Nashville

We've taken a break from the road and stayed in this city for two nights. The first was a bit of a write-off because we arrived so late from Dallas. But you can't go to Nashville without trying the blackened catfish, so that is exactly what we did.

This morning we did the backstage tour of the Grand Ole Opry, which has been beautifully restored after flooding immersed it in 4 feet of water in 2010. Opryland is a massive complex, with a shopping centre the size of a small suburb, and a major convention hotel.

A highlight was lunch at the Aquarium restaurant, where food is served at tables surrounding a 200,000 gallon tank enclosed by 7-inches of acrylic. In it are thousands of fish and dozens of species, including various large and small rays, eels, barracuda, grouper, sharks, tarpon and many smaller types. There are only four of this kind of restaurant in the world.

Daryl explains dessert

After a visit to Nashville, and especially the Country Music Hall of Fame, there is no way you cannot be a country music fan. The influence of Nashville exploded into other genres when Bob Dylan decided to record Blond on Blond here, and became close with Johnny Cash. After than, everyone thought, well, if Dylan can do it.... So artists from the Byrds, to Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Simon and Garfunkel, Gordon Lightfoot, Mike Nesmith, Paul McCartney and many, many others from the non-country mainstream discovered the musical talent of Nashville and brought it to the attention of the industry and world. Up until then, it was always about the Grand Ole Opry.

And it still is. Tonight we attended a performance at the Ryman Theatre, which for many years was the previous permanent home of the Opry. Every show is still broadcast live-to-radio. The spotlight performer tonight was to be Loretta Lynn. She is now 83, and disappointingly, was a no-show due to ill health.

Her stand-in, however, was Crystal Gayle, who it turns out is Lorretta Lynn's younger sister. Her long hair was as stunning as the performance -- half-a-foot longer and she could have stepped on it.

Walking down Broadway after the show, virtually every storefront is a honky-tonk bar. Every one of them is packed cheek-to-jowl; every one has an amazing live act. One more off the bucket list.

Reckless Abandon

I have long thought that the notion of doing something with reckless abandon involved a sense of joy. This is not true of the drivers of Monterrey, although I confess — I cannot see their faces so they may, in fact, be feeling some twisted form of glee. The only thing they appear to be recklessly abandoning is their natural instinct to survive.

This need to drive to the very edge of extinction of self and others is apparently not limited to Mexico either. Electronic signs on Highway 35 between Austin and Dallas remind drivers that texting can wait: 782 people have perished in Texas traffic fatalities this year, and it's only April.

We need not have been concerned about re-entering the United States at Laredo Columbia today. The border officer asked a few leading questions to which he already knew the answers from scanning our passports; then took one look at our piñatas in the back seat before waving us on without further incident. I believe I am right, though, about the fact that our initial difficulties in Detroit have come back to help us. He already knew we had a house in Mexico when he asked us whether we had two houses. This will greatly smooth our path.

The Mexican officials themselves are very sweet, in a likeably dour kind of way. They go about their business stamping and photocopying things, speak virtually no English, but we manage to communicate what needs to be done through a combination of broken tenses and hand gestures. Surrendering our tourist visas, vehicle permit, getting reimbursed for said permit, paying the toll and passing through US customs took less than 30 minutes. It was high-fives as we flew down Hwy 255 with nary another vehicle in sight.

End of the Beginning

Melanie and I checked out of Don and Lynda's casita this morning for the start of our journey home, a temporary end to a new beginning. We have decided to throw a Mexican wedding, so, in addition to starting a search for Mariachis, we decided at the last minute to go on a piñata hunt.

We got lucky almost immediately. After walking about town and asking a few mangled Spanish questions, we arrived at two his-and-hers piñatas (tiara included), which were very funny and just about perfect, except they were small and kind of chessy-looking. We purchased them with great glee, got the bank machine to cough up some more pesos, bought gas at a buck-20 a litre and off we flew with sandwiches from Tango leftovers, hard-boiled eggs in a cooler bag, chilled water and tonic. A perfect road trip.

Outside San Luis Potosi, Melanie suddenly exclaimed: "Piñatas!" on the opposite side of the divided highway. We found a Retourno about 3 kms down and went back, where we bought a fabulous star-shaped piñata that barely fit in the car. I can hardly wait for tomorrow when the US border patrol asks what's inside them and sends them all through the x-ray machine. More on that in 24 hours.

After that, through the beautiful mountains and onto the Monterrey bypass, a city I have already explained I never want to visit again. Sandra, Melanie's wonderful TomTom GPS device sadly knows nothing of this, so she guides us off the toll road and back into the heart of the city to where she thinks the hotel is located, and where there has been a major accident. (She does warn you at time of programming that some information may be incomplete.)

After 3 hotels that are full due to a University student sports tournament (this is a Monday), we manage to get to the Airport Hampton by Hilton, which immediately fails to meet expectations, details of which will have to be read in a separate Trip Advisor review.

