon in Tucson: we went from desert with magueys (used to make mescal, tequila and a sweet drink called pulque),  agaves and huge cactus with dozens of arms, like organ pipes, into scrub oaks, then the pines. Our destination was Río Escanela and Puente de Dios (Bridge of God).

This area is mostly undeveloped, with pine-covered mountains descending thousands of feet into narrow river channels occupied by villages of indigios who scrape out a living by charging access fees and selling handcrafts to tourists. 

We spent so much time at Bernal, Rodrigo was concerned we wouldn't be able to get into Río Escanela because we arrived at 3:45. The indigios were gracious and changed us 50 pesos ($2.75) for a guide to take us along their gorgeous river to a sight that was more amazing than we expected.

The water in the river is clear, and where white sand has settled out, it looks turquoise, which I usually associated with travertine, but Steve said it's due the manganese or magnesium in the water. It's always handy too have a geologist along on a hike. At the spot shown in the photo above, the river is about nine feet deep and people jump off this walk way into it. We were too hurried to get to the bridge to be able to do that.

We crossed the river on several rickety plank bridges and crawled through a few tunnels in the stone cliffs on the side of the river. Finally, after about a mile, we arrived at Puente de Dios. It looks like a cave with drapery stalactites, and water gushing from the ceiling, but now the cave is open at both ends, and the river flows through it. We went under the bridge, which straddles the river for about 100 feet, and waded into the river up to our knees. We were enthralled. 

When the sunlight comes in both sides of the bridge, the sandy river bottom reflects the light to the roof of the bridge and it glows.

I walked a bit in the river wearing my leather tennies before I switched to the water shoes we purchased with great difficulty in Querétaro.  Today I had my tennies cleaned while sitting in Plaza de Armas listening to a saxophonist play jazz at nearby restaurant. The shoe shiner did a great job for $1.50. They weren't this shiny when they were new. 

Most of the restaurants and many stores here have signs posted at the entrance stating the are looking for help. They are very specific in their ageism. Waiter or waitress aged 18 to 25. Cook aged 20 to 30. I'm glad I don't have to look for a job in México. 

On to Querétaro

Steve and I are usually pretty wary of street food, but we were curious about those green things the street vendors sell from wicker baskets. They call, "A diez, a diez, a diez, a diez, garbanzos!" A diez means 10 pesos, about 56 cents, for a clear plastic cone of garbanzos in their shells. If you want, the vendor will put chili powder and lime juice on top. Then the messy fun begins. You peel them and eat them, and man are they good. And we survived.

On Tuesday, we went to Museo de Arte Contemporaneo in Morelia. I wasn't eager to go because I don't like most contemporary art, but this museum held lots of pleasant surprises. Housed in a nineteenth century mansion in a parque next to the eighteenth century acueducto, it holds the work of current and former Michoacán artists. As we walked in the door, we were immediately captivated by an intricate work of cut paper called Sueno de Pátzcuaro (Dream of Pátzcuaro) by Marcy Miranda James de Quintanilla, who with her husband Martin Quintanilla, owns Microgallery Mandibula on Toole Avenue in Tucson. It had delicate hummingbirds, night herons, caterpillars and butterflies finely cut into white paper. In the next room was a large print of dancing skeletons by Martin Quintanilla called La Vida Loca (The Crazy Life). In the small world department, there is only one degree of separation, because I used to work with Martin's ex-wife when I was a hydrologist. We saw some wonderful paintings by Alfredo Zalce, the famous muralist who was born in Morelia, along with lots of other impressive works. 

On our last night in Morelia, we found our favorite restaurant, Cuish. It's two blocks north of Madero. Take Benito Juarez north from the Cathedral, then turn right on Calle de Santiago Tapia to #60 on the north side of the street. The ambiance is outstanding. Stone walls, beamed ceilings, red tile floor, pothos plants, perfect lighting, mellow music in Spanish. We had cheese enchiladas with a yummy red sauce, a gourmet salad, and chocolate tamales for dessert. The staff is charming, and the owner told us we were there on their one year anniversary of opening. If you go to Morelia, please support this wonderful, inexpensive spot so it will be there when we get back. Muchas gracias.

We had time on our last day in Morelia to attend a recital at the Conservatorio de las Rosas, the prestigious music school established in 1743, making it the first conservatory in the Americas. It is housed in a gorgeous sixteenth century ex-convento across the street from El Jardín de las Rosas. Students and their maestros played incredibly difficult works on the classical guitar and piano with breath-taking skill. We were very impressed.

