Fiesta y Cordoba

Wednesday, no sign of Ernesto, the cool deck is due to be poured. The pool a two/three week project is now of Hoover-Dam-ian proportions. I am awaiting Rossana to begin, Rossana and Micheles most excellent adventure. We are heading for Cordoba Mexico with Mr. Torio, Rossanas father, for the Torio family reunion. When I hear Cordoba (in my head) I hear and picture Ricardo Montalvan, saying Corinthian leather. I can just picture him when he was still a hunk in that mellow suave voice saying Cordoba. I have to quit I give myself goose bumps, I will always hear his sexy voice speaking to me in Spanish. If you have no clue about Ricardo, you missed something.



Two generations ago Rocco Torio immigrated to New York and then again to Veracruz. Gelsomina Vignola (de Torio) of Italy immigrated to Veracruz and then met Rocco in Cordoba Mexico. Rossanas cousin Juan Bueno Torio, a Senator for the state of Veracruz, decided to throw a Family reunion . A fiesta to celebrate their heritage. Anna Mary Torio, a second cousin, with Juan did the research and they have put together a history and updated family tree. Mr. Torio, Jose' or Don Pepe has been looking forward to this with the greatest anticipation.





In my carry on, are my stacks of cheat index cards in Spanish. I know a lot of vocabulary words but have yet to get the knack of putting them in recognisable sentences. I get flustered and blurt out something in French or German, of which I have a small working knowledge.



Rossana and I will stay with her mother Elizabeth Ramos Echeverria, or Betty. Rossana's parents divorced a number of years ago. Her father will stay with son Rafa and family.



The border we cross is Pharr, and I am doing (far) jokes in my head, it is a Pharr Pharr better thing I do...they are corny but fun. We need to get visas for the week trip, we were warned that it could take up to two hours, and are stamped with ringing finality within minutes. Traffic and the bad roads have eaten more time than we expected, so it is with great urgency we set out again. There is also a need to exchange money for tolls etc up ahead. Don Pepe is unflappable as we negotiate the Mexican traffic on less than ideal roads. Tandem trucks swerve dangerously close on narrow and uneven roads. There doesn't seem to be a speed limit either if they are posted I missed them and so did everyone else.



Monterrey airport small neat and relatively empty. Security is surprisingly old fashioned, an agent paws through our luggage asking a few questions in Spanish, gives a nod to my carry on and purse. Our bags are tagged and gone in a flash.



All day the sky has threatened rain, Barry warned us that about 6-6:30 we would see storms. Right on time it hits with Florida like ferocity with in 20-30 minutes we have lost power in the terminal. The rain comes down in torrents, I want to write about my impressions of the scenery and drive but my fingers are painful and I am not comfortable holding my pen. Instead I read by emergency security lights The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chambon.



Passing through towns that looked little more than nailed together, scrap everything, metal, card board, bill boards. Most of the housing are hovels in decay and disrepair. The more fortunate families live in Gov't built concrete oblong block structures with a cantilevered upper level. All built cheek and jowl, stepped in rows. A lone white steeple the tallest structure somewhere embedded in a place that generations have inhabited. Lean to tiendas, auto shops, and Taquerias heave crazily this way and that, forever twined with one another in decayed and faded camaraderie. Structures so close to the road it is miraculous, how manically driven trucks have not pushed them over while careening down the road. Mexico is no holds barred in every way. Mexicans drive, eat, drink and party with abandon. They also as I have come to learn, work with the same intensity, and drive for detail.



Rossana points out that the Motels, "El Eden" and the like spanning the road to the airport every thousand feet or so. These are not for the weary traveler, they are rent by the hour, discreet rendezvous places. Enclosed garages with bedrooms up stairs allow discreet access. Although very well advertised the entrance way and exists also afford quite a bit of discretion. Every town big and small Cosmopolitan and rural have these Motels.



