Mosquitoes

      "Mosquitoes remind us that we are not so high up on the food chain as we think." To sleep at night even with one of them in the room persistently buzzing is enough to drive one splendidly mad. We hear their nagging approach near our ear and our hand flies out of the covers, always too late, and we bash the side of our head. After taking a variety of punches to the temple we grow weary and we turn on the light to find she has disappeared. 

      In Tenancingo they have been pushing a campaign to empty anything that collects water in order to combat dengue. Usually,, and even in the rainy season, there aren't too many here. Water doesn't form stagnant pools,, even the most torrential rain percolating down down down to who knows where. At any rate since the awareness campaign there are less of the little fuckers than in the past. 

     I remember how many there were in Maine. I remember the screens blanketed by them at night all singing a song of frustrated blood lust.

The Piston and Montserrat

       I wanted to mention two encounters.
      I used to ride my bicycle to work each morning when I lived on the other side of town. In Tenancingo, Mexico we are bathed in and blessed by a favorable climate, perhaps the best kept secret in the world. The altitude (2300 meters) and a latitude of less than 19° combine to avoid extremes of temperature. The benevolent climate supports a culture that lives "outside" much of the time. Hence most human activity is evident. It's like a giant organism turned inside out. 
     For two years during my morning bike ride I passed a dog. Not that this is special for I passed many dogs. This particular dog, however, a Doberman, had a tick. He's not the only dog with a tick in Tenancingo. Dog ticks seem more common here because canines mostly run free and are often hit by cars. Dogs with patterned spasms bounce and bob like the bold innovative movements of Martha Graham evidenced in uncontrolled jarring, violent, spastic and trembling movements. Few dogs in modern Mexico are regarded as members of the family as in The States. They are either employed as watchdogs paid in meagre scraps that live outside the compound or just considered a nuisance. 
     There is a historical mexican precedent. Xoloescuincles, a precolumbian hairless breed of dog, were used during various festivities as food and for sacrifice. In ancient Mexico these dogs were regarded for their religious importance, especially at the end of human life accompanying the dead to Mictlán or "Paradise."  Imagine being cultivated as a barker, Charon,  and a potential "plato fuerte" with beans and corn.  
     The doberman I passed each morning was always on the sidewalk in front of a house in La Trinidad sporting a moist pink erection. Both his rear legs were canted, one more than the other like worn shock absorbers, so that his whole backside was low as if he wanted to sit down but could not. He steadily and slowly pulsed up and down like a limber dancer,,,,,,, like a hound in the act of love but without a visible partner. He was unable to stop or change position. I can only assume he was the victim of a car accident that has forever left him with this affliction of involuntary movement and a permanent boner. "The Piston" I will call him. He was like some brain damaged people I have seen who rock all day, The Piston moved up and down, up and down, attached to his invisible crankshaft,, his body rocking his way through life. Imagine the curse,,,,,a life of uninterrupted spastic movement. I pitied him but I looked forward to seeing him. He was reliable,, every day in the same place,, like a traffic light,, until one day, his nerves most likely worn to a frazzle, just disappeared.


      The other encounter involved girl of about 12 years old named Montserrat who lives behind the hotel. There was something very secret and sad about her. I never saw her smile. She passed the hotel each day on her way to school and we exchanged greetings. One day she was crying. She opened up and told me her estranged father had come home and was beating both her and her mother. 
     The news of beatings disturbed me I admit, but I knew I was helpless. I couldn't comfort her. There is no hotline to call, and knowing her mother, if I stuck my nose into such a situation it would have been bitten off. One glaring characteristic about Latin America is the desperation that comes with the knowledge that you are on your own. Perhaps that explains a lot.
     One other day she passed the hotel, as always in her school uniform, but this time heading towards home, not the proper direction at 9:00 in the morning. Montserrat, said I, how come you are not in school? She told me that the teacher sent her home because her shoes were not properly polished. I looked down and saw her shoes were worn and scuffed. Even her uniform was not as well kept as others in the neighborhood. She said goodbye, this meloncholy little castaway, and shuffled off slowly towards just another place she didn't want to be,, home. Home or school, six of one, half dozen of the other. I watched her discursive path until she turned the corner. I empathized for a minute.
     It seemed sending a child home for such a petty thing as being poor is an awful thing to do to yet Mexico is drenched in these situations,, way too many and one can only bleed so much. Perhaps only to protect myself from impotency, self imposed or not, I began considering the value of dress codes. 
     Two years passed and I saw Montserrat again, this time with a blank stare and a baby in her arms. There were home made tattoos on her fingers. I said buenas dias but she didn't respond.

