A Little Salsa In Our Day

Tampico,Tamaulipas – La Laja, Veracruz, Mexico

I know yesterday I complained that there was no salsa in Mexico. 

As with so many things, my conclusions about this place one day turn out to be completely wrong the next. But I guess that’s part of the fun of it . . .

Let’s start with the definition of salsa. There seem to be a few . . .

1. A usually spicy condiment served with Mexican food.
2. A type of Latin American dance or dance music.

So, in general, we’re looking for spicy stuff and exciting dance moves.

Let’s see what our day provided . . .

Well, first there was Narcisa – the woman who befriended us in the Central Square in Tampico. Maybe “befriended us” is too strong. After all, while certainly nice, Narcisa maybe had ulterior motives for her kindness. Turns out that she was selling . . . you’ll never guess . . . 

Salsa! 

She had big jars and little jars. I actually thought about buying some – just for the experience – and because I had just asserted that there wasn’t really salsa in Mexico. It was all just too perfect . . .

“Is it spicy – picante?” I asked – kind of pretending it would be better if it was.

”Si, muy picante,” she replied. 

“Mmm. Sorry. But we can’t handle picante.” 

(She had played her cards all wrong. Maybe she was confused by Diana and thought that Chinos like spicy food – a common misperception . . .)

Doesn’t matter – she continued her friendly chatter afterwards – clearly excited to try her English while we attempted some Spanish. 

But the point is that this interaction provides some pretty strong evidence that there is, actually, salsa in Mexico. 

Keeping in mind the broader definition of the word, today’s ride included some additional corroboration for our new working hypothesis – that there is indeed this thing called salsa in Mexico. 

So we’re riding along post-Narcisa, enjoying the more-and-more beautiful scenery, when my rear tires goes flat for the second time today. (Second time because the first time I carelessly put a tube in without doing a thorough inspection of my now very thin tire (we need new tires soon . . .)). We pull over, but it’s getting hot and we’re in the sun, so I walk my bike up to a shady area. Diana suggests that we go a bit further – to the next tree – because there are messy acorn-like things under the first tree. Seems like a good idea . . .

I turn the bike over, remove the wheel, take the now-punctured tube out and we start trying to figure out where the puncture is so that we can remove any problems from the tire. (We ultimately end up removing two little staple-like things).

We’re inspecting away when – suddenly – like completely out of nowhere – Diana is screaming bloody murder. 

Skipping ahead in our day slightly now – it turns out that we are now in what I would call the big-mean-looking-snake part of the world. 

Maybe boa constrictor? Any ideas here? 

Sorry – back to our originally scheduled broadcast . . .

Where were we? Oh yes, Diana is screaming bloody murder. I’m not kidding. I thought she had been bitten by three snakes while simultaneously having an alligator amputate her left foot. 

She emoted some words – I think I heard:

”Get it off me!”

”F____”

”Pull it out!”

But there was a lot going on; I’m pretty sure there were more words there as well . . . But mostly what I’m hearing is pure, unadulterated terror/emotion.

We’ll eventually get to what actually happened. But I first want to point out that in addition to the emoting there was some serious dancing going on. 

Like all over the road. 

Pretty sure that anyone in the vicinity would have thought that Diana – and maybe the two of us together – were doing the salsa. 

And as our readers well know – we were in Mexico when all this was happening. Ergo . . . Therefore . . . I rest my case . . . 

Just one more little bit of proof that there is salsa south of the border. 

Oh – what was the issue? 

Diana was stung by a nasty wasp.

I guess the second tree – the one that, I’ll point out, Diana wanted us to work under – must have been near some type of hive. Because, little known fact, bees don’t generally just sting you out of the blue. You have to be pretty close to their nest or doing something else pretty threatening for them to attack. 

At least if they’re honey bees. Because, except for the queen (who has no barb so she can sting you as many times as she wants – but she is super unlikely to be flying about because she’s busy laying up to 2,000 eggs per day) and the drones (who are the worthless males (redundant?) in the hive and don’t do anything useful except for copulate with the occasionally available queens – but who have no stinger), your ordinary worker bee will die if they sting you because when the barbed stinger stays in your body it pulls the bee apart. In other words it’s a kamikaze mission. 

Bees are generally not religious – so they don’t just kamikaze sting you because you’re an infidel who doesn’t believe in the Supreme Queen or something . . .

