Retirement Option #2: Guanajuato, Mexico

Panoramic photograph of Guanajuato, Mexico.

Though spending only a weekend there more than forty years ago, I still carry found memories of Guanajuato – its rain-glistened cobblestone streets full of mariachi music, its little plazas and sidewalk cafes surrounded by brilliant bold colors.

For decades, I’ve dreamed of returning.  To start, I hope to stay for a month or two and take Spanish lessons at a local school, meeting other expats and local artists and academics – all while drawing and painting in my portable watercolor sketchbook.

After that, I’d like to branch out, spending time in each of the surrounding mountain pueblos, all of them rich with revolutionary history, with the lingering echoes of miners’ cries as they discovered silver and gold.  I’ll sketch the Tao all over these towns and, perhaps, find one for settling down.

San Felipe

A pen-and-ink watercolor illustration of the main church in main plaza of San Felipe, Guanajuato, Mexico.

Long before the Spanish arrived in the mid-16th century, the Chichimeca people populated this region that borders the stunning Parque Nacional Sierra de Lobos, which served as a natural forested fortress for their defense. 

Their legacy adds a layer of ancestral depth to the pueblo’s identity — one of rooted resilience, one that moved Mexico to seek independence from Spain.

Irapuato

With its famed fertile soil and temperate climate, Irapuato was originally known for its yield of sweet guavas. Today, it harvests the majority of Mexico’s juicy strawberry crop and celebrates its annual yield with a Festival de la Fresas

Stretching over six kilometers, its ornate 18th-century Romanesque aqueduct channels nearby mountain water to the colonial city’s center, where it nourishes a lavish botanical garden.

A pen-and-ink watercolor illustration of the main church in main plaza of Irapuato, Mexico.

San Luis de la Paz

A pen-and-ink watercolor illustration of the main church in main plaza of San Luis de la Paz, Mexico.

Founded in August 1552 to mark the Spanish-brokered peace treaty between the native Otomi and Chichimeca peoples, San Luis de la Paz stands today as a symbol of resistance, resilience and reconciliation.

Once a strategic outpost along the Spanish Silver Route, the town — surrounded by sacred mountains, winding rivers, and striking rock formations — played a vital role in colonial trade and cultural exchange across the central Mexican highlands.

Dolores Hidalgo

In 1810, Father Miguel Hidalgo sounded the church bells, el Grito de Dolores, igniting a revolution. Today, Dolores Hidalgo’s central plaza teems with pottery workshops, mariachi echoes, and the warmth of colonial charm.

Designated a Pueblo Mágico, the town invites visitors to savor strawberry ices, to honor José Alfredo Jiménez’s poetic legacy, and to sample the quiet rise of vineyards amid its storied, sunlit hills.

A pen-and-ink watercolor illustration of the main church in main plaza of Dolores Hidalgo, Mexico.

San Jose Iturbide

Pen-and-ink watercolor sketch of a church tower in San Jose Inturbide. A Mexican flag flies from a nearby pole.

Founded in 1754 as Casas Viejas, the renamed mountain pueblo honors both St Joseph and Agustin de Iturbide, Mexico’s first emperor, with stunning neoclassical and Baroque architecture; festive spring traditions; and culinary delights such as cajeta, a goat’s-milk caramel.

In dusty whispers of one-time wealth, local lore speaks of mining carriages rumbling down cobbled colonial roads, of wooden wheels on chiseled stone as they ferried silver, cinnabar, and dreams of fortune from Sierra Gorda mines.

How About You?

Ever been to Guanajuato or any of its surrounding pueblos? Tell me about it in the comments.

The Tao of Fasting

Watercolor image of Papa Gringo's on a bathroom scale, showing the weight as 159.7 pounds.

There’s an old Taoist saying: “To learn the Tao, one must first fast.” Even without understanding the modern scientific benefits of prolonged fasting, such as ketosis and autophagy, and how those benefits heal the body, ancient Taoists understood the spiritual significance of not chowing down on three full squares a day.

Of Ice and Men

Ten thousand years ago, prior to the Ice Age thaw, Stone-Age hunter-gatherers went days without any substantial nutrition, without satisfying the body’s hunger for proteins and fats. Over many millions of years, however, hominid bodies had developed processes to accommodate such long droughts in dining.

Several millennia after the glacial ice caps receded, northern-Chinese Taoists intentionally skipped a few hearty meals in order to stimulate ketosis and kick-start autophagy, allowing the body to initiate its own self-regeneration, to feed off dead and abnormal cells, strengthening the sinews that remained.