Seduction and cheating is an art form here so I am informed. Men rich and poor maintain Mistress's locally and in neighboring areas. Some form lifelong attachments and others play the proverbial field. Everyone knows who is cheating with whom, some spouses know and disregard others are in the dark. Woman more than match the men, cuckolding husbands who are too busy with their paramours to notice. There are a few scandals of course and more than a few post cheating divorces, but on a whole it is part of the daily life in Mexico.



We are delayed, the rain is falling with less ferocity but lightening and thunder still ring the airport. Lined up once again I am laughing at the idea of having to run pell mell down a ramp in the blowing wind and rain to mount the steps to our aircraft who's jets are spinning impatiently. Wind blown and soaked I am handed two small pieces of paper towels to mop myself up. Seated we take off within minutes during an active storm, piercing the lowered ceiling of clouds in our escape. Veracruz is hot, humid and very sticky it is also very late. There is no rain here, yet everything is wet. We will not be seeing this Gulf resort town tonight, perhaps on our way back. It is becoming more of a destination for tourists.



Our driver sent by Raffa, Jose' Luis drives us, it is about one hours drive. Coffee is grown in abundance here as well as sugar cane and the distinct pong of burnt sugar cane fuses with the damp hazy air. I can see nothing of the surrounding countryside and only a hazy outline of the Mountains.



Having eaten a little rice at the Monterry airport hours before we are very hungry and thirsty, when we get to town we stop off for Pambazos at Las Brazas. Like a sandwich, they are spicy and very good, some have a slice of cactus, Nopalito in them with beef others beef with sauce. I am eating only cooked foods and drinking from bottles. Rossana has a horchata, I stick with bottled water.



Greetings and introductions over we head down stairs in the heat of the night to our respective bedrooms. I have perfected Mucho Gusto, and igualmente. It is a little cooler down the stairs, but still feels a little damp. The house reminds me of several I have visited, in Israel and other tropical locals. Two stories with second story balconies this one higher up on one of many hills over looking the mountains. Plenty of windows to catch the breezes. The stone floors are welcomed cold under my feet. I hand Rossana ear plugs, we will need them. As well as over looking mountains, lawns and other homes, the main road runs bellow not more than a block or two from the house. A traffic light is at the bottom of the hill, all vehicles and trucks have to shift down gear to stop and then rev mightily in first gear to begin the next climb up. With attending noises of motorcycles, gears gnashing, and general traffic it is necessary to use ear plugs. A tower fan runs humming at the foot of my bed and a steady stream of air flows through my room.



Thursday morning brings clear views of the mountains with tower clouds rising behind them against blue skies. The scents of fresh morning air flowers and tamales fill the air. Canela the chihuahua jumps ecstatically for attention spinning herself around and pawing the ground. How can I resist she looks like a tiny fawn, her great big eyes fix upon me hoping for a cuddle. She is sweetness itself. Both Barry and I had not been too enamored of this breed but Canela is winning me over. Cafe con leche, fresh squeezed orange juice and really good tamales finished with tiny cookies we have made up in one meal the sparsity of food yesterday. Now a tour of the gardens we could only scent out last night.The driveway is lined with exotic and abundant flora, each perfectly in alignment and harmony with it's neighbor. Butterflies alight and drift from flower to flower, Orchids hang from moss and wood bark platforms. Everywhere I turn the names of plants and flowers spring to mind I see some that are new, native to the area. It is a cornucopia of flora and I am in gardeners heaven. A postage stamp lawn is surrounded and pots, wheelbarrows and tables are heaped with floral abandon. Canela keeps up with the tour sniffling the air and nosing around the small grounds. I carry her about as much as I can and Rossana's mother warns me that I will spoil her. With pleasure.



