0
0
May 21 – 7:30am. The hotel was considerably quieter last night which made the cement mattress a bit more tolerable. We sauntered down the street for a tasty breakfast, said our goodbyes to Nicolas and we’re headed south by 9:30. We exited the labyrinth that is Zacatecas with surprising ease. Off towards Aguascalientes.
The trek from Zacatecas to Aguascalientes is about an hour of decent road dotted with numerous Federale and military checkpoints. We looked innocent enough and were waived through on all but one. Still, no problemo. Entering Aguascalientes was an altogether different matter. We entered the ever elusive road sign zone. Allow me to enlighten. We intended to pass through Aguascalientes and keep going. Mexico maps never show you just exactly how to make it through a city nor do they like to mark a clear path with signs. Aguascalientes presented us with a path that resembled a poorly tied Boy Scout knot. You know, one of those unofficial knots that don’t really exist. After an hour of this foolish we found the correct sign to Leon, accompanied by a smaller sign that read “Just mess in’ with you, Gringo.”
Shortly outside Aguascalientes we stopped for gas and Sharon got behind the wheel. Then the magic that is Mexico waived its hand over our route. There were an impressive number of appropriately placed signs; almost too many. The road sign fairy smiled upon Sharon and it was so. Sharon breezed through Leon and found the direct route to Morelia. I quietly grumbled.
15 minutes outside Morelia and we got smacked by a huge storm. We pulled over in the blinding downpour and had a snack while the storm passed. We scooted into Morelia, found the Hotel Colonial then walked a bit after dark. Very lovely city. At the hotel Sharon once again found game two of the Spurs/Oklahoma City game. Get the tequila.
May 22 – We found a good breakfast just around the corner then walked it off, meandering the cobble stone streets and alleys. After a couple of hours we did something totally out of character. Donnie got his first Mexican haircut. It was challenging to describe to Yolanda what I wanted. Her first interpretation looked something like a mullet. “No.” Sharon quit giggling and started pointing at what to cut. I now have some sort of hybrid cut never before seen. Yolanda called it El Gringo Especial.
Sharon side bar: The “Gringo Especial”
The experience of taking your 1st born for his 1st haircut happened to me today. Donnie being a little shaggy decided to get a haircut in a small Mexican salon. Me being the positive one sat next to him in all his nervous fury. Try explaining with our limited Spanish what type of cut/length he wanted. After this was decided the “scissors” appeared. The scissors looked like the worse pair of Dollar Store scissors you’ve ever scene. Yolanda, knowing how to handle them, flew into action. Hair fly in’, tears fallin’ and even some of Yolanda’s blood slinging, but my brave boy made it through. 120 pesos later we sauntered out of the salon without a lollipop. Oh, but yet another excuse to have a shot of tequila. So we did.
Donnie side bar: I am embracing my bald spot and wearing a ball cap.