Of course, such practice was packaged as preparation for sacred religious rites, preparation that repaired and revived a body not focused on digestion. During fasting periods, senses are heightened, mindfulness improves — two states needed for success when out on extended hunting expeditions.

Full of Emptiness

In Taoism, “emptiness” is not a void to be pitied but a hollow to be hailed — a space where the Tao can flow unimpeded. It is the hollow of bamboo, the pause between breaths, the momentary silence that gives music its melody. Emptiness invites receptivity, humility and, in a spiritual sense, transformation.

Fasting, in this context, becomes the ritual enactment of emptiness: a deliberate clearing of the body’s cravings and the mind’s clutter. By abstaining from food, pungent flavors, and sensory excess, the practitioner cultivates inner quietude, a waking sleep that invites spiritual cognition.

In Taoist ritual, fasting precedes communion with the divine, echoing the belief that only through emptiness can one be filled with the Tao’s subtle presence. It is a practice of becoming porous, open to the mystery of life.

Wu Wei in Action

In Taoism, wu wei — often translated as “non-action” or “effortless action” — is the art of flowing with the natural order rather than forcing outcomes. It’s not passivity; rather, it’s a deep attunement to the rhythms of life, where action arises spontaneously from harmony.

Fasting, when viewed through this lens, becomes a practice of wu wei: a gentle release of control over the body’s desires, allowing the spirit to settle into stillness. Rather than striving or resisting, the practitioner simply surrenders and lets go — of food, stimulation and excess –and, in doing so, returns to a more elemental state.

This emptiness invites clarity, receptivity and alignment with the Tao. Like river water carving mountain stone, not by force but by flowing persistence, fasting in Taoism is a quiet surrender that opens space for surprising discovery. It is a way of becoming light, porous, and attuned to the subtle currents of being.

How About You?

Have you had any past experience with fasting? I lost about five pounds by skipping approximately ten meals last week and simplifying all the meals I did eat. Please share your experience in the comments.

Effects of Saturn in Retrograde

A rams head, the planet Saturn, and a floating gold fish.

Feeling Frustrated? 

If your recent bright ideas have seemed to suddenly dim, if your energy feels jammed or your mojo jacked — you are not alone!  The planet Saturn, now in retrograde, has been throwing cosmic curveballs, striking out our swings at success, sending us back to the bench in the dugout. 

Last spring, on May 25, Saturn entered the sign of Aries, which is normally a time when passionate actions yield promising results.  With Saturn in Aries, we often initiate ambitious projects, accept leadership roles, and embrace a pioneer spirit. 

Back in June, plump summer dreams were ripe on the vine.

But then, on July 13, Saturn turned retrograde, and all our dreams seemed suddenly dashed.  

So What Does Retrograde Mean?  

Physically, as we stand on the Earth with a telescope and track the orbital path of Saturn, a night arrives when the planet appears to reverse direction.  This apparent retrograde occurs when the planet begins to orbit the back side of the Sun while the Earth continues to orbit in front. 

Metaphysically, when a planet goes retrograde, all its positive characteristics are negatively influenced.  What’s strong is weakened.  What’s possible is paused. 

The planet Saturn is the CEO of astrology, the quarterback of our natal charts.  When entering Aires, Saturn adopts the energy of the ram – headstrong, impetuous, confident, determined.   

However, when retrograde, Saturn in Aries begins to second-guess itself.  Confidence wanes.  Caution delays success.  Ever since mid-July, our dreams from early June have seemed hopelessly stalled, no matter our attempts to advance them.   

Luckily, Bad Spells Don’t Last Long

Today, September 1, Saturn leaves the sign of Aires and slips into the introspective waters of Pisces.  Normally, this would feel like stepping into a luxury bubble bath.  Our Saturn CEO would sip champagne and dream of future possibilities. 

But Saturn will still be retrograde, so Pisces negativity will drown our CEO in emotional uncertainty.  We are likely now to abandon our recent ambitious plans, then agonize with guilt for having given up so soon.

Fortunately, on November 28, Saturn ends its retrograde, turns direct again, and resumes its orbit on the same side of the Sun as the Earth.  At that point, we’ll begin to enjoy the positive Pisces traits.  We’ll begin to re-imagine our abandoned plans from spring.  We’ll begin to re-build our emotional core.

A Bright Future in 2026

Early next year, on February 13, Saturn, still going direct, will re-enter the sign of Aries.  Our CEO will once again step up to take charge, to direct immediate action, to lead the campaign toward success.

For me, personally, back at the end of May, I addressed a long-lingering health concern. Complications arose in mid-July, and now I’m due for a Pisces pity party. 