It is time for Betty to go to the lighting store downtown that she runs for her daughter Betty older sister to Rossana. She is married to a retired engineer who is now in politics. Currently he is a diplomat of some kind and they travel all over the world. Sister Betty also owns a wine and gourmet store in town. Down town is a mix of the very old and traditional architecture and the newer. The central square is all traditional a beautiful park rebuilt and designed by Rossanas younger brother Pepon, the cathedral, the city legislature and on one side stores, the other restaurants. Rossanas brother-in-law before he became a diplomat was vice mayor of the city and helped restore the gov't building and the park. Central to the park with it's many shade trees, and benches is a large band stand where music and dancing go on nightly. A lovely fountain provides another layer of rest and respit from the intense heat and languor that develops. The park is filled. From young to old people stroll, sit and read or gossip with one another. We sit and absorb the atmosphere and try to cool off before returning to sight seeing. All around the park is hustle and bustle there are many street vendors and many shoe shines, men and women. At night roving bands of Mariachis play for the diners and strollers. We take pictures just outside the Cathedral. Inside it is only a fraction cooler but much darker, this is a lovely well kept church. They are doing restoration work I can imagine a full time job given the age and climate. Ceilings or multi domes look to me like Faberge eggs with the rich icing and detail work, gold and gold gilding shine with intensity. The pastel colors harmonize with each other, and bring a lightness that uplifts the spirits. I am a little non plussed at the sight of Jesus with a full head of human hair, in several statue vignettes. This is also a busy and well used area, like the park it is filled with many people in the middle of the day.



On to the streets we explore while finding a money exchange. Hot and thirsty Rossana has some kind of coconut water, I am apprehensive she has Colitis, and I am afraid it will be too indigestible for her. She has two. I sip bottled water with a sinking feeling. As we explore Rossana has a need for el bano, and we duck into this massive building, The Italian club. Visiting rooms and I think a restaurant downstairs and a disco, and dance floors upstairs. Lunch with Betty at one of the restaurants ringing the park. It is pre-fix from soup to desert. I enjoy the meal, it is the dinner if you will of the day. A large lunch with the stores and businesses closed around two in the afternoon, then siesta until after five. It truly is too hot for anything else. we head home as Betty maneuvers the car expertly up and down the treacherous roads shifting with expert ease. Rossana is not feeling well. So goes the next 24 hours of grief for her. After siesta Patty, Pepons wife and four daughters visit. The girls ranging in age from 20-9 want to practise their English. They are sweet lovely girls all different all well mannered. The youngest is a tiny thing with a big personality and zeal. Betty heads back to the store and we go in the van with Patty and girls for a guided tour of a very wealthy area of town, the Italian club has a country club up here. Then we head across the road to Rossanas older brother Rafa's compound. Mary Elana, his wife's family owns acres of beautifully maintained grounds and gardens. The family home rambles all over a central cobblestone courtyard, the stables now turned into another home for a daughter and family. Just beyond is the home of a son and behind that Raffa's and Mary Elana's drive and homestead. The gardens here are designed and tended by Raffa, he has two aviary's at the back wall behind the house with canaries and many other birds. Flitting from time to time in Cordobas trees you see canaries, family pets now gone wild and breeding. Scratching my legs, I have been bitten badly with mosquitoes and they are coming out again as evening drops. We meet the four children two handsome boys and two beautiful girls intent on serving us their jello treats that they make for their uncles catering service. They also with the help of a cousin run inside to bake us a cake. Don Pepe greats us and we chat for quiet awhile as warm chocolate cake is served with pitchers of Tamarind water. Rossana is really feeling it now. Heading home we spend the rest of the evening watching Rossana suffer and the Olympics (she is a very good sprinter.) Our plans to head over to Puebla with niece Paulina are in doubt for Friday.

