I crossed the street, cattycorner, and stood looking at a fantasy, a pink and red brick castle with a tall, slender, hexagon turret that architecturally was balanced on the opposite side by a short, squat tower with a tiled dome. I was getting ready to photograph this fantastic home when a tall man, slightly built stepped out from under the arch of the doorway.

Across from my strangely named hotel, City Express is one of the oldest neighborhoods in Puebla.

The once elegant neighborhood is now in a state of general decline and advancing barbwire security precautions. Old houses reflect an age of baroque conspicuous display. And I had to take a walk through the neighborhood just to view the splendor in decay.

I took a photo of a Moorish styled mansion, a bright yellow building with multiple domes encrusted with tiles, and pictures in ceramic, scenes from Don Quixote, which decorated the sweeping veranda that took up an entire block. The mansion was for rent. Then I noticed another eye-catching building just around the corner.

I crossed the street, cattycorner, and stood looking at a fantasy, a pink and red brick castle with a tall, slender, hexagon turret that architecturally was balanced on the opposite side by a short, squat tower with a tiled dome. It had Moorish arched windows and a crenellated roof. I was getting ready to photograph this fantastic home when a tall man, slightly built stepped out from under the arch of the doorway.

I said, "Buenos días." He answered in English, "Good afternoon." I commented on the beauty of the building and he said, "Step inside, it's cooler."

Inside was a piano, bar, art gallery. My host was Maher Naamanni, ("New Money," he said.) a Canadian.

He wore white, loose clothes and hadn't shaved for a day or two. I imagined that B. Traven, the mysterious Mexican novelist, looked something like Maher.

We sat in the cool bar. I gazed at the art, large paintings along the wall. He said his favorite was The Carnival, a rich red Modern Art painting of a dancing, swirling woman by Magalé. "It's a tragedy," he said, and then explained that Magalé underwent an eye operation last year and a nerve was severed. "Left him paralyzed from the chest down."

There were 5 Magalé paintings on the wall. Each was painted in oil, in a different style. It was an impressive collection.

I asked, "What brought you to Mexico?" " An airplane," he said. I guessed that he was tired of the question and I laughed.

"Naw, naw," I said, "what motivated you?"

"My father-in-law died." And then he told me his story.

Maher had been working for years, building up a business, putting all his time into making it a success. "When my father-in-law died, that was 1988, he had 5 children, they loved him, but within two weeks everything he had, everything, his car, his clothes, furniture, everything was sold and the cash divided. It was as if he had never lived."

"Right then I wanted to sell my business and do things that I liked. Six months later, I sold."

We talked of his experiences and in chatting I forgot to ask how he came to choose Puebla.

But I did ask," What do you like most about Mexico?"

"Every day the sun comes up. Every morning, the same sun. In Montreal, it's pull back the shade and ask, "What's the weather like?" Here you know, in the morning it's sun."

He told me, "Mexico adapts to people. Everywhere you have to adapt to the country. But here, it's the other way around. And it's family. If your daughter marries and you need another room, you build it, you add on, no permit. If you lose your job, you open a business, put a stand in front of your house. No one complains. The pace is slower." He mentioned that new products traveled slower. "In Montreal, a new gadget comes out, next day, it's cheaper in Vancouver. Here, you can by leather goods in Leon, truck them to Veracruz and make a profit."

Maher hadn't lost his business interest.

"What don't you like?"

"Appointments, I can't tell you how many appointments I've had and the people don't show up. And loans. If you lend money, people think you've got a lot and don't feel as if you need to get it back."

Before I left Puebla, I dropped in to say goodbye to Maher. He was in his garden when I peeked in. "Dick come in, I was just talking about you. This is my friend Lalo." We shook hands.

Lalo Gonzales was a musician and painter. Two of his paintings hung on Maher's wall across from the piano.

We sat in the garden. I mentioned the turret. Maher said, "It's open, go on up, you can see all of Puebla. The door is open."

I entered at the base. It was narrow and dark. I followed the spiral staircase counting steps as I climbed. Light-dark, light-dark I mounted the steps. With each turn shadows shifted. Light entered narrow slits, hardly windows, spaced around the turret.

I reached the top. I had counted 80 steps and was winded. I fiddled with the iron slide bar that locked the door from the inside. I pulled and it moved. The door opened and I looked over Puebla. It was a great view. I walked cautiously around the two-foot wide observation deck that was like a skirt on the tower. I had a 360-degree view of Puebla. What a treat.

I make the full circuit. Then reversed my steps.

Maher and Lalo were chatting with Maria, Lalo's friend who had joined in refreshment. "How was it Maher asked?"

I looked at Lalo and Maria. I feigned surprised. "Up in tower, at the top, there is a princess."

This story is from my Forty Days in Mexico.
The previous story in the series is Cinco de Mayo in Puebla.
The next story in the series is Teaching English in Mexico.