As I closed and locked my front gate this morning, a gentleman walking up the street greeted me in perfect English with a hearty, ”Good morning!” and asked where I was headed.
I told him I was just going out for a walk, then having breakfast and a coffee. He invited me to walk with him. He was going for breakfast too and would take me to a place where he was sure I’d never been.
This man’s name is Victor, and he worked as a cop in North Carolina for fourteen years. It was some form of international work exchange program. He came back to Mexico to help his family deal with aging parent issues. Now he’s a police detective for Colima and visiting his sister a few doors down from me. The family is concerned that one of his nephews may be getting involved with local drug dealers. Their hope is that in some way, Uncle Victor can work a miracle and get the young man back on a straight path.
This will be no easy task. Some of these boys can earn the equivalent of a hundred US dollars a day working in fentanyl production sites or pill press operations. That’s big bucks for a fourteen-year-old. There is so much of it now that it is referred to as Mexico’s new gig economy.
Victor was taking me to the residential area of Santiago. When I’m out and about alone, my navigation is typically memorizing commercial establishments. A left turn at a shop that sells candles, then past the lady who cuts hair, a few more doors down to the key shop, a right turn when I see the carniceria. Return trips are never a problem. If I get messed up
I just follow the sun. But we were in an area now of just homes. I would have to make a note of street names.
Our destination was a small masonry home sandwiched between two others of the same construction. The front door was a dark blue; there was no sign, just a number. Victor called the place the ‘medicinal garden.’ A couple of knocks and a woman answered. She was expecting Victor, and my presence took some explanation.
Inside and to the left of the entryway was a counter, and on the wall behind it were shelves with what could very well be a hundred or more bottles of herbs and medicinals.
There were small paper and plastic bags on the counter labeled with names and pricing.
This was an apothecary.
We continued past the lady’s kitchen, and then through the back door, and the garden revealed itself to us. I would have never guessed that something like this could be in the backyard of one of these homes. Plants growing down from the top of walls, magical-looking vines climbing up trees, and row after row of potted herbs, and the lush, sweet smell of dark, rich loam. The experience was immediately rejuvenating. I had fallen into the Garden of Hesperides. If immortality were to be found, this was the place.
Three plastic tables and chairs were placed amongst the plants and trees. Victor and I sat down, and the amazing garden lady started bringing out food and drink.
I was familiar with the jugo verde, orange juice, fresh pineapple, nopal cactus, and cucumber. Everything else was a new experience.
Another wonderful morning in Manzanillo!
