So, you’ve heard the reports, you’ve seen the pictures, you’ve pondered the horror—now, a first hand account from a survivor of Swine Flu at viral ground zero: Mexico City.Of course, it came out of nowhere, as most global catastrophe’s do. It started on Thursday night, just as I was getting into bed. The gospel music on my phone which indicates a new text message began playing. Who could be texting me at 11:30 at night? It was from Tina, and it read: NO SCHOOL TOMORROW BECAUSE OF THE FLU. THIS IS NOT A JOKE. To which I immediately thought: THIS MUST BE SOME KIND OF JOKE! As tantalizing as an unexpected day off from work sounded, I wasn’t about to turn my 6 am alarm off. Then I got a second, very similar, text from Jacky. OK—something is up. But what, a conspiracy to make Miguelito miss work—or something much more sinister? I was too tired to figure it out, so I went to bed.
I still left the alarm on, but decided I would check the website first thing in the morning after it went off. And, low and behold, there was the announcement that school would be closed until further notice due to something called “swine flu.” After checking out more news on the internet it became clear that we were in deep pig shit. A new, virulent, contagious and deadly flu, a mixture of pig-bird-human viruses, was spreading throughout Mexico City like the spirit of death during the Passover in Egypt. A real Hot Zone/Outbreak moment had arrived and we were right in the middle of it.
Fortunately, we were already scheduled to get out of town that weekend for Ale’s brother’s wedding in Torreon, so we gladly jumped on a plane that afternoon and left the deadly virus behind. When we arrived in Torreon, there was (surprisingly) no screening from anyone at the airport but plenty of questions from our family. Already, reports had circulated indicating over fifty fatalities. Luckily for us, they weren’t scared enough to want to quarantine us, they took us home for dinner before dropping us at the hotel.
Now I know I’ve shared with you many times before the many fun and quirky things about living in Latin America. It’s what keeps things “interesting” and me on my toes. So, just a quickie: One of the reasons we booked the hotel was that it had a pool. Torreon lies in the state of Coahuila, in the desert of northern Mexico, which is “hot as hell”—to use a technical meteorological term—meaning “really fucking hot.” So, when I saw the alberca cerrada, “pool closed” sign on the pool door I grew concerned. Torreon is not what you would call a bastion of high culture, unless you consider highly air-conditioned large malls and fast food establishments “high culture.” This town is only about a hundred years old and lacks the colonial plaza and architecture that serves as the main attraction in so many Mexican cities and towns. Being able to sit by the pool, dipping, snoozing and reading was supposed to be a highlight of my weekend. “Hey, is this pool going to be working tomorrow?” I asked. “Umm….let me check…uh, yeah, it will be ready by 10am tomorrow.” But, of course, when I went down the next day to take a swim before I had to get ready for the wedding, I was informed that the pool would be available sometime Monday. They always tell you what you want to hear, rather than deal with a problem
The wedding was in a really cute chapel, and went as well as a Catholic Mass/wedding can go; which is to say I didn’t slit my wrist from listening to a gay guy in a glittery frock giving out wedding advice in a language I barely understand. Since we stayed late taking pictures, then went home to change, we (Ale, her sister and her son Dario, and a friend) finally arrived after all the tables were filled and the food served. So much for the idea of a family table. We managed to get them to set up another table and enjoyed some tasty Mexican staples, including tacos with various fillings and Mexican-style rice. Not exactly your gringo first-choice of wedding fare, but better than many a wedding buffet I’ve endured.
It was indeed “hot as hell” on this Saturday afternoon in Torreon, so I did my best to keep under the shade of the tents, avoided being sucked onto the dance floor for too long at a time and visited the two enormous industrial fan/misters frequently. Despite the heat and the setting—which was sort of a swim club recreation center—it turned into a pretty good party as the sun and the temperatures faded. And true to form, Ale’s parents and their merry group of party friends made sure it lasted to the very end—and beyond. They had brought several bottles of whiskey, vodka and tequila which they drank along with the beer being served by the wait staff. When that ran out I went on a beer run to keep them going. When that ran out, we left the wedding reception (the very last ones to go, I assure you) and headed over to one of their houses to play guitar and drink, eat and smoke some more. Honestly—I couldn’t keep up. After being served a triple sized shot of tequila (and finishing it, OF COURSE) I begged off and went back to the hotel, begrudgingly admitting defeat at the hands of my 6O+ year old in-laws and their bohemian fifty-something friends. Once there, Ale and I split a humongous Carl’s Jr burger and double sized michelada (spicey/Cubana style) we had delivered, before passing out.
