Hola Amigos! This week—another condensed chapter of Where the Sky is Born, my memoir on building a house and opening a bookstore. Also included is a Maya Train Update concerning recent construction problems.
As we neared Merida to meet with a notary for our fideicomiso, we realized how grand a metropolis it was—one million strong. Extremely narrow one-way streets were common and the pace was hectic, both for driving and walking. Checking our map we located Paseo de Montejo, the grand boulevard set in motion at the turn of the 20th century after Parisians arrived in Merida to manufacture Panama hats.
The Victorian architecture on the wide boulevard was vaguely reminiscent of European cities and when we located Reynoldo Garcia’s bank building we were pleased to find it was a converted mansion, now the environs of the working stiff, no longer home to the nouveau riche.
We entered through heavy Spanish-style doors and waited for the secretary to assist.
Meeting Reynoldo
“We have an appointment with Reynoldo Garcia,” I said.
The petite secretary, her aquiline profile revealing her Maya heritage, asked us to take a seat. We settled into two large easy chairs belonging more in someone’s living room than in an attorney’s office. In the Yucatán we noticed office furniture had yet to be discovered for no matter what type of office—be it bank, insurance firm or government office—all furniture looked out of place. Bancomer sported Scotch plaid couches with American Heritage wooden arm rests and nicked coffee tables ready for TV dinners. Just another cultural tradition—home furnishings in an office setting—that let you know how far from corporate America you were.
The converted mansion had 20-foot ceilings and oversize picture windows. Outside I watched a group of school girls in uniform—navy skirts and crisp white blouses—skip across the center median as a dilapidated city bus, brakes squealing, took a turn, its load of weary passengers leaning in with practiced ease. A hammock vendor set down his cart and wiped sweat from his brow before re-adjusting his own Panama hat and turning back towards the main plaza.
Horse-drawn carriages called calesas ambled by. The small overworked animals wore dark blinders, pulling loads much too large, their ribs straining from the burden.
Inside the office we sat in air-conditioned comfort. I picked up a magazine and paged through it. I didn’t know what to expect of Reynoldo nor this meeting. To calm ourselves after the long drive we made small talk while we waited.
Moments later a slender man in a dark European-cut business suit came rushing through the reception area. His most noticeable feature was his hair, distinguishable because of a very bad weave, as though tiny tufts of hair had been planted on his scalp in rows. He radiated an odd charisma that more than made up for the unfortunate state of his hair and called out loudly, “Pablo and Juanita!”
“Si,” we replied in unison.
“I am Reynoldo Garcia,” he announced, as though he were addressing a party of Royals. We stared in surprise.
“And yes, I speak English!”
I offered a wide smile and Paul said, “Pleased to meet you.”
I immediately liked him. For me one of the joys of Mexico is the people. Everyone is so genuine, so happy, so ready to be of service.
“I spoke with Joe Marino yesterday. He said you’re planning to buy the beachfront property in Puerto Morelos. Nice land. What a pity about the hurricane.”
“Yes, bad luck,” Paul agreed.
“But maybe things will turn out better for you.”
He did know how to say the right thing.
“Come, this way. I’ve had my secretary pull the fideicomiso files. Although Joe said you still have to finalize finances, you wanted to prepare as much as possible while here in Mexico. No problem with that at all.” He spoke quickly while he ushered us into his office.
“Have a seat. I was just getting ready to have lunch. Would you like to join me for Chinese food this afternoon?”
“Chinese?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, we are very civilized here in Merida. The city is quite continental. You’ve no doubt heard stories about Merida and the Parisians and our grand Paseo de Montejo?”
He whisked his arm outward towards the impressive avenue just beyond the picture window.
“Of course,” Paul answered.
“The Yucatán has always been known for its cuisine. It’s considered the best in Mexico and not just by those of us who live here. Have you tried it?”
“Oh yes,” Paul said. “We’ve been here a few times and love it.”
Chopsticks and mansions
“Thank you, thank you,” he said, now bowing. “Yes, the French added their touch by introducing European cuisine and architecture. Both have remained even though the French have departed, but because of their influence, it’s not unusual to find a wide variety of food in Merida. The Chinese restaurant is exquisite! I know the chef personally and he does a superb job. Gabriella!” he shouted.
“We’re going to lunch. Have the files ready for Pablo and Juanita in two hours when we return, de acuerdo?”
Gabriella nodded and watched as he whisked us out the doorway we had barely walked in to.
