Dia de las Madres: Mother's Day in Mexico
In May of 1992, we were still in process of finishing up the remodel of our trailer/ cabaña, to turn it into a real house. Over the previous six months the trailer had been dismantled, two bedrooms and a bathroom added to the back of the cabaña, and a kitchen installed in the front. During this process we made weekly trips to La Bufadora deliver money or supplies. On this gloomy May 9th, we needed to bring down paint and electrical wiring. My husband Dick couldn't get away from work that Saturday so I decided to make it a supply run and a Mother's Day trip for my mother-in-law all rolled up into one.
Mabel loves Mexico. She took Dick camping to San Felipe when he was a boy and there hardly was a San Felipe. A day trip south was the perfect Mother's Day present for her.
We started out at 6:30 A.M. and made an easy cross over the border. My trunk was filled with gallons of paint and the electrical wiring that our contractor wanted. I was a little nervous that the low riding rear of my Honda would be an instant invitation for a Customs search at the secondary check-point. But we passed through with no trouble.
"Well Mabel" I remarked "You are now an international smuggler."
She kind of liked that idea.
"May Gray" had settled in for the day, there seemed to be no chance of sun on the coast, so we drove directly to Ensenada. Do not pass La Fonda, do not collect two margaritas.
In honor of Mother's Day I took her to Las Cazuelas Restaurant which is just at the end of the Boulevard in Ensenada. It has an unassuming front on a busy street - but inside, its richly paneled walls and stained glass of ocean scenes makes it charming. Service has always been impeccable, portions large and prices reasonable. Although Mabel protested, I ordered Spanish coffee for the two of us. I wanted her to see the show they put on when they made it.
The house lights dimmed.
Two waiters wheeled out a cart with a small sterno stove.
Brandy was heated in our coffee cups until it produced a whispery blue flame.
The waiter sprinkled cinnamon over the glasses, and they caught the flame like a sparkler.
Kahlua was added and the final flame put out with a marginal amount of coffee.
All this was topped with whipped cream.
The waiter smiled when Mable's eyes closed as she sipped this wonderous concoction.
After a breakfast of chorizo and eggs, and those delicious coffees, we headed south to La Bufadora. The sun still hadn't made an appearance and by the time we reached La Bufadora it was drizzling and cold.
We went up to the house. Nearly complete, painting and the final wiring seemed to be all that was left. I made the visit with the contractor short and promised to be down the next weekend.
Mabel wanted to stop at Los Gordos for one of the their infamous margaritas, which we did, and as a matter of custom we signed our names on the wall to commemorate the occasion:
"THE WEBBER WOMEN - MOM'S DAY - 1992"
Then it was off to town to pick out Mabel's Mother's Day present. She really wanted a wallet, so I took her to La Terraza which was run by our friend Jorge. If he didn't have what she wanted, he knew where to get it.
After picking out her wallet, we headed back to the car.
"Well, it's only 1:30." I exclaimed "Anywhere else you want to go? Hussong's?" I joked.
"You know, everyone always talks about that place, but I have never been there. Sure, let's go."
So we drove down to the Hussong's end of town and miraculously found parking on Avenida Ruiz only a half block from the famous cantina.
It was a slow day at Hussong's - two young gringos at the bar listening to a guitar soloist weave his sad stories of lost love, as they downed their icy Coronas. At a table in the back were a group of locals playing Dados (Dice), loudly shaking the container and slamming it on the table. Small wagers were being placed by their friends and after each round of the game, another round a beers appeared at their table, paid for by the loser.
We ordered margaritas. Hussong's margaritas are small and pack quite a deceptive wallop. I ordered water on the side. A sip of margarita, a sip of water, and I would be fine to drive home.
A deaf/mute came up to our table, placed a key ring with scissors attached and a Bic lighter in front of us with his card. We bought them.
A photographer came up. We bought two pictures.
A flower man came up. We bought flowers.
And Mabel had another margarita somewhere in the middle of our consumer frenzy.
Another round of margaritas arrived at our table, followed by one of the young fellows from the bar and the lone mariachi.
"Excuse me ladies".
He leaned over Mabel.
"But I would like to buy you a song."
"Oh?" Mabel smiled.
"See, I can't be with my own mom for Mother's Day, so can I do this for you in honor of her?"
"Oh, sure." Mabel replied, just the slightest bit flustered.
(The special attention and third margarita were affecting her just a little bit.)
After the song, we needed to head north. We thanked the young man and headed toward the door.
Just as we stepped outside Mabel's new bifocals slipped off her nose.
As she tried to catch them she slipped on the well-worn concrete steps, and fell headfirst into the arms of a passing mariachi group.
The horn section caught her before she hit the pavement without so much as a wrinkle in their pristine charro suits.
The rest of our trip home was uneventful and Mabel stored her Ensenada treasures and memories.
(Though I did hear later from one of her friends that the high point of her trip was when the Ensenada Army saved her from falling.)
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