Eventually, though, based on the stars, things will turn around come November.  Come February, I’ll be fully back in shape and ready to conclude the last couple years of my career.  After that, I’ll likely retire in the Spring of 2028, right as Saturn enters the sign of Taurus.  

How About You?

Has Saturn in retrograde effected your recent plans and actions?  Let me know in the comments.

Birthday Portrait: 8/25/1930 Sean Connery

A shoulder-up illustration of Sean Connery as James Bond 007. Bond wears a tuxedo and holds a long-barreled black gun up against his cheek.

At first glance, Sean Connery’s James Bond doesn’t appear to symbolize the Tao. 

Done up, always dapper; prone to flashy gadgets, shaken martinis, and high-stakes espionage: Connery’s Agent 007 seems too self-initiated, too action-prone to embody the easy-going rhythm of the Tao.

That Connery Cool

Actually, it’s Connery’s own natural poise that cools Bond’s fiery adventure — that reels in all that secret-agent energy and brings it back to center, where all its antsy potential slowly simmers, burning like an oven roasting ice.

That equilibrium, no doubt, is thanks to Venus having passed through Libra ninety-five years ago today, the day Connery was born in Edinburgh.  When Venus orbits into Libra — the sign of elegant balance — the planet of love and romance steams with graceful charm. 

Smooth-Talking Bond

As James Bond, Connery’s Mars in Gemini exudes a quick and quippy charisma, one that smartly neutralizes bad guys, that smoothly triumphs over all the bad girls.  His witty words cut like a blade, like an infamous slap across the face.

Though gone from us since 2020, Sean Connery’s big-hearted Jupiter in Cancer still warms our amused attention. His dangerous, casino-calm grin still lingers — a reminder that, even in the world of espionage, the Tao remains forever constant, forever controlled, forever flowing free.  

Celebrity Astrology

Curious about your favorite celebrity’s astrological chart and how it effects their character? Let me know in the comments.

Retirement Option #1: Montevideo, Uruguay

Locals lounging on the grass at sunset, Playa Ramirez in the background

With retirement looming on the near horizon, I often wonder where to spend my post-working life.  Maybe I’ll slow travel, one-bagging it back and forth between a few select places. Or maybe one particular place will eventually call me home. 

First on my list of potential destinations is Montevideo.  Since 1980, every several years or so, I’ve traveled south to Uruguay to visit family friends.  It’s a magical place where classic Spanish Castellano blends with Italian-immigrant slang, where African descendants beat Candombe drums in post-colonial city streets. 

After all those visits, here’s my five favorite things about the Rio de la Plata capital.

Plaza Independencia

Plaza Independencia with Salvo Palace in the background

In the heart of the Old City, in the center of Plaza Independencia, the mausoleum of General Jose Artigas, the country’s first presidente, stands silently solemn. Surrounding his statue, diverse architectural towers come to attention, anchored by the bemusing Salvo Palace, its offbeat elegance a symbol of this drumbeat town. 

For me, Plaza Independencia is a relaxing destination after a long morning walk, a place to pause with a coffee, to watch the map-checking tourists and the mate-sipping locals, all perfect portrait models for my furtive urban sketching.  

Prado’s Museum of Art

Juan Manuel Blanes' mega painting "The Thirty-three."

A ninety-minute walk north from the Old City, just outside the Parque Prado, the Museo Municipal de Bellas Artes curates a magnificent collection of large-scale patriotic paintings by Juan Manuel Blanes, such as the Treinta y Tres shown above.

Blanes’ depiction of Uruguayan gauchos and native Americans layer in cultural memory.  On my past visits, I’ve lingered before each canvas, appreciating both their expansive historical scenes and their emotionally intricate brush strokes. 

The museum also displays a lively collection by Pedro Figari, an early-modern, late-life painter whose childlike “naïve-style” honored the mid-19th-century humility of the working-class and mocked the pride of the bourgeoisie.  

Playa Posit0s

A panoramic view of Playa Pocitos with the blue Rio de la Plata lapping at the beach along the city's edge.

An hour south by bus, we’re chilling at the beach in the Playa Positos neighborhood, where the Rio de la Plata meets mid-20th-century high-rise apartments.  The contrast of a bustling city and a wide relaxing strand symbolizes the yin/yang vibe felt throughout this meditative bay. 

I’ve spent late afternoons beneath my own beach umbrella, sketching sun bathers and the inevitable impromptu futbol game.  Not quite a tourist spot, this beach is mostly a neighborhood treasure where families picnic and locals kick off their zapos and spark up a smoke.

The Rambla

A woman relaxes on a bench along the Rambla at Playa Pocitos

Between the beach and the blocks of high-rise apartments, the Rambla’s walking esplanade provides strollers, runners, and bicycle riders with twenty-two kilometers of a stone-mosaic pathway that lines the city’s riverfront perimeter. 

I like to take my meditative walks along the wide Rambla, especially early mornings when the streets are relatively still, relatively quiet, when the playa’s gritty sand has been swept smooth by the night’s receding tide.  Come evening, as the sun sets, as the Rio fires up a dusky orange, locals gather to socialize, their hot-water thermoses filling up their mate gourds.   

Costa Azul

Papa Gringo standing outside Costa Azul, circa 1989

For more than forty years, my favorite Pocitos beach-view café has been Costa Azul, the one at the corner of Juan Benito Blanco and Felix Buxareo.  That’s where I sit after long days of walking and sketching, where I can order up a chivito, Uruguay’s classic sizzling steak sandwich, and take long sips of the seaside air.

Retirement is not only the end of a career; it’s also the start of something new, a dawning of opportunities.  As I have for decades, I’m likely to keep visiting Montevideo, staying perhaps for a season or two, then moving on to another locale.  Or maybe, after four decades, I’ll put down roots and settle into the castellano sand.

How About You?

Got questions about Montevideo?  Where are you thinking to retire?  Let me know in the comments. 

The Tao of Watercolor

a pen-and-ink/watercolor sketch of an empty summer road in northern California.  The two-lane yellow-striped road enters from the lower right and turns upward, passing long dried grass and the long cast shadows of several telephone poles, before it disappears over the nearby hill.

Everyone needs a hobby.  Whether it’s working out at the gym, writing in a journal, tending a garden, or casting a fishing line into a stream, hobbies provide leisure and relaxation, especially for those who have recently transitioned out of the working world. 

For me, I’ve found lots of relaxing pleasure when drawing and sketching with watercolor, an activity, I’ve found, that grounds me in the center of the Tao.

Flow Over Force

Watercolor teaches us to relinquish control.  No matter how determined our egos may be to control the outcome of a painting, watercolor defies that control and, instead — guided by grace and fluidity — flows on its own terms, as if following its own will.  Likewise, Taoism teaches us to harmonize with the natural order, to embrace surprise as an ally rather than repel it as a foe.

When painting with watercolor, each stroke is a surrender of control. We learn to adapt, to gently follow rather than impose. This dance with unpredictability is not weakness:  It’s wisdom. Much like the Tao, watercolor reminds us that the soft overcomes the hard, that true freedom comes when abdicating control.

The Beauty of Impermanence

A watercolor sketch lives in the moment of creation. Its edges bleed; its colors fade.  What begins with intention often ends with surprise. Taoist philosophy holds that everything is transient — like ripples in a stream or clouds passing overhead. With watercolor, impermanence is not a flaw but a virtue.

Each layer of paint dries differently, making each image unique, sui generis. An artist develops patience and humility, accepting that no intended mark will appear as intended. When completed, what remains is the spirit of the moment — a quiet reverence for the now, captured in pigment on paper.

Wu Wei in Practice

Of course, at the heart of Taoism is the concept of wu wei — the art of doing without doing. It’s not laziness, but alignment nature’s effortless flow. When applying watercolor, forcing the ego’s intention leads to muddiness; allowing things to unfold as they naturally unfurl reveals clarity and charm. A painter becomes a partner with the painted, not its maker.

Each wash of color is a meditation in non-interference. You mix, blend and brush — all without fuss. The result is often more honest than any planned outcome:  It’s a surprise, a collaboration between intention and surrender. Rather than reward control, watercolor nurtures trust.

Harmony in Chaos

Watercolor thrives in the unpredictable. A splash lands off-center, a bloom spreads like mist — yet somehow, beauty emerges. Taoism sees chaos not as disorder, but as the fertile ground from which harmony blooms. When brushing on color, “accidents” become focal points, giving character and soul to a final image.

A happy watercolorist learns to welcome surprise, adjusting and adapting like a river that winds through rocky terrain. The painting process teaches that a sudden mess isn’t something to fear — it’s something to embrace, something to foster, an opportunity to discover the previously unforeseen.

Stillness in each Stroke

To paint with watercolor is to pause the world. Each stroke invites stillness — an awareness of brush, breath, and unfolding color. Taoist thought reveres quietude, seeing it as the root of insight and peace. In watercolor, distraction dulls the result, but presence sharpens the soul.