The Sniper

     I read an article yesterday about a canadian sniper. I didn't know what to make of this, the tone of the article was so matter of fact, as if they were reporting on an olympic archery event. It went like this: 

     On Thursday a Canadian Special Operations sniper shot an Islamic State fighter in Iraq from more than two miles away, purportedly breaking a world record for the longest confirmed kill shot in the history of sniping. An unidentified sniper from the elite Joint Task Force 2 made the shot from a distance of 3,540 meters using a U.S.-made McMillan Tac-50 rifle. 
     By the way you can buy one if you like on the internet for a little less than $10,500 dollars.

                          

     I kept thinking about the distance of two miles and the extreme difficulty of hitting a target at such a distance. For the soldier to hit his target 3,540 meters (3,871 yards) he would need to account for every atmospheric factor that would affect the shot. Wind speed, temperature, barometric pressure, the bullets yaw and the rotation of the earth would all need to be considered before pulling the trigger. All these variables, once exploited from devices such as a handheld weather meter and range-finding equipment on the gun, would then be processed through a ballistic calculator that would let the shooter make the necessary adjustments on the rifle’s scope. A little like that long scene of heat, and  distance, and plastic juice bags from the movie Hurt Locker. It was so contrary to the bomb deactivation scenes. One is a microscopic encounter by a human with plastic explosive and the other is a little like someone on earth eliminating another planet 7 light years away using the Hubble Telescope to guide their high tech lance. How can one even see their target at that distance I thought? Well that's the WOW part,, the techno hypnosis, the "first awe" that sweeps away your breath and your mind all at the same time.       
     Snipers:
     Sniping became established with the invention of a mechanical manner of delivering a lethal blow. All else labeled sniping before that was just a form of personalized ambush. It was the invention of the hand held crossbow that gave birth to the industry of sniping. It is not known exactly who invented the handheld crossbow but we know that it originated in East Asia. I like to think it was a guy named Yínán zá zhèng, which means "gotcha" in chinese. From a great distance one could take out their enemy stealthily. A good clean kill. As time went on kills just kept getting cleaner,,, at least from a great distance.
       Sniping, like everything else became more refined. It is compelling to pit the hidden against the confident, flagrantly exposed. During the American Revolution, the colonists used knowledge of the terrain and willingness to take advantage of blaring red coats to off them from the distant shadows, however there was a gentlemanly agreement not to kill officers. Later all that high assed protocol was trashed and anyone was fair game for a well placed bullet. The English themselves widely used sniping in their various occupations around the world. An enemy of their State was down and out before he knew what hit him.
     In The Civil War sniping was used by both sides to advantage and greatly improved by the development of a special rifle called the Whitworth invented by a british subject in 1860. The Whitworth was a rifle that fired a 500-grain bullet capable of one-mile shots. This rifle employed polygonal rifling, which increased the accuracy and speed of the accompanying hexagonal bullet and the entire unit only weighed 9-pounds. The bullets from the Whitworth made a distinctive whistling sound but the targets were most likely dead before hearing it. It was the unintended targets diving for cover who recorded the death whistle.
     There is a story about a famous southern sniper in The Civil War, Jack Hinson. At the outbreak of the Civil War Hinson owned a flourishing plantation in Stewart County, Tennessee. He decided however to "sit out" The Civil War refusing to choose sides. However the war found Hinson. The following sounds like a frame from the movie The Patriot.  In 1862 a Union Patrol picked up Hinson’s sons, George and John while out hunting for game.The Union soldiers assumed the two Hinson boys were rebel guerillas despite their pleas of innocence. The two were disarmed, tied to a tree and then shot. As a further outrage, a lieutenant with the company used his sword to decapitate the two and set their heads on posts around the Hinson farm. Jack Hinson swore revenge. After the death of his sons Hinson did not retaliate immediately but instead quietly ordered a very special rifle: a .50 caliber Kentucky Rifle that had a 41″ barrel and weighed a whopping 18 pounds. This rifle—in the hands of Hinson—could hit targets at about half a mile away, making it far more powerful than most firearms to see service during the Civil War. Jack Hinson moved into a cave above the Tennessee River where he could watch the passing Union transports. He targeted the officers because it was a lieutenant’s sword that cut his boys heads off and he held the top brass responsible for the orders to raid his family farm. Hinson also targeted the river pilots and tormented gunboats in an effort to disrupt the traffic and supply lines on the river below. Historians place the number of Union officers and pilots that fell to Jack Hinson’s Kentucky rifle at around one hundred. 
     Ok Ok, so he had some justification for his acts of long distance revenge,,,, but “Revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that ever was cooked in hell.” ― Walter Scott, The Heart of Mid-Lothian.  
     Back to the two mile canadian sniper. The media handled this like it was an amazing acccomplishment. I fail to see the difference between this and some army nerds in Wisconsin maneuvering killer drones on the other side of the world like they were playing a video game. They are both means so far removed from ends by the anonymous, for whom scruples are a 1000 liight years away.   




