3.7.2006
Well, that's not strictly true. I missed the church ceremony because the directions to the church I was given were so meagre. Finally found a taxi driver who knew the church. I arrived in time for the photo session at the end of the service! "Nice performance, Prue Jarvis!"
That said, my student was thrilled I made the effort, which is more than could be said for some of his other friends. They reserved themselves for the party afterwards.
I was given the dubious honour of holding the baby at the church, & then transporting him to the party venue. Having completed that mission successfully, he was left to take a bottle & sleep in my trustworthy arms. Of course it really was an honour..it ensured all friends & family came in contact with me. Jorje (Hor-he) aka George, & his wife Cecy proudly stood by & introduced me to each person as "mi maestra d'Inglis" (my English teacher!).
"Oh!" they all said. "She's so tall! It's obvious she's a foreigner; where's she from? New Zealand? Wow!..that's in Europe, right?"
Big wide eyes when I explained NZ is south & to the right of Australia. My Span-glish is getting better.
"Ah, that explains your height..we've watched rugby on TV, & have seen Jonah Lomu. You must be about the same size as him, aren't you! Can you explain Rugby to me? How much does it cost to get to Mexico from NZ?"
All I could manage to interpret from a semi-skilled English speaker is that they think New Zealand is Nova Scotia. Hang on..isn't Nova Scotia in Canada? Since when was Canada part of Europe? Is it possible there're people in this world with worse geographical knowledge than mine?
It was a weird experience standing in a room with 150 men & women, & towering over all of them! Though I've never considered myself short, it IS a strange experience being able to look across a room over everyone's heads!
There's a tradition similar to a lolly-scramble for the kids. Instead of lollies though, money is tossed. I was pleased to be standing outside whilst this was going on inside. A life-threatening event!
The food: shatter me, it was amazing! Entirely catered by Jorje & Cecy..not a maize dish in sight, & only one bean dish..frijoles..which I like. Jorje was overseeing the food table, & made sure I understood what every dish was, & was tickled when I went for everything loaded with chilli. He was absolutely thrilled when I went back for seconds. Not so me; I overloaded my belly & regretted it later..piglet! Just like the runt of a litter, I have a terrible tendency to gorge myself when presented with yummy food! I should've woken up this morning back at 76kg's..thank goodness for my over-zealous metabolism these days!
I met a lovely woman who lives in Mexico City. She's opened her home to me; I can stay there whenever I want & for as long as I need. I may take her up on her kind invitation on my way out of Mexico.
I'm so relieved I didn't follow the advice of 'Mark from Siberia'! The subject of his email was "Important Advice on Baptismal Etiquette" ... let me clarify right now..Mark is in fact a Christian..with a delightfully irrevernt sense of humour!
"I hope you have a great time at the baptism. Here are some basic rules for these events.
1. Do not under any circumstances forget to spit in the font.
2. Full frontal nudity is a common occurence, if you see someone else getting their kit off, it is considered impolite not to join them.
3. Turn up drunk , everyone else will. Offer anyone you see in the congregation without a drink a swig from your brown paper bag covered tequila bottle.
4. Roman Catholic priests are celibate so a quick grope under his cassock will be a welcome break for the poor guy.
5 In the event of a fight breaking out, which is quite likely, stand behind the oldest lady you can find and accuse her as convincingly as possible of being the ring leader.
6. It is important to be certain exactly who the father of the child is, ask the guy who has assumed this important role if he is absolutely certain of his wifes fidelity. Do this frequently and in front of witnesses.
7. As this is Mexico there will almost certainly be music to accompany the ceremony. The tune is unimportant, all you need to know is the words to "La Cuccuracca". Sing this loudly, particularly during the most solemn moments of the baptism and during any lulls where there would otherwise be silence. Encourage others to join in.
Let me know, if you live long enough, how long your prison sentence will be.
He's such a hoot!
It's election day today. No booze available for sale yesterday or today. Probably a sensible rule, but a little inconvenient for a non-national over the weekend.
On that note, I'm going to "vamos". I need to check the election results on the internet.
Thursday, 21 December 2006
2006: Mexican Madness - And now I'm beginning to understand ...
21.11.2006
... why Mexican's revere their Saints so much!
How many emails have I dutifully composed, giving due attention to your news & answering your questions, only to have them disappear into a black hole? I dunno..I've lost count!
My fuse is running dangerously short; no longer am I prepared to sit & try to recompose what I've just spent an hour writing. So, if you don't get a quick response from me, this is probably the reason. It now takes me a bit of time to calm down & face the email again.
It truly requires a saintly nature to cope with the day-to-day frustrations..& I'm not sure I'm equal to the task.