The rhythm of dipping, dabbing, and watching water glide becomes a slow dance with time. For many, early retirement is a time to dip and dabble and discover new things — some as big as a watercolor hobby, some as small as an unintended freckle on a watercolor portrait. Either way, the Tao takes the lead.

How About You?

What habits or hobbies do you plan to develop or already enjoy in retirement?  Let me know in the comments.

Robinson Crusoe & the Tao

Hardback cover of a 1946 edition of Daniel Defoe's 1719 classes "Robinson Crusoe."  On the cover is an illustration of the bearded castaway in goatskin clothes, walking under a goatskin umbrella alongside his pet dog and cats.  Slung over one shoulder is a loaded musket, on its butt sits Polly the parrot.

While out on one of my afternoon walks here in San Francisco, I found a sidewalk library full of free books for the taking — no library card required.

Among the many volumes jammed across the two small shelves was an old, ragged, cracked-spine, yellow-paged, 1946 edition of Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.

Despite my senior age and three degrees in English, I had never read Defoe’s classic tale of shipwrecked adventure. So, opening the sidewalk library’s plexiglass door, I plucked the antique volume off its shelf, tucked it under my arm, and headed home to read.

Surprise! Surprise!

Three paragraphs into chapter one, I was pleased to discover several references to ancient Taoist ideas. 

Of course, it’s highly unlikely that Daniel Defoe was aware of Lao-Tzu and his Taoist Book of the Way.  Afterall, earliest translations into English of the Tao te Ching did not first appear until  the late 19th century — more than 150 years after Robinson Crusoe was originally published in 1719.

Still, Taoist ideas lay the foundation of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe.

What is the Tao?

In ancient Chinese philosophy, the Tao, or the Way, represents the organic energy of life, the effortless flow of the universe.  It’s the power of a river as a mountain’s melting snowfall rages toward the summer sea; conversely, it’s also the icy crust of a frozen pond in winter.  Neither good nor bad, neither up nor down, neither in nor out, the Tao is comprised of all these and — mostly — everything in between.

One of the main concepts of Taoism is the idea of wu weiWei means any contrived action, any attempt made to thwart the natural flow of nature.  Wu means no, so wu wei suggests the idea of no contrived action, of no action that goes against the flow of the Tao.  Wu wei is often described as nothing, meaning no thing — that is, no thing other than the natural Tao.

Taoist Reflections

Early in chapter one, Robinson Crusoe’s father’s attempts to dissuade his son from running off to become a sailor.  The father encourages his son to accept his natural status in life as a modestly well-to-do citizen, enjoying the pleasures provided by the “upper station of low life.”  Such a life, the father assures his son, is the envy of both paupers and kings.

This “middle state” of society suggests the middle Way encouraged by the Tao, where extremes are best avoided, where “the high is lowered” and “the low is raised.”   As stated in the Tao te Ching, what’s “most complete seems lacking,” and yet “those who are content suffer no disgrace.”  Indeed, those who know when to stop chasing the wild dreams of youth go “unharmed” and “last long.”

The Tao of Retirement     

Robinson Crusoe, only 18 when his story unfolds, ignores his father’s wise advice.  Rather than accept the natural course of his upper-middle-class existence, he follows his dream of a life on the ocean.   Soon enough, having defied both his father and the Tao, young Crusoe will eventually endure his inevitable, isolated fate.

With this early moment in the book, Defoe reminds me that there is no shame in living a simple retirement, of sitting on a porch at dusk, watching the daylight fade away into the cool embrace of night.  I wish I could be satisfied with such a simple retirement.  Perhaps such a fate will await me as I snuggle up to eighty.  For now, though, in my mid-60s, I dream all sorts of sea-faring dreams.

Hopefully, such dreaming will not lead me to repeat Robinson Crusoe’s sad and seemingly lonely fate. 

How About You?

What are your thoughts and plans for retirement? Let me know in the comments.

Hello World!

I’m Papa Gringo.

For the past quarter century, I’ve been living in San Francisco where I teach college writing and dabble in drawing and sketching. 

Now, an inch or two from retirement, I’m wondering what comes next.

What adventures and discoveries might follow my mid-life career? 

Of course — nobody knows till they take the journey.     

So come along with me!  Let’s see what unfolds! 

Let’s do this together!

Along the way, we’ll chat about Zen and all things Taoist. 

Together, we’ll discuss old movies, review sidewalk-library books, and examine the impact of western astrology.

Consider this site as my virtual hut in the woods. 

Come inside and have a seat by the fire.   

Let’s share some mugs of steaming tea.

~ Papa G.

PS: Please say hello by clicking on “Leave a Comment” up above the photograph. Your questions and suggestions will inspire future blog posts.