Then it was time for our three and a half hour bus ride to Querétaro. Most people who haven't been to México assume that we would take a chicken bus, which is a rickety old school bus that allows livestock with the passengers while motorcycles, lawn mowers, and all sorts of filthy things are in the luggage compartment. México actually has an excellent bus system, and riding a bus in México is a far better experience than any plane trip I have taken in the past 40 years. The buses have plush wide seats with lots of leg room. If no one is behind you, you can raise the leg rest and stretch out with the seat reclined to 30 degrees. The windows are huge, with shades and shutters if you don't want to watch the enchanting scenery. At the bus stops (there were only two along the way), vendors enter the bus to sell snacks and drinks. There are rest rooms with sinks. We could have done without the movies but fortunately the volume was low and we could ignore them. 

Our trip took us across Lago de Cuitzeo, a huge lake where we saw some of the first birds we've seen on this trip. Lots of egrets, grackles, grebes and maybe pelicans. One disadvantage of living in Mexico is the dearth of wildlife. I really appreciate all the birds, reptiles, mammals and some of the insects that live in Tucson.  

Our first surprise was how cold Querétaro is. It gets down to the 30s F at night, which is pretty harsh for our thin desert blood. During the day, it is in the 70s and sunny. In other words, perfect. Our apartment is a privately owned condo I found on Airbnb. It's on Calle 5 de Mayo, at the edge of the historic district, a great location. We enter through a huge old wooden double door on an unassuming cobblestone street, and we're in an open  courtyard with palm trees, pink cantera stone floor and a swimming pool. We're on the third floor in a very modern apartment that's as big as Steve's house, about 2,000 square feet. There are two bedrooms, three bathrooms, including a master shower the size of a car wash, a den, large living room, kitchen with granite counters, and a laundry room. It's such a maze of corridors  that after two days, we still get lost in here. And that's just the main floor. Upstairs is the maid's quarters with another bedroom and bathroom, and there's also a private roof terrace as large as the apartment with another bathroom and a view of the acueducto. We could have used the garage if we had a car. For this we pay $50 per night. The owner is a customs agent and he said this place was okay when he was single, but when he got married and had children, he needed a larger place. 

Querétaro doesn't have the elegant buildings of Guanajuato or Morelia, probably because there were no silver mines here to make the Spanish crown and its Nueva España representatives obscenely rich. Querétaro was originally a farming and ranching hub, but now is one of the wealthiest cities in Mexico because of all the industry that has moved here, doubling its population to 1.3 million in the past ten years. Someone in Morelia told me the air pollution is so bad here, she couldn't consider making this her retirement home, but we haven't perceived any problems. 

Today we went to Mercado La Cruz, also known as Josefa Ortiz de Dominguez, named for the brave wife of an important Queretaro official who was a co-conspirator in the Mexican War of Independence of 1810. Spanish colonial authorities locked her up in a monastery when they discovered her role in the rebellion. Mercados sell fruit, vegetables, fish, cheese, clothing, household goods, and horrifying animal parts like whole pig heads that look like they're smiling. The seven-point Christmas piñatas hanging from the ceiling add to the colorful chaos. The seven points represent the seven deadly sins, which is why children smack them with bats, releasing a shower of candy. 

When you buy the delicious aguacates (avocados), the merchant asks if you are going to use them today or tomorrow. The avocados here are ready to eat when you buy them! Unlike at home, you don't have to leave a rock-hard avocado on the counter for a week, only to discover that by the time it has softened up, it's also starting to rot. 

At the Mercado Independencia in Morelia I saw this vendor with 12 chirping birds in 12 wicker cages on his back. Maya Angelou says she knows Why the Caged Bird Sings, although she never tells us the reason in her book by that name. I think caged birds and oppressed people may hope that they will some day be free. As the Mexicans sing in Cielito Lindo:

Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores

porque cantando se alegran

cielito lindo, los corazones

Sing and don't cry

Because singing, pretty darling, cheers up the hearts

As we walk down the street or sit in a restaurant, we are approached by adults and children who ask us for money or want to sell us something. The vast difference between the ease and freedom of our lives compared to the difficulty and limits of their lives is always on our minds. Because we were born a few thousand miles north of here, we ended up on the lucky side of the beggar/begged relationship. I have to wonder, what does this luck require of us?