But maybe Mexican bees are different. They’re probably Catholic. So I suppose they might be attacking as part of a Holy Crusade. 

Well, they must have been upset about something, because a few minutes later Diana literally had another bee (or, more accurately, wasp) in her bonnet. 

Another – even more vigorous – salsa followed. 

“It’s in my hair!”

”It’s in my helmet!”

”Get it out!”

Together with some additional rather strong emoting and dancing.

This time Diana’s husband came to the rescue. The wasp was, indeed, in her hair – I could feel it moving around (really, the poor girl was just as scared as Diana, and trying to escape herself) in Diana’s pig tail. I tore it out and the wasp took off – and Diana eventually stopped doing the Mamba (turns out that Salsa is a broad term that refers to any one of a number of Latin dances . . .).

So there you go . . . (And I should point out that I ended up somehow scratching my face in my own frenzy when I was trying to get away from a wasp a minute later – there was a lot of dancing going on . . .)

It would seem that there is certainly salsa in Mexico. 

Other fun elements of the day . . .

Google Maps for Bikes had a mixed day. 

• It brought us through Tampico Centro – Positive

• It routed us literally through the middle of an outdoor market (I bought a hat, and Diana purchased a dress – which I love, but she doesn’t – so I need some help from the audience here . . .) – Positive
• It routed us across the Panuco River via ferry – Super positive (although it did cost us 10 pesos (about 50 cents, to cross))

• Post-ferry it routed us on some dirt/gravel/muddy roads, which were cute at first – Neutral 

• The rest of the route was incredibly beautiful landscape – with big trees and lush greenery – but the pavement was super variable – from brand new asphalt to super bumpy, rocky asphalt, to super bumpy dirt and rock – Split decision here – with Diana a strong negative and me a pretty strong positive. (Diana explained that post-wasp-sting she was in no mood and no condition for all this . . .)

Somewhere along this pretty road we encountered another cross-continental cyclist. When we first saw him going the other way I thought he was just an ordinary riding-to-the-grocery-store-or-something type of Mexican cyclist. But he called out and we stopped.

Phillipe is from Brazil and he was heading north to Texas.

We exchanged some pleasantries and then came the big question about the Darien Gap . . . Did you fly or take a boat? 

“I walked.”

”What?” 

“Yeah, it took me about a day and a half.”

”What about your bike?”

”Oh, it’s impossible to bring a bike.”

Apparently Phillipe procured a new bike after the Gap. Not the one he has now. He was riding an old steel mountain-bikey thing. No rack. He just had a backpack on – and some water in a waste pack. No helmet. But he did have a Yankees cap. 

I guess the frame on the bike he originally had after the Gap cracked – and that’s how he ended up with this $75 Special. 

(Oh, and Phillipe is Brazilian – so, stereotyping here, he probably knows some cool Latin dances – some salsa – as well . . .)

Last thing. Diana has been doing an amazing job of finding us places to stay. It’s not like some Mexican Biking Authority just decreed that there would be hotels where we need them . . . She found this little hotel just where we needed it – in a little tiny town with not much else going on . . .

We pull in. We’re not sure it’s a hotel at all. You pull down a grassy alley-way and there’s a nondescript gate. We can’t find anyone, except for a few chickens – who are as scared of us as Diana was of the wasps. They take off for the neighbors yard – squawking away (maybe doing their chicken version of the salsa).  

Eventually a guy – Rafael – appears. Rafael isn’t the manager but he calls his friend who tells the manager to come. A few minutes later a young man appears. He shows us our room – which is lacking charm – but at least it has a concrete floor, a broken toilet seat, and an air conditioner . . .

Cost? 400 pesos – or about $21. Sadly, seems about right . . .

Turns out the young man must have inherited the place from his grandmother. Old reviews talk about her amazing cooking. But she’s apparently gone and it also turns out that there are no restaurants in town. Fortunately her old kitchen is still here and we are free to use it. And there’s a small store down the street.

We purchase carrots, potatoes, zucchini, an onion (pretty much their whole selection of vegetables) and a little chorizo (which was in a Tupperware container in the old ‘fridge in the back of the store) and, of course, butter and cream – and we make a wonderful dinner: mashed potatoes and chorizo surprise, with boiled carrots. Delicioso!

Admittedly, there was no salsa in our meal – but the day certainly had some spice. 

Mexico – You are full of surprises!