It was at the wedding reception that I recieved word that all Mexican schools would be closed for another week and a half. Really!? Cases of the flu continued to rise and now it was showing up in the U.S. WTF was going on? I mean, so far it all seemed unreal and probably overblown, but now I was starting to wonder. Should we even return to the DF? Especially Ale, who was pregnant, and unable to take antibiotics. Hmmm. An obvious choice? Well, this should give you a pretty good idea of how boring Torreon is—when presented with the question of whether or not she should stay—she decided to take her chances in the DF. So, we donned our surgical masks and headed home.
By the time we arrived almost every person in the city was wearing a mask. Though, sadly, many people seemed unclear on how they were supposed to protect them from the virus. For example, some people wore the masks only over their mouth but left their nose exposed. Others wore the mask, only to take if off to be better understood when speaking to others. I saw some who wore the mask in their cars—while riding alone. They didn’t seem to get that the virus was spread in bits of saliva breathed, coughed or sneezed out into the air you breath or onto surfaces you might touch and put into your eyes or mouth. Clearly, not covering both your mouth and nose at all times in public was as good as not wearing the mask at all. And wearing a mask alone was protecting from only yourself, who either already had the flu or not. Duh!
Even though I still suffer from the knee-jerk reaction of immediately loving the idea of unexpected day off (snow day! in NJ), ultimately I am a slave-driving-content-obsessed teacher who wants my kids to learn as much stuff as possible. So, my concerns shifted to school, where I headed on Monday to gather some work and get myself organized for the week and a half off. There too was Will, Marlowe, and Ryan Davidson, who were doing the same. Just as we were getting ready to leave a loud and wailing siren kicked off--?????????. Oh, right, of course, an earthquake. Well, never a dull moment! Later that day I watched the American newscasters report about our day in Mexico City: deadly flu + earthquake. My mother must have been beside herself…
Though Ale was content to work from the safety of our apartment, I knew I’d go stir crazy under those conditions. I was already sick of wearing the annoying mask every time I went outside for fear of bringing the deadly virus home to my wife and unborn kid. When Jim Weathers suggested a trip north to Hidalgo to explore some towns and forests he’d heard about up there, I jumped at the chance to get out of town again.
We hit the road with Jim’s girlfriend Laura and his friend/surrogate Mexican mom, Terri. Heading due north up Insurgentes (the longest avenue in the city, and, some claim, in the world) to the state of Hidalgo which none of us knew much about. We had heard about some little towns with cabanas nearby in natural settings. After being unimpressed with Pachuca, the state capital, we headed into the mountains to discover some quiet colonial, former mining towns. The drive through this region was quite nice. At Mineral del Monte we took the Turibus around the town to the old mines and the graveyard. The graveyard was still reserved for only the Cornish miners who originally worked the mines in the region and their descendants. It really was a lovely little town, but most of it was closed due to the flu. After moving on to even smaller towns and hamlets we did come across some cabana places that looked OK, but we were having trouble finding places that were open. According to them, they had all been shut down by the government as part of the “flu contingency.” We found a couple that were willing to rent to us if we would agree to hide our car around back. OK—fine then, let’s negotiate. You’ve got no business and we don’t want to pay your inflated prices, so let’s talk. Nope. Not a chance. Jim and I moved on, shaking our heads at the apparent lack of business sense.
After driving deep into the forest we came upon a very isolated place that featured ATV rentals and a trout fishing pond next door. These simple, but new/clean, cabins sat on the side of a hill, overlooking a field with sheep. This was perfect—except they too had been told to shut down. Well, with darkness descending we pressed hard for an exception, but our failed negotiations at lowering the price were no longer an obstacle. 900 pesos for the night, as I recall, which was 225 pesos each (about 20 bucks) for a two room cabin in a pristine setting. Not cheap, but not bad.
So, we enjoyed ourselves on the balcony, made some fires, played the guitar and had some beers. We headed into the little colonial town we’d passed through the night before and found one place open for breakfast. Already we were seeing large government produced signs explaining the dangers of this swine flu or “flu porcina” and the many ways to avoid contracting it.