Yes I am..it's just that some days are particularly irritating. By no means 'saintly', I generally do have a reasonably patient nature, unless pushed too far & beyond reason.
(sigh) A trying time about to start here again. The phone bill is due to be paid in the next couple of days, & I'm seriously out of pocket having supported Dom the Canadian flatmate boy & an endless stream of free-loaders. I'm looking down the barrel of no phone, no internet, no gas, & no electricity. I may have to confiscate Dom's guitar & the endless array of shoes he's dumped about the apartment & sell them to defray expenses!
Honestly, any male allowed to live past year 11, year 16, year 23, & year 30 should seriously consider himself lucky. Actually, about now, my allegiance is with the female praying mantis! Scratch that..I'm all for the male cats who kill & eat their own off-spring!
I'm frantically trying to off-load all my photos & the 'Siberian Adventure' from my lappy & onto my own website. Not too successfully at this stage, but I'll keep trying.
Who knows..if I succeed I may end up with a bucket load of money from 'blogging'.
Anyhoo, that's me for now. Not the up-est message I've ever sent, but at least you know I'm alive & kicking. Actually I'm kicking the fridge cos the bloody thing keeps dying on me. At the moment my new neighbourhood dog is eating better than me..he gets the meat that keeps going off cos the fridge goes off! Bless though..he follows me where-ever I go, & most of the locals are afraid of him. They stop their cars, bikes, & Nikes to watch my pooch turn to putty when I step outdoors.
... why Mexican's revere their Saints so much!
How many emails have I dutifully composed, giving due attention to your news & answering your questions, only to have them disappear into a black hole? I dunno..I've lost count!
My fuse is running dangerously short; no longer am I prepared to sit & try to recompose what I've just spent an hour writing. So, if you don't get a quick response from me, this is probably the reason. It now takes me a bit of time to calm down & face the email again.
It truly requires a saintly nature to cope with the day-to-day frustrations..& I'm not sure I'm equal to the task.
Yes I am..it's just that some days are particularly irritating. By no means 'saintly', I generally do have a reasonably patient nature, unless pushed too far & beyond reason.
(sigh) A trying time about to start here again. The phone bill is due to be paid in the next couple of days, & I'm seriously out of pocket having supported Dom the Canadian flatmate boy & an endless stream of free-loaders. I'm looking down the barrel of no phone, no internet, no gas, & no electricity. I may have to confiscate Dom's guitar & the endless array of shoes he's dumped about the apartment & sell them to defray expenses!
Honestly, any male allowed to live past year 11, year 16, year 23, & year 30 should seriously consider himself lucky. Actually, about now, my allegiance is with the female praying mantis! Scratch that..I'm all for the male cats who kill & eat their own off-spring!
I'm frantically trying to off-load all my photos & the 'Siberian Adventure' from my lappy & onto my own website. Not too successfully at this stage, but I'll keep trying.
Who knows..if I succeed I may end up with a bucket load of money from 'blogging'.
Anyhoo, that's me for now. Not the up-est message I've ever sent, but at least you know I'm alive & kicking. Actually I'm kicking the fridge cos the bloody thing keeps dying on me. At the moment my new neighbourhood dog is eating better than me..he gets the meat that keeps going off cos the fridge goes off! Bless though..he follows me where-ever I go, & most of the locals are afraid of him. They stop their cars, bikes, & Nikes to watch my pooch turn to putty when I step outdoors.
2006: Mexican Madness - so here I am in tropical Mexico ...
11.11.2006
... with a runny nose & an annoying cough. I'm decked out in jeans, socks & shoes, a top, woolly jersey, scarf, beret, & Russian blue coat! And still I'm cold!
I'm quickly being reminded of my early days here..hot, hot days, & freezing cold nights. So many changes of clothes in one day!
The runny nose is mostly caused by the dust in the air; the annoying cough comes from the loss of humidity as this high desert land heads into winter..an asthmatic's nightmare.
Riding in buses with locals succumbing to seasonal colds & flu doesn't help. It's only a matter of weeks before once again I start every day with a bleeding nose. Dammit! I love the heat of this country, but living in the high desert has it's share of health issues!
I was laughing with my niece, Toni, earlier tonight about how I break a sweat every morning sweeping & mopping the floors with one of those industrial sized mops..a full body workout. Everyday I sweep up enough dirt to plant an orchard. When I mop straight afterwards, there's another orchard's worth of dirt in the bottom of the bucket. If I miss a day, the hair that my flatmate Dom & I shed creates 'tumbleweeds' worthy of a ghost town. DISGUSTING! I was wearing a summery top when I was talking to Toni. About now, that's a fond & distant memory; only a few more hours until I'm reliving that lovely warmth again.