After, a phone consult with Rossana's state side Doc via Geoff, we run and get Cipro and a few other things late at night.We don't need a prescription and conduct our business though metal grates at the pharmacy. By morning the Cipro and the imodium we have been pumping in her has done half a cure and poor Ross, is feeling better. Our morning starts with Gloria, the wonderful housekeeper regaling us with her life's story and very spicy hand made gorditas, a masa flour shell with salsa, manchego cheese and raw onions. Sometimes they are served with beans and or chicken or creme instead of cheese. Sort of like a tortilla. We had ours straight up and I added an oil from hot peppers (Salsa Macha). WOW as breakfast goes this is a kick in the head. Again we have Cafe con leche and fresh orange juice. Cookies follow, I could really get used to this. I can understand every word Gloria says, she is very loud and pronounces her words very clearly. With an enormous grin and an infectious laugh. She is working for the shear joy of working, her son is well to do and tried to retire her. She was clinically depressed and her doctor told her go back to work, you love it, forget retirement. So everyday she gets up and works for 6 hours and is paid 14.00 dollars a day and is the happiest person I have ever met. I wanted to steal her and bring her home with me for the delight she carries with her as an energetic gift to all. She said she would come but her kids would never let her. Oh Blast.

We rest, I read and write. As a weather weenie, married to a meteorologist I pried myself in predicting the wx. When we first got up I noted the huge towers behind the mountain and told Rossana who does not share my weenieness, that if THOSE clouds make it over the mountains we are in for it. Fast forward we are now late in the afternoon having tea at Betty's home (sister)somewhere in the hills of Cordoba, meeting another sweet niece and getting a tour of one of the most intricate wine cellars I have been to. Through a mechanical trap door in one of the rooms we have descended to an up to the date temp controlled Wine enthusiasts dream. It has started raining, so we all run out to waiting cars, Rossanas mom back to the lighting store, while we get a tour of the beautiful converted home now cum store. Wine and every cheese, ham including the rare black hoof Sorrano illegal in the U.S. Room after room in this architectural dream, is filled with wine, cafe, deli store and expensive nick knacks for sale. Betty is being trained as a coffee Barrista and is opening her cafe soon. Everything has been lovingly stocked, and hand carried back from Italy. The coffee will be locally grown and roasted and ground to her specifications. The skies are pouring forth and leaks are springing everywhere. The road out front is flooding and customers are soaked to the skin. It is a monumental deluge, we are stuck while Cordoba is flooding. Finally Ross' mom Betty, plucky as can be comes and gets us and we brave the rushing waters to get home. Left overs and Canela on my lap while we watch the Olympics with Spanish commentary. The Torio Sanchez branch of the family will wear blue shirts, other branches will be in green, orange, pink, and yellow. So we lay out our things in anticipation for the big Fiesta mannana. We will be picked up by Pepon and the girls in the morning. The sky has emptied itself and left a cooler evening.

Today is clear no Towering clouds behind the mountains. It is still hot and damp and promises to stay that way. We look great in our Fiesta togs, I've flat ironed Rossana's curls into submission, she looks like a million bucks. Her happy eyes flashing in antiscipation of seeing all her long lost cousins, and others she has never met. The property is a huge 60's Modern home and grounds. The pool and covered areas immense and very sleek. The bar sweeps accross the back of the house all white concrete and curved lines. Tabels for 120 are set under the low roofed patio. They have an area for the children down the slope, with inflatable slides and the like. Family trickles in, everyone kisses, everyone even myself, although I am clearly out of place. They greet me with warmth and as much English as they can muster. Rossana is feeling great and has decided to eat whatever is served. I have been blessed with no "tummy" trouble and vow to keep up.

When the bulk of the Torio crew is gathered a slew of roaving photograpers gather the various family branches for photos. As soon as they are clicked, children with or with out bathing suits are happily splashing in the 3-4 foot depths. Don Pepe is so happy and proud his feet are barely able to touch the ground. We meet his brother and sisters, cousins and nephews and nieces. This is a good looking family. Many of the men though have strong faces with very Romanic nosses. Two girl cousins are DJ'ng and the music that pours forth is all Italian. Everyone receives a family tree book and CD of the afternoons tracks.