After breakfast we walked around town before moving on to the Chico national forest. Surely the forest is open enough to be open during the pig plague. Guess again. They wouldn’t even let us in the ranger station to get a map or info. So we followed the road straight through the other side of the park where we found another tiny, but extremely charming colonial town, Mineral del Chico. Once again, the flu emergency dominated the experience. Most places closed, barely anyone out and about, and those who were wearing masks and gloves, signs warning of infection everywhere. And this was in the middle of nowhere, we thought, what chaos must be unfolding back in Mexico City? We discussed potential scenarios upon our return that might reflect movies like 28 Days Later, Siolent Green, Escape From New York or Omega Man/I am Legend.
After a walking tour of the town, where we saw signs advertising zip lining and rappelling, we headed up the mountain to find another “campground” featuring cozy cabins. This place, perched on the side of the mountain and sporting an amazing view of the Mineral del Chico in the valley below, boasted hiking trails, communal outdoor grills, picnic tables and paint ball. Awesome! (We are definitely going back to this place with more friends during the next school year.) We got ourselves set up in the cabin and then headed back into town to try to find a restaurant. After all, we had not eaten since breakfast and it was getting late.
Good luck. There were only three restaurants we could locate in this little weekend-home village, and they were all closed. The more we drove around looking for something, the more desperate to find something we became. Just as we were about to settle for crackers from the convenience store, we passed a place that we had seen earlier with a sign saying, solo para llevar, or “take out only.” But, now there was no sign at all and not even a window for us to peer through. Was it even a restaurant? With nothing to lose from knocking on the door, we sent Laura and Terri to do just that. Lo and behold a man answered, first saying they were indeed a restaurant, but that they too were closed. But, they could see people eating inside, so they turned on the charm and sob story, managing to talk our way into this secret refuge of fine food. An underground restaurant! Terri and Laura went in the restaurant while Tim and I parked the car, only to be faced with a dilemma—lock the car and secure the computer and other belongings, or leave the windows down (and doors unlocked) and ensure Toby, Terri’s pug didn’t die from the heat. Tim, being the good friend he is, chose his computer and guitar, leaving Toby to fend for himself. Good luck, little buddy!
(This last for all of about five minutes before he leapt up from the table with a change of heart and rushed to Toby’s rescue.)
The chef/owner was somewhat disheveled, but friendly and warm, even going out into the garden to pick spinach for our salad. We had trout, the house dish plus chiles en nogada, the current special (and a MUST have Mexican dish if you visit). Both were fantastic and we stayed there until dusk, enjoying the view out the back of the restaurant into a lovely garden and the tequila the owner brought over to our table. As the Tequila flowed, so did the Espanglish and the laughter. We had gone from hungry and desperate for anything to the equivalent of a home cooked meal at a friend’s house. A feeling of rightness in the world came over me like…well, like a Tequila buzz, I suppose. We spent a second evening enjoying the smells and sounds of the Mexican outdoors while drinking and singing some more in the mountain air. Then we headed home the next morning. What we would find upon our arrival at ground zero was anyone’s guess.
After three days in the forest with Jimmy and crew I arrived back home to find a city that was noticeably dead. By order of the government, restaurants were shut down, along with futball matches, plays, concerts, museums and most anything else that involved more than ten people in one place. Hordes had fled to less infected parts of the country. The city was like the Morrissey song—Every Day is Like Sunday—since Sunday is the one day each week the city isn’t completely frantic. I could finish unpacking, Ale told me to get ready to go to San Miguel Allende to visit our friends Sonia and Enrique, and their magic baby Mila who never cries. She was tired of being cooped up. Fine with me, this place was becoming a creepy ghost town. Any minute now the flu zombies would begin staggering down the street looking to devour our flesh. Time to leave again…
So we loaded up the truck Will had left to us—his escape from the viral killer led him all the way to Budapest—and took the 3 hour or so ride out to San Miguel, in the state of Guanajuato. I had been there before when Ale and I went for our first ever weekend date during the Grito, the Mexican Independence celebration. It’s a pretty big deal there since the Mexican revolt against Spain began in Guanajuato, in a nearby town. San Miguel de Allende is named after an early leader of the independence movement, Ignacio Allende, who had some early success against the royal forces, but was later captured, executed by firing squad and beheaded. The town is also interesting because the art school there accepted GI scholarships after WWII, making it a haven for both ex-pat Americans and artists alike. Today it is as well preserved a Mexican colonial town as you can find, filled with boutiques, restaurants, bed and breakfasts, and lots of retired Americans, visiting or living there. I’d say it’s a must stop for anyone traveling through central Mexico.
