And the Post Office Made Three By Margaret Van Every
Over the Border
J
anuary 15-16. Here we are in stunning Monterrey, 146 miles from the nearest US post office. No mistaking, we’re in a foreign country. We’re happily settled in the Regina Courts with a comfortable bed, shower with hot and cold water, and gas heater for chilly mornings. We’ve traded in the blizzard for landscaped grounds with palms and bouganvilleas. This morning we visited the cathedral in the central plaza, and after getting our shoes shined and photographing the miracle of orange trees loaded with fruit in January, we discovered the modern federal building, which houses the post office. Of course we snapped another picture. In a rare romantic concession, Ted
bought me gardenias from a street vendor “practically for nothing,” he marveled. We dined at the Gran Hotel, followed by dancing at the Jardines Terpsicore. The Mexican women have an alluring natural beauty and sense of style—their hair, complexion, makeup, and sinuous moves on the dance floor enchanted me. Without seeming the slightest bit self-conscious, they flaunted their beauty in silky formfitting gowns, daringly cut in front and back, and oh how gracefully they executed the provocative intricacies of the tango, which was everyone’s favorite. I was the only woman without a formal gown but forgot myself in the happy moment. We sat out quite a few
dances but enjoyed watching almost as much as doing. I only wish Ted had found time in his life for dancing lessons. January 17. We traveled over abominable roads through heavenly mountainous scenery and took a side trip to Horsetail Falls on our way to Valles. Stopping in Victoria for lunch, we met a couple driving a Packard coupe bearing an Arkansas license plate. We had noticed this same couple at the Falls earlier that day. At lunch I caught this man staring at me appraisingly. Not bad-looking himself. We checked into Ericson’s Tourist Camp for the night (not so hot). Jan. 18. Today we passed through the Tropic of Cancer, a virtual jungle in which I saw thousands of wild orchids and parrots of bright plumage, but no reptiles. I’m at a loss to describe the grandeur and beauty of the sierras as we drove above the clouds. Along the way we ran into that couple from Arkansas again, who introduced themselves as Mr. Roger Browne and his niece Mrs. Gallishaw. We finally arrived in Mexico City. Jan. 19. DF. We rented a furnished apartment on the beautiful Paseo de la Reforma, a boulevard laid out by the Empress Carlotta and patterned after the Champs Elysée of Paris. There were tempting bridle paths alongside the streets and I dearly wanted to be in the saddle but had not packed my jodhpurs and boots. We visited Chapultepec Castle and later attended a jai alai game. It was here that for the first time Ted finally showed some enthusiasm. Jan. 20. We teamed up with “Uncle Roger” and Mrs. G. to motor in their Packard to Puebla and Cholula, where we savored delicious local dishes with excellent wines at an ex-hacienda. We visited churches, murals, and markets. At times I feel so alone on this honeymoon, as though I’m the only one having any fun. Occasional surreptitious glances from Roger, which I confess to surreptitiously enjoying. He’s a man who relishes sensual tourism like I do—the food and wine, color, music, art, antiquities, and churches. Topping all was the rosy glow of the snow-capped volcano Malinche at sunset. During this crowning moment of nature’s splendor, when Ted excused himself to visit the men’s room, Roger Browne winked at me—it was as though he was saying he understood my loneliness and was with me. We returned to DF dead tired and ate at Sanborn’s. Jan. 21. Ted tried to find an interesting place for breakfast but gave up so we returned, defeated, to Sanborn’s. We visited the old cathedral, now badly in need of restoration. A sign in the vestibule warned, “Beware of pick-
pockets.” In the afternoon we shopped for silver, and in the evening saw Aida at Palacio de Bellas Artes. The opera lasted until 1 a.m. Ted slept through it, but I was enchanted throughout. It was such a pleasure to sit in a lavish, modern theatre and admire the gorgeous Tiffany curtain depicting the two volcanoes. It is made out of a million pieces of iridescent stained glass. The walls had murals by Diego Rivera and David Siqueiros. Palacio indeed! Jan. 22. Today we drove our landlady, Uncle Roger, and his niece to Toluca on market day. Hordes of Indios in their colorful clothes crowded the market, vending their crafts, but I’ve never seen such squalor. I was relieved to have brought a box lunch from Sanborn’s. We bought blankets and linens and returned via the Carmelite monastery built in 1606 at El Desierto de los Leones. The torture chambers in the monastery were a gruesome reminder of the Spanish Inquisition. Once or twice I swear that Roger brushed against my bare arm, perhaps by accident? Jan. 23. I finally gathered up my courage to call on one Victor Velásquez at his office. He is a friend of my dearest friend in Austin, who had written ahead that we’d be coming. Sr. Velásquez shared some Bacardis with us and promised to pick us up at 8 to go dancing at the Reforma Roofgarden. At 8 p.m., however, a messenger arrived bearing a huge box of roses and regrets. The Señora V. is indisposed. I was keenly disappointed. We dined alone at Butch’s Manhattan for dinner. I am discovering my husband to be deficient in the art of conversation. Jan. 24. Such a full day—a band concert in Chapultepec Park and a parade of charros in fancy parade regalia on their exquisite dancing horses. Then to the famous floating gardens of Xochimilco with Uncle R. and Mrs. G. Wary of dining possibilities outside the city, I took another reliable box lunch from Sanborn’s, which we relished as the “gondolier” poled us through the canals bordered by flower-covered islands. The music and bright flowers made the place unbelievably romantic—and being here made me crave romance. From there we hurried off to a bullfight that started at 3. What a ghastly sight for an American to see. That night we took our landlady to dinner at Sanborn’s and to a movie at the Alameda Theatre. The film was Dimples with Shirley Temple, and the morose Ted had already seen it! Jan. 25. Over the scenic mountain highway to Cuernavaca, we visited Cortez’s Palace with its Diego Rivera murals, the Cathedral of 1529, Toltec and Aztec ruins at Teopanzolco, and the falls of San Anton. We lunched on
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El Ojo del Lago / March 2021