Wine truly flows like water along with beer and what all else. Fabulous trays of anti-pasto are on the tables, although not a pork eater I partake, with cheese and Salmon carpacio that is out of this world. Good crusty bread and olive oil. Crowds around the tables flow back and forth as cousins visit and hug. Late cummers come over and everyone hugs and kisses. There are two men, dressed in Mexican cowboy style with big straw Cowboy hats a Mandolin and Harp. They are clearly brothers, it turns out they are old friends of don Pepe. Jaraneros, sing off the cuff verses. The name means little mandolin. These verses are sung with the same tune but the words are always stories of the individual they are singing about. Someone clues the singer in and he takes it and makes these wonderful witty mini songs. They even made one for me at the behest of Don Pepe.

The food this afternoon is strictly Italian. The chef a dapper gentelman hovers over the hot steam tables with a blend of anxiety and pried, this after all is a very important family. More family than anticipated has shown up and the food dwindles quickly with only some Risotto, and salad left for the last few tables. I must admit the hot fare is dissapointing, Rossana agrees. As soon as the plates are cleared, the buisness of family begins. More wine and the like is poured and we settle in to listen to the story of the Torio saga. Now to many New Yorkers the name Torio has a familiar ring. The infamous Johnny Torio mob boss and patrone to Al Capone was Rocco's first cousin. They call this the dark side in the family. Everyone listens with rapt attention as the two cousins who put this event together tell the stories of emmigration, opportunity and love. They tell the stories of home made wine and customs, relatives who have passed and stories about each other. It has hard to not undersatnd it all, I get glimses of things, so as the observer I watch everyones faces and feel the crowd. You can tell when someone is mentioned which branch they hailed from, members sniffle and shed tears clap and call out. In all it is a wonderful presentation. The Family tree is revealed with the family crest. A huge core board creation done by Raffa, it is extensive and well layed out. One by one members get up to talk about thier branch and exchange humorous stories. Don Pepe has declined to speak he has become very emotional since his heart attack.

Dessert is served little powdered cookies that are jaw breakers meant to be dunked in rich red wine or cafe au lait, and home made desserts pile along a table. More wine is poured and now the music is all Mexican, popular style. Everyone runs to the front and begins to gyrate and dance with steps and movements I do not know. Rossanas brothers have been imbibing steadily and they are dancing with fluidity. Young, old,men, women, it continues on for hours. New York affairs follow a stricht pattern, a lot of food, less talk and very little celebration. As soon as dessert is offered we haul our over fed bodies out of chairs and stuff our selves into our cars to rest the evening away. Not so my Mexican family, they are heedless of time and heat. The party began at 1:00, in the afternoon, at 11:30 p.m. Tacos are served, as waiters run back and forth tirelessly with booze and bottles of wine. Even desserts that have sat in the heat for many hours are being revisited as the group energy feeds itself. I am amazed, soaked and more than a little tired. We have had a blast and a party like none I have ever attended. Before we leave, Rossanas' Aunt and Cousins have promised us a reservation for thier hotel on Vera Cruz beach for Monday, we fly out on Tuesday. I check and it is 1:00 a.m. We drag Pepon out to drive us back home. What a day, what a party!

Sunday, we have brunch with Betty at a lovely resturant another former residence transformed They feature Crepes, which are very popular here. I get the mushroom cheese. The crepe itself is tender, but my filling is stuffed with canned warmed over mushrooms with a sauce napped on top. Not very tasty and I am very disapointed. We do buy these wonderful Merangue cookies to bring with us to Betty's ranch. After a ride just out of town, among fields of corn and sugar cane are a pair of huge metal gates with an immense cement wall running along the property.

Imu's!! Roaming freely and hindering our progress through the gates onto the Ranch are Imus. We drive the length of a rutted road to a two story structure that is still in the building stages. Betty her two daughters and husband are dining alfresco on Pollo and Riz. Immense wine glasses with blood red wine are full as the bones of the meal lay about. We pass the cookies around I have a beer. They are wearig long pants, riding boots, leggings tucked in, and long sleeved safari shirts. The bugs are wicked. MY eau de cologne has been Listerene all week I hope I am immune. We spend the rest of the afternoon inspecting the grounds pens filled with animals. From ducks to sheep, goats, pigs and cows. I make friends with as many of the flying, bleeting fawna as I can. Chickens run every where, troughs are filled, and water bins are replenished. It is fantastic. There are mounds on the property that yield ancient Mayan relics and we are shown carvings and shells of every discription. Peppon and family have been visiting and the younger girls have been digging the mounds and visting the animals with young abandon. They show us their dug up treasure. Betty puts them away, so that when they have built their home all will be displayed. Flint is everywhere, this is a treasure trove of Mexico's past. The grounds have been planted with hardwood trees from South America, they will be sold as lumber when all are mature. Every thing on the ranch is sold as food. At some point I can see this as a self sustaining homesite. The work involved is immense.