Enrique and Sonia, who live near us in Mexico City, had rented an apartment in San Miguel while Enrique laid low after the company he was working for, Stanford Funds, turned out to be running an international Ponzi scheme that rivaled Bernie Madoff’s. He had worked there for years without a clue, taking orders, sending them off to the banks in the Caribbean, distributing dividends, etc. He had a nice office in one of the best buildings in the city. He had even broken a personal rule of his and invited his friends and family to invest in this amazingly “solid company.” And then, he found out his boss was a crook the same way everyone else did, by hearing about it on the news. Some of his co-workers had been “quarantined” as official witnesses, so he headed to San Miguel in order to avoid such an experience, since it likely meant being slapped around by the police in a motel until you paid enough for better treatment. Ah, Mexico!
As this town is a major tourist attraction, it was not “shut down” like the places I’d just been to in Hidalgo, but there were still plenty of surgical masks about, and restaurants were making you wash your hands before entering. We had several different dining experiences there. The first was at El Pollo Feliz, a chicken chain with a party attitude. You could order chicken, fries and tortillas (of course) along with a salad bar. The place is plastered with adverts featuring their “happy chicken” character in the role of famous movies or icons, like The Godfather or even popular commercials in Mexico. It was cheap and tasty and we went there twice. Ale and I also hit an Italian-Argentinean restaurant nestled in a beautiful outdoor garden setting on one of our walkabouts. The third place, Harry’s, was first rate, a New Orleans styled place downtown, expensive but excellent. During the meantime we enjoyed our days playing with Mila who was just starting to learn to crawl when she wasn’t sitting around cooing and smiling. I also spent a fair amount of time on the computer, conducting “remote learning” with my students online.
After our dinner at Harry’s, Enrique, who was going a bit stir crazy in this quaint, sleepy town, decided it was time to take me out to the pelodromo, or “hair circus”—an old school name for strip clubs. I pointed out to him that today, with all the designer shaving going on, it should be now called the pielodromo, or “skin circus”. Either way, he was bent for some action, and I wasn’t going to stand in his way, so we dropped the ladies off at the apartment and headed out on the prowl. (Yes, the wives knew what we were up to and let us have our fun—one of the benefits of marrying a Mexican woman.) Prowling, however, is all we ended up doing. There would be no howling as it were, being a Monday night in a provincial town during a flu epidemic. After driving around chasing the directions several people had given us and finding only darkened buildings on the edge of town, we realized it was not going to happen. We had a couple drinks at Berlin, a hole in the wall bar we found open in town and went home to drink for cheap. We tried to sell a wild night story to the girls but they were somehow on to us and laughed at us for coming up empty handed. Finally, I was pissed. I had been willing to suffer a number of inconveniences from this flu epidemic, but when it started to interfere with my strip clubbing—now things had gone too far!
The next evening, Ale and I packed up our belongings and headed back to the DF. I was scheduled to get back to work the next day, I wondered how many of my students would show up. Many had been shuttled out of the country to some U.S. relative’s or vacation spot. Surprisingly, attendance was nearly full and about 70% had completed their online assignments. We spent the next two weeks having our temperature checked and washing our hands upon entering the campus, but other than that things were pretty much back to normal. In the end, our ability to demonstrate that significant “remote learning” had taken place during the flu contingency exempted us from having to extend the school year for two more weeks as many of the Mexican public schools had to do. And THAT would have really pissed me off.
As it turned out, the monstrous flu porcina virus, initially thought to be exceptionally virulent and contagious, was mostly just another strain of flu in a world full of influenza. The deaths attributed to the swine flu were re-estimated to be lower than first thought. New cases steadily declined in Mexico, while they continued to increase in other countries. It seemed the prudent (some said drastic) measures taken by the government were appropriate and kept things from getting out of control, nipping it in the bud. Better safe than sorry, right? And besides, it gave Miguelito the opportunity to get out and explore more of Mexico, which is always a good thing.
You can read this, and other amazing blogs, in a snazzier format at miguelitoinmexico.blogspot.com. You can also view photos related to this blog at flickr.com/miguelito2066.