For a while we thought we night have to sleep in the car. But the car doesn't have Wifi. 

Birds in Paradise

Melanie's favourite flower has always been the Bird of Paradise, and remarkably, I was able to point one out to her today, growing in her own garden. It was quite a happy surprise.

We drove to Chapala after laundry and readying things for departure, where we ordered ceviche for lunch and were cheerfully informed that the first margarita is free. While considering our options, I looked up what the second margarita would cost: it was 25 pesos. That's 2 bucks.

A table of six soon sat down next to us, all young and very handsome Mexicans, and they kept an ensemble of Mariachis busy performing for a good half hour. The lead couple, who were clearly in love and surrounded by their friends, held hands, while the young man happily sang along with great gusto and talent to every word of each song. Gringos often think of Mariachis as a cliché. But it is the Mexicans who cherish them, and who know the songs, especially here around Guadalajara, where Mariachis (and tequila) originate.

We met the neighbours today, who expressed some relief that we were "normal". (Little do they know.) They are from California, and we will get along well.

The bank machines here, however, are quite a different story. It has been a test of technology to acquire the cash needed to pay for services purchased in what is essentially an all-cash society. For a while we thought we weren't going to get out of Dodge.

Still, we are a couple of happy birds.

Rosemary and Time

This is the first moment in nearly two weeks I have had time to stop, sit down, breathe in and absorb the Mexico that surrounds me. It is peaceful and quiet now. No painters, no contractors, no gardener or maid, even no Melanie. She is off in Ajijic, girl-shopping with Lynda.

I am smelling the scent of rosemary. It is coming from directly below, from a cluster of growth which, if left untended, could qualify by its trunk size alone as a small tree. In its present form, it would take four people, arms outstretched, to encircle it. The steeple bell rings in the village of San Juan Cosala below. The consistent, cool breeze is blowing off the lake. This is one of the moments I will remember.

Painting is done for now, except for one patch which is giving Jose and Jorge no end of trouble. Here, nothing is made from wood and drywall; it's all brick, concrete and mortar. And the paint will simply not adhere to one particular area of a freshly repaired wall. It's a first-world problem.

Monday morning, bright and early, we will hit the trail for Nuevo Laredo and home. I'm looking forward to pulling into my driveway and opening the front door. Soon afterward, pandemonium will prevail.

Guadalajara

The Costco in Guad is almost exactly the same as Costcos in Canada. They don't have the Montreal Smoked Meat on a Bun at the snack counter, but the hot dogs are the same. There are also some nice lunches with a Mexican twist.

The store is rotated 90 degrees sideways so the orientation seems confusing for anyone who is familiar with the standard planogram. Some things are more expensive, mostly foods like US Grade A+ beef, good cheeses and even some seafoods. Vegetables and fruits are almost free. Gringo garden furniture and electronics cost more, appliances and good bathroom fixtures cost less, and someone will wash your car by hand while you are in the store for the equivalent of $3.

The Home Depot experience just down the road felt like, well, home. Checkouts are slower but nobody cares. There are no self-serve check-out aisles like we have in Canada, which I refuse to use in any event. Drivers in Guad are generally civil if you show self-confidence instead of uncertainty. It pays to pretend.

The painters should be finished their final touch-ups tomorrow, after which come the floors. Lynda and Don prepared for us a fabulous dinner of arrachera and fresh greens. We were hungry and craving home cooking, and it did not disappoint. Melanie and I are looking forward to their visit for our wedding at the end of May.

More on that as soon as we figure it out!

Fingerprinted for the first time

Well, at least it wasn't the US Border Patrol that was asking me to put my thumbprints and index fingers onto a little ink stamp pad and press them down onto an official-looking document.

It was my lawyer -- Notario actually -- a very nice, young-looking man who took charge of creating a document which shall henceforth be known as my "Mexican Will". I wish I had taken a picture. (Of my fingerprints.)

They really do do things differently here, and the trick is in knowing that you have someone who understands the rules. The rules are a little complicated. They are not threatening or intimidating; they are simply the way things are done in Mexico. And the rules don't change, and that's a good thing. If you know them and follow them, everything will be fine; otherwise, maybe, not so much.

Tomorrow we are leaving the painters to go nuts on their own and heading to Guad to look at furniture. (That's the way everyone refers to Guadalajara: Guad.) I have driven in Guad before so I am not really worried about it. Monterrey? That's a whole separate reality.

A really funny part of the Notario story is that one of the lawyers who works for the Notario (things are inverted here) is also a fumigator. We got his card, because we want him to come spray for what-nots before we come back in July.

When I suggested to the room how perfect an idea it was that a lawyer should also be moonlighting as someone who kills bugs on the side, it did receive quite a laugh from all concerned. My own reaction was: Really? Has no one before thought that this was strange or funny?

At least everyone seems good at their jobs.