We stop for Tacos on the way home, I smell like goat and sheep, but I have had a blast.

Monday and we say our good-byes. It was a wonderful experiance, and Rossana's mother has been a trooper, considering the even tenor of her life, that we have disrupted. We make the ride to Vera Cruz a coastal town off the Gulf of Mexico. Our driver is once again Jose' Luis. He is ours for the day, and he is wonderful driving us all around the new and old town. As we leave Cordoba I look back and see the snow covered peak of a dormant volcano wreated in clouds but clear as can be. Ixtazhuatl. There are people who live along the foot paths of this volcano, and locals often climb this picturesque mountain.

The hotel is one of the first luxury hotels with four stars in the new area of Vera Cruz. Hotel Torremar, Crown Plaza is on a pristine stretch of beach, beautifully appointed with luxurious bedding and bathroom. We are being treated like Queens, and King.

We sight see, The water rolling dark and slightly rough looking. Ships on their moorings, many out on the Horizon, others traversing the water lanes. The jetties are the main staple of town, many shops crammed together lining the water. Waiting for the tourists. At one time large cruise liners paid visits to this port. A few still visit but they are rare these days.
Lunch at an Italian resturant with a sea view. We are taken back to the hotel for our Siesta, we need it.

Many structures are being rebuilt and the reconstruction also lines the very large Cathedral that dominates the old town. Old hotels and many street cafes face the strips of beaches. We go to a bakery so Rossana can pick up the Pan Dolce that Joseph loves, Bolillo. After wandering around old town we go to the most famous cafe' in the area, Parroquia. Their coffee is famous and we sit as they pour it into glasses with a high stream of hot milk that floats on top. It is served with long hard double braided cookies that are to be dunked and sucked on. We have several glasses as we sit and watch the world go by. I am wired. It is not often I drink this much coffee. Parroquia, denotes another form of church. Natives from the mountains show us handiwork of every kind. They are dressed to my imagination like Peruvian woman with full skirts with many slips and bandanas or hats pulling back thick black braides. Their high cheek bones, slightly flat noses and dark skin are intriguing and highlight the faces of the ancients. The linen they show us with embroidery are well done and not made in China, but Papantla, where they grow and harvest the Vanilla orchard and beans. As the day winds down, cars pull in to spots as the well heeled populous visit resturants and cafes. Street musicians get ready to play for the evening crowds, and all manner of peddlers begin to assail us. An interesting exchange on the street takes place. The self appointed parking attendant who also washes his patrons cars with alacrity is having words with a rather pompus musician. He tells him that he may be poor but he has his pride, and he works hard. His patrons know he serves them well and he watches everyones car. No ones car is molested and he helps them negotiate the tiny parking spaces with out mishap. Everyone tips him and he has done his job. Rossana translates the exchange for me, and I am humbled.

We see Jose' Luis and another driver who is meeting Raffas brother-in-law soon, to drive him back to Cordoba. We are droped back at the hotel for an early night for an early 5:45 call, with coffee sent up. I did not sleep a wink, too much caffene. I clip on my new bracelet and earings I bought yesterday in the hotel gift shop, wonderful silver reminders of our trip.

We leave this part of the world unlike our arrival no thunder and lightning heralding us. An uneventful departure and final, if not damp arrival home. I have had a wonderful trip, thank you Rossana, Don Pepe, Betty and all the Torio clan as I have had a most excellent adventure.