“Come,” he instructed. “My car is parked around back. Oh, now I can practice my English. Did Joe tell me you’re from California?”
“Yes,” Paul said, “San Francisco.”
“Oh, a lovely city. Lovely! I had a wonderful trip there years ago. I’ve always wanted to return. Maybe some day. So you want to live in Mexico?”
“Yes,” I said. “We both love this county. It’s so tranquil compared to the U.S. and the people are so friendly. We love the ocean and especially Puerto Morelos. It’s such a different pace from the States, and it’s safer here. Not so many guns.”
“I agree,” Reynoldo said. “I see it in the newspapers. It must be a dangerous place to live. Do you know why?”
Paul fielded the question. “The gun laws are extremely loose. There’s barely a waiting period. We feel safer here.”
“Well, if you don’t make enemies with the military, you’re fine here,” he said.
“Do many people have trouble with the military?
Our notary, the rebel
“Only those of us in politics,” he chuckled. “If you’re not a supporter of the PRI and you become vocal, you can have problems with the military and the police. I’m in the PRI but I don’t agree with its theories. They need to change and wake up to the present. We are in the twentieth century after all.”
“You’re involved in politics? With the PRI?”
“Yes, and I’m becoming more involved each day. I’ll make my first speech this weekend. I’m in what’s considered the militant left wing of the party. We are not well liked—by anyone at this point—but we firmly believe change is necessary.
“The PRI has held power since 1929 and created a single party system. You can say, well, there’s PAN and PRD, but really, they are nothing, though Cuahtemoc Cardenas would have been the true winner of the 1988 election if Salinas had not stolen the votes.
“Cardenas was winning but never before has someone not picked by the outgoing president become next president. You know, el dedo, the finger. The Mexican presidents points at the next in line and he becomes his successor. Cardenas is the grandson of one of Mexico’s most popular presidents, Lazaro Cardenas, who served from 1934 to 1940, and the Mexican people have a very long memory. You don’t mind a history lesson, do you? Now that you will soon be Mexican landowners?”
We shook our heads, amazed at his command of information and willingness to discuss it with us.
“So you see, I am disillusioned by my own party but what can I do? No other party is elected. I must make changes within my party to be heard. Is any of this making sense?”
I couldn’t believe it. Here I was in Mexico meeting a radical liberal and he turns out to be our attorney. Who wrote this script? Abbie Hoffman?
I was incredulous. “They rigged the ballot boxes?”
“Of course, of course. Nothing is beyond the PRI. But it will not always be this way. Only 50 percent of the country can read! And do you know what unemployment figures are? They won’t even publish them because they are so shameful. Pitiful! The people will have a revolution if this continues. Oh, here we are,” he said without missing a beat as we pulled into the parking lot of a rambling Victorian style mansion. “Don’t let this ruin our lunch.”
I almost laughed out loud but that wasn’t the tone I wanted to convey. Reynoldo seemed to have moved on and so would I.
The restaurant looked like quite the place and I was a little embarrassed that I wasn’t dressed as stylishly as the decor suggested. But what did I know? I was only a tourist from Cancun and up to a day before had no idea I’d be meeting attorneys, notaries and bank officials on this Mexican junket. At least not so soon. We were moving at warp speed.
As we traveled through Mexico I’d discovered colonial cities leaned towards more traditional styles and values. In Merida, women dressed formally in skirts and dresses whereas in Cancun, women wore jeans and shorts. Beachwear was the norm.
We entered the dining room and a maitre d’ appeared as if on cue and the chef came scurrying from the kitchen. Glad tidings of “Reynoldo” rang throughout the room. He introduced us as Pablo and Juanita, guests of honor from one of the world’s finest cities, San Francisco. With Reynoldo everything was in superlatives.
After the initial rush, Reynoldo ushered us to a seat by the window. “This table has a fine view of Paseo de Montejo. Let’s look at the menu and then I’ll call over Raul, the chef. He’ll suggest what to order and you’ll have a feast that makes you think you’re in Hong Kong, not Merida.”
It was a strange sojourn, being in this Yucatecan city with a passionately left-of-center liberal, dining in a high-end Chinese restaurant, and being served by a chef named Raul. Lunch was a glorious feast, and believe me, we were fussed over. It was difficult to get up afterwards and move onto the next event of the day—our fideicomiso.
We soon pulled into Reynoldo’s office parking lot. Inside the place was buzzing. No siesta here. Again we were taken to his office. He walked to his secretary’s desk and returned promptly with a file brimming with paperwork. Gabriella had been busy in our absence.
“These are the documents from the owners. Why don’t you relax? This will take me a half hour. Then I’ll need your signatures.”
True to his word, Reynoldo soon returned with a good 30 pages of legalese.
“This will be your complete copy of the fideicomiso once you and the owners sign. You sign now and I have another copy for them. I’ll give you that copy tomorrow at noon. You can take it to the States and send it to them. Instruct them to sign and once money is exchanged it will all be legal. Afterwards, overnight express it to me. I’ll have the original documents prepared and sent to our Cancun office for you to pick up. Then you will be legal property holders on record for the lot in Puerto Morelos. See, I told you it wouldn’t be too difficult.”
It did seem easy. With Joe in our court, and Reynoldo. People who were treating us as valued clients. What a turnaround from what we’d been through with Alejandro.
We thanked Reynoldo and walked out of the office in somewhat of a daze. The rush of hot air and blinding Yucatán sun jolted me out of my trance.
“Reynoldo is a cross between Hunter Thompson and Ricardo Montelbam,” I said.
“Good description. Shall we head over to the Trinidad and get settled before our celebration dinner?”
I quickly agreed and off we went.
Fideicomiso a la carte
The next day we returned to Reynoldo’s office and found everything ready. Again, Reynoldo had been as good as his word.
“If there is anything, anything at all I can do for you, let me know. I have grown fond of you,” Reynoldo said.
It was an odd reversal. We were enroute from having no safeguards at all with Alejandro to having more protection than a mafia don’s daughter. But it was a look we could handle. We were ready to be a bit pampered. We’d put in our time.
We thanked Reynoldo and left Merida for the coast with a clean slate, a pre-prepared fideicomiso, and a readiness to start all over again.
Maya Train Update: Major Construction Problems in June
As reported by The Yucatan Times and Riviera Maya News, the month of June brought a slew of construction problems to the ongoing Tren Maya project. Although the lion’s share of the 947 mile project is complete, some stretches remain under construction.
JUNE 4—In Costa Maya at the train worksite in the community of Xul-Ha, an 18 meter (54 feet) metal column plus scaffolding collapsed, injuring two workers standing on it. The men were assembling the steel column when it gave way. They were treated on site for minor injuries. There was no word what caused the collapse.
JUNE 15—A landslide due to recent rains caused a Tren Maya partial bridge collapse near Maxcanu that leads to the archeological zone, Oxkintok. Built for the train project, the bridge crosses over the tracks. Social media users who live in the nearby Puerta del Sol subdivision where the bridge work was done announced the incident.
According to first images and reports, part of the plates that contain the concrete portion of the structure collapsed along with a section of the metal retaining wall. Reportedly, the reason was due to recent heavy rains that softened building materials and parts of the structure. Comments came from people in the area complaining about the quality of the work and the materials used. Those responsible for the work were contacted and at last reporting, authorities awaited their arrival to verify the current safety of the structure.
JUNE 19—A double section of the overpass support for Tren Maya section 7 collapsed due to heavy rains from Tropical Storm 1, as reported by Chetumal News and The Yucatán Times. Early June 18 an onsite worker videoed the two collapsed sections of rebar. Both sections were around 15 meters in height (45 feet). This was at the entrance to Chetumal, near the C4 Security Complex.
One section partially crushed a nearby unoccupied Nissan work truck. Section 7 covers from Bacalar, QRoo, to Escarcega, Campeche, and passes through Chetumal and Xpujil.
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Backstory—Puerto Morelos sits 100 miles from four major pyramid sites: Chichen Itza, Coba, Tulum and Ek Balam. Living in close proximity to this Maya wonderland made it easy to pyramid hop on our days off from Alma Libre Libros, the bookstore we founded in 1997. Owning a bookstore made it easy to order every possible book I could find on the Maya and their culture, the pyramids and the archeologists who dug at these sites and the scholars who wrote about them. I became a self-taught Mayaphile and eventually website publishers, Mexican newspapers and magazines, even guidebooks asked me to write for them about the Maya and Mexico. I’m still enthralled by the culture and history and glad there’s always new news emerging for me to report on right here on Mexico Soul.
The ominous question: "Do many people have trouble with the military?"!
Do let us know when office furniture makes it to the Yucatan ;)
Jeanine, this is the best so far and that's saying a lot. Reynoldo is one of those characters you would be hard pressed to invent and lucky to meet. He grew fond of you immediately and that speaks to his good taste and your good fortune in friendship and with this land deal, too.