Snowbirds

The end of the road,  at least from Hermosillo, is Bahia De Kino.  It is a fishing town on the sea of Cortes.  Few of its streets are paved, the rest are packed sand.  The beach is lined, wall to wall, with fish-packing and distribution hangars.  I would have loved to stay here, but the the fishing industry claimed the sea front, pushing the few hotels, to the inside streets.  In fact, the road does not end right there.  It continues along the white-sand bay, and after a significant empty stretch, reaches Bahia de Kino Nuevo.  Only a few kilometers separate the towns, but the cultural distance is enormous.  No Mexicans live in Nuevo (new).  The single road is lined on both sides by spiffy vacation homes owned by Gringos (mostly from the northern USA, and Canada).  The beginning of April is the end of their season, and most snowbirds have started the migration North.  The houses, white washed and well maintained, stand shuttered, with "For Rent" signs on the front gate.  Late afternoon, no people, no cars.  I turn the radio off, and cruise the deserted street very slowly.  In the silence, I feel as if I have entered an episode of the "Twilight Zone".  Down the street, I encountered a few stragglers, who are still camped along the beach, in huge motor homes.  They are friendly, and eager to talk.  It must be hard loosing all your friends.

This invading species is gentle, yet persistent.  In Mazatlan, the snowbirds are sprinkled throughout the town. In San Miguel De Allende, they took over the town.  Here, in Bahia De Kino, they built a new town.  Fortunately, Oaxaca is too far for snowbirds, and the few ex-pats just add their own hue to the cultural tapestry of my sensuous Mexican city.

The long deserted beach overcame my cultural misgivings, and I chose a furnished room, with a balcony that sits right on the sand.  With sunrise, I take a long swim (Thanks, TI), and at sunset, another. In between, I watch the pelicans fish.

Sunday under the Laurel tree.

I never arrive in time to catch a seat for the outdoor Sunday concert.  Instead, I negotiate with the early-comers for one of the seats they reserved for their friends.
"I'll get up as soon as they come!", I say.
They usually don't show, and I have my seat.  This time, the friends arrived.  I was walking behind the rows, looking for an available spot, when the conductor, Professor Eliseo Martinez Garcia, noticed my predicament, and motioned for me to come and take his seat.  I waved 'No!'.   I did not want to sit in front of everyone for the duration of the concert.  He didn't give up, but picked up a chair, and handed it to me near the front row.  He is a good friend.  Now, I had a padded chair, instead of the hard metal ones available for everyone else.  'I will enjoy this concert in comfort.'

The TV jingle sounded, the audience hushed, and the band began to play.  The Sunday concert performed by the Oaxaca State Band is always an experience.  The giant Laurel tree provides cool shade for the sixty members of the band as well as the many hundreds of  listeners sitting around them.   In the center, the dense cluster formed by the musicians' dark suites, provided a tranquil focal point for my eyes as they returned from the visual feast around me.  Above, I could see the radiant blue sky.  In front, a colorful array of Sunday dresses, while as a backdrop, large bouquets of balloons floated above the green shrubbery.  The  balloons seemed to cruise independently back and forth, while their vendors/pilots, remained unseen behind the shrubs.  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted in from the edge of the plaza.  I missed Adi.  She always lets me share her cup.

Usually, I select a seat in the center.  This time, thanks to the Maestro, I was seated on the extreme left, next to the percussion section.  Sitting in my usual location, when one of the small percussion instruments is played, I can see the hand move, but I can't distinguish the ring.  To my delight, sitting this close, I heard the triangle as clear as a bell.  I may have to adapt my seating strategy to fit my age, although I may miss watching the first clarinet cheeks puff up, then turn purple, as he completes a long solo piece.

The joy of hearing the triangle was offset by the absence of pretty Maria.  A little girl, she wears a shiny violet skirt, a traditional embroidered blouse, and arranges her black hair in a neat braid around her head.  She, as her older sisters who are similarly dressed, sells candy from a tray, whose strap she sling over her neck.  I like the way she gracefully glides between the rows, not making any intrusive 'Please buy!' gestures, yet capturing the business nonetheless.  For three years, we have been watching her grow taller and prettier.  She knew she could count on me to purchase a box of chiclets, and on Adi for a warm smile.  Today she was not there.  I hoped that maybe finally, she was allowed to devote herself to school.

The Sunday repertoire starts with light classical pieces, followed by Mexican and regional music.  This afternoon, as  the band concluded with a quilt of popular melodies, a teenager wearing the full indigenous costume, stepped in front of the audience.  On her head, she held a basket of flowers, while with the other hand she waved her wide, pleated skirt.  She danced throughout the piece, then returned shyly to her seat as the audience thanked her with a roaring applause.

Just another Sunday in Oaxaca.