                           

                                        Civil War Sniper by Winslow Homer

    

Tlacotalpan

    

       We left Popocatepetl and Atlixco heading for the coast of Vera Cruz. The State of Vera Cruz is long and narrow stradling the Sierra Madre Oriente from whose loft there is a long steep descent to the sea. It is a state on two levels,, like a giant stairway with only two steps. The climate changes from temperate and or semi arid to tropical as one passes the hump and hurtles down. It's as if someone snapped a "climatic" chalk line and when you pierce the veil you find yourself in another land where moisture is in the air and the heat keeps ramping upwards. 

     
                                 

     One of the impressive sights I remember was the line of wind generators poised on the "cumbres" (summits). They appeared in the distance seemingly out of place on the traditional mexican landscape. Their enormous propellers, or helices in spanish, were turning in slow motion. As we neared them and their true size was revealed one could sense their potency. It was a beautiful sight these towers powered by the magic in Aeolus's purse. 
     Our destination would be Tlacotalpan, another magic pueblo. I knew nothing of this place beforehand but it turned out to be one of the great surprises. Tlacotalpan is set along the Rio Papaloapan. The river's name sounds african doesn't it but the word comes from Nahuatl, the Aztec language, and means river of butterflies. The name of the city of Tlacotalpan means "broken ground". A much earlier spelling of the name, Tlaxcoltaliapan, translates to "Terrain Between Water".  That makes more sense to me. It is typical to encounter variations of spellings and translations of town names when traveling from Nahuatl to Spanish or English. There is even controversy as to what Tenancingo means. So much was lost to hubris. 

 

Tlacotalpan nestled in its watery bed, terrain between water.

    Located slightly inland from the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, it is accessed by a flat road just slightly higher than the river Papaloapan on one side and moist fangoso jungle and seasonal pasture on the other. The road is like a ribbon of refuge. After 10 kilometers on the ribbon one arrives in the city. The first impression is the striking tranquility. There just weren't that many people.  Colorful low ranch houses with pillars outnumbered people 50 to one. The architecture is a mixture of spanish and carribean. It is as if one left the coast, entered a primeval tangle, emerged from that humid jungle and suddenly found themselves in Barbados.
     The State of Veracruz was the first portal to the interior of this Mexico, then called Nueva Espana. Hernando Cortez entered like a plague near the city of Vera Cruz. South of the city is Tlacotalpan in an area surrounded by a vast jungley space where the sea meets innumerable ponds, crags, small shallow lagoons , and marshes, streams, all which have accepted, like an all patient universal mother, the flow of the Sierra Madre cascading down the giant steps from the heights of Oaxaca and Puebla. All this water gathers in a thousand different shapes and forms then finally merges into the sea. The settlement of Tlacotalpan, reminds one of the leyend of the mythical Aztec city Aztlan, only on a more modest scale. The Aztecs were said to have originated there, a place somewhere to the north, which also might have been surrounded by water. When they were ordered to leave Aztlan by their gods they wandered, their watery past tatooed on their collective culture, until they found something similar to their mythical home, El Valle de Mexico. They got right to work and built Tenochitlan,, which is now Mexico City. 
      When one walks down the wide streets of Tlacotalpan, a moist breeze meets you cutting the heat.The colorful dwellings are like ushers for whom time is meaningless. The wide green colored river lumbers past almost in silence yet it is a brooding constant presence. The town seems quiet and deserted at 2 in the afternoon but no, the aromas of caldos de mariscos and salsas de chiles exoticas reach out to  you and you immediately sense an invisible human touch. You are caressed by the perfumes and colors of those that moved here centuries ago and who dance in their own bubble and at their own cadence.  
     As I sit at a table in back of the hotel just watch the river pass I look across at the vast tropical plain on the other side. Why did people first come here? Potential,, just as the Lake Texcoco represented means to the wandering Aztecs. The inexhaustible fertility of the soil fed by humus carried by the rivers in particular El Rio Papaloapan. They were drawn by the abundance of precious woods, the precious wealth of hunting, fishing and generous opportunity for gathering. It made sense for indigenous people to enter here and thrive from its rich earth. People were drawn to its confluence of waters and the magic they offered. But there has been a price.        
     Tlacotalpan has withstood floods from El Rio Papaloapan many times. The town is just a couple of meters above the river. In fact the river has risen those two meters and then another deuce on top of that in the very center of town. It has become a common seasonal occurence. People have become inured, expect it, and learn to live with the results. Past experiences affect the collective memory. The large floods are stored and recorded in fotos on the walls of restaurants where water exceeded two meters in height, so, when the the sidewalks overflow, as they often do, it does not mean too much, even when it enters their homes. In severe floods the town is evacuated, subject to looting, and severe silting. Silvia, the receptionist at the hotel said that during heavy floods, when patrols travel the roads by boat with too much velocity, the wave action will open weak doors. The contents of the house float out and away. This is why I always wanted to live along a river. Just be patient till the flood delivers unto you building materials and furniture. Tlacotalpan is referred to in a saying recited in the area, "If a frog urinates it floods in Tlacotalpan". Flooding occurs more often during El Niño, who has become more fierce with climate change. He looses his diaper and it leads to disaster. 
                     

  

Tlacotalpan 1962

     Many residents claimed that silting of the river bottom, making the channel shallower has added to seasonal devastation. This may have some validity but it is not the only cause of watery woe. The river is a brooding stealthy presence and most of the time he is a constant partner. There are no rapids, no falls. It's just that 'Ole Man River at times can't bear the burden anymore of all that water and he just gives up turning the entire basin to turn into a lake. 

O' man river,
Dat ol' man river,
He mus'know sumpin'
But don't say nuthin'
He jes' keeps rollin'
He keeps on rollin' along.
 


                       
                               Ole Man River, Tata Papaloapan at dusk. Very peaceful.
                         
                                                            The town hall

                         
                                                 The town hall meets the river.


                                               Iglesia de la Candelaria



                                                      Iglesia de la Candelaria flooded

                         
          Tlacotalpan from the air during a flood. The river reclaims all the surrounding area.


                          
                                               Tata Papaloapan quiet and in his place.

 
      There is another ecological matter that plagues the region, the death of the fishing industry in Tlacotalpan due to poor use of the watershed. At one time El Rio Papaloapan teemed with fish. The few boats that now give tourists like me a bucolic ride on the water past the elegant houses of the well connected used to be part of a large fishing fleet. That has all disappeared. The fish served in the restaurants come from somewhere else now. The waters of the river are contaminated and fish species have been severely reduced. 

"You who give me life,

You are in my heart

Receive this son

Tata Papaloapan ".

Abel Pérez Rojas.

     What are not immediately visible in this enormous expanse of field, jungle and wetlands are large sugar cane processors. What is visible however are the ragtag fleet of trucks and converted buses and almost anything large with wheels laden with cane lumbering down the highways, or in town. They are filled with a brown spindley cane. The one pictured below looks like it is carrying a giant cat's tongue or sports one of those 80's soccer haircuts.

                              
                                 
                               I'd like to buy the world a coke,, or some rum even

     In Vera Cruz there are 22 sugar mills, located in 18 municipalities all of which confer upon Veracruz first place in Mexico for sugar production. Sugar production occupies 36% of the agriculture here.The sugar companies, located near Tlacotalpan, especially in Lerdo de Tejada, have been responsible for the mortality of aquatic species, and even the death of cattle that drink the water.  Loose sugar cane and vinasse (residues from the production of alcohol) along with other residues to the lagoon system, are the cause of large fish die offs.
      Contaminants thrown with impunity to the Papaloapan River have turned this colossus into a pestilent tide that has nearly erased its nobility. For many centuries the silent passage of the Papaloapan has molded the lives of the people and the environment to such a degree that only the oldest of the oldest remember its sacred character. Such is the magnitude of the neglect and contempt of the new generations that a cultural group based in Tuxtepec, Oaxaca, (a great polluter of the river in its own right), has initiated a cultural festival called Que viva y Reviva, in order to foster peaceful coexistence with the waters of the Papaloapan. An enormous space exists between the present state of this once majestic river, and the other version referred to in the Nahuatl language that named it, the "river of butterflies".  Tlacotalpan which was once a pastoral fishing village, has been economically devastated. It may deserve and possess World Heritage Status yet one feels something dark lying in ambush.

   

    One of the most controversial events in Tlacotalpan, the Pearl of the Papaloapan, is the fiesta of La Virgen de la Candelaria which starts on the last day of January at three in the afternoon and ends on February 9th. The parties continue day and night for the duration of the festival. 
       For more than a century, the inhabitants of Tlacotalpan have been paying homage to their patroness, La Virgen de la Candelaria. Female supremacy is evident, at least on that special day, February 2nd, when the faithful sing the traditional "mañanitas" to the Virgin. In the afternoon, she is ferried across the river in a magnificent flower covered barge to be met on the opposite shore by a cavalcade of horsemen.Added to the devotion are clarinets, trumpets, trombones, and drums of bands. The music is heard everywhere in the streets of the town. As night draws near the drinks flow with more force and fireworks begin.  In this meeting of musicians, townspeople, campesinos, and those from "away" song fills the air, and verse and melody are everpresent in every colorful corner of the city.

                     
                                                 The barge bearing The Virgin
                                                                 
                           The Virgin in her permanent place in La Iglesia de la Candelaria.

      Dia del Toro (Bull's Day) February 1: 

     This is the source of the controversy between tradition and the rights of animals. In fact in 2016 this part of Tlacotalpan's history was suspended by the government because of pressure from animal rights groups. On february 1st, very early in the morning, regattas were organized on the river. The winning group had to move the bulls from one shore to another, a task that was a collarboration of cowboy culture, former fishermen, and drunks. The bulls were forced to drink aguardiente (cane liquor) before being tied to the gunnels of a boat. The boat and bull would cross the river Papaloapan. As soon as the bull touched the bank on the Tlacotalpan side its captors released the animal who was immediately confronted and provoked by locals, with heavily saturated souls, as drunk as itself, in a kind of Pamplonanda or running of the bulls. The bulls then roamed the city streets taunted by the emboldened. Needless to say there was much trampling and destruction.

 Below are some you tube links to the Dia de Los Toros:

 https://youtu.be/oTGfZAC8t8c

 https://youtu.be/lo6JPX-342Q    Sueltan Los Toros

https://youtu.be/7QL6V9mZP3g    Embalce de toros

                                        

                                             A bull tied to the gunnels of a launch.       

                            

                                     

                                                    The lonely are the brave. 

    Below Fotos of  beautiful Tlacotalpan:                                   

 

Iglesia San Cristobal

  

Iglesia Candelaria

  

Iglesia Candelaria

  

The Virgen de la Candelaria