I had been thinking of throwing away my Siberian boots and selling my coats and hats; now I'm relieved I haven't, though I suspect I could make a tidy sum of money if I chose to. Tonight I'm pleased I've been emotionally attached to these excess baggage nuisances; they're back to being essentials.
But how stupid do I feel sitting inside my apartment rugged up like I'm about to step outside into a Moscow winter?!
If you look past me in the photo, you'll notice that I've succumbed to owning a TV & turning it on. Not that I watch it all that often; it's either background noise or muted flickering light. Usually I'm listening to music & downloading loads of old stuff from the internet. I've already told you this.
Look a little closer & you'll see maps taped all over the wall. My world map (in Spanish), my map of Aguascalientes, my map of Mexico, a map of Guanajuato, & my well used & beloved map of Surgut.
Most people who come into my apartment are first drawn to the world map, then they spot the map of Sugut. "Where's that? Show me where that is on your world map! Wow! Now show me where New Zealand is! New Zealand's in Europe, right?!"
Cripes, and I thought everyone thought New Zealand was part of Australia!!!
The next time someone says New Zealand's part of Europe, I'm going to make them show me what part of Europe they think New Zealand is.
Part of Europe, part of Australia, or known for where I'm really from, it's all preferable to being assumed I'm from the US.
Most people quickly work out I'm not from the US cos my accent is so odd. They like it, & mostly they understand it. Sometimes it takes a week or so for them to really get the hang of it. My 'rrrr's' are too soft, as are my 'a's'. And let's not get into the 'zee' vs. 'zed' debate!
I've mentioned to my buddy Tim from Uni when chatting on Messenger, & Toni heard tonight how noisy Mexicans are. I wrote to you about the cursed Tomales truck that comes past every night.
There're also the gas bottle trucks that come past all day every day. Some of them have loud speakers singing out "Gasoline, gasoline, la-la-la-la-la-laaa, gasoli-ine". Some of them just have drivers pulling on a cord to constantly ring an annoying bell..please excuse my coarseness, but they must be fantastic wankers! Or they're too tired by the end of the day to actually do it.
There's the guy who pushes a trolley which has hot coals burning at the bottom of it. He's selling coal-cooked banana's. He has the shrillest train whistle in the world. Shrill enough to burst my eardrums every night.
Daily there're cars that drive through spouting political 'stuff'.
And then there's the water truck boys. You can't drink tap water so every home has bottled water delivered. These boys have their own racket to make, but they've taken a shine to me, so they park below my windows & then ring my doorbell until I pop my face out the window. "Agua Bonita Senora?" Grrrrrrrrr, smile, "No, gracias!" Occasionally they spot me at the shopping mall & bail me up there.
Honestly, this country is 18-hours out of 24 of NOISE!
And I thought Planeta in Surgut was a noisy place to be!
Good grief, & now the roosters have started crowing & I realise this place is 24-hours of NOISE!
Still, in spite of the challenges & annoyances, I love it!
I have 2 new 'boyfriends'.
With the first one, we haven't got to the point of exchanging names, but he's always popped out of his workshop to greet me. Last week, he grabbed hold of me, spent 10-minutes telling me I need to learn to speak Spanish well & he'll learn English so we can actually talk & romance. At the end of it he kissed my hand and let me go. He thinks I'm "muy, muy guapa" (very, very beautiful). In return I could tell him he's muy guapo (very handome). He's got drop dead gorgeous teeth! Hahahahaha..so I have a thing about teeth! That comes from not liking my own.
The second one is a 10-year old lad I teach for three hours a week. He's a difficult child & we've had a few staring out competitions to work out who's the boss. My icey blue eyes have won every time. Now he spends most of his lessons holding my hand, & every Friday he begs me to spend the weekend with him at his family's ranch.
Generally he addresses me as "Teacher", which is the accepted form of respect (regardless of the age of the student), however when he wants me to come to the ranch he hugs & kisses me & calls me Prue.
His parents started out being very off-hand & superior, now they call me Teacher, & kiss me on arrival & departure.
It's an odd world we live in, & I'm thrilled to bits to finally be experiencing it!
So what do you all think about me giving serious consideration to nipping into Libya? I read this neat article in National Geographic, & I'm a little bit hooked on the idea.
I'll leave you with that thought.
Toodle pip!
... with a runny nose & an annoying cough. I'm decked out in jeans, socks & shoes, a top, woolly jersey, scarf, beret, & Russian blue coat! And still I'm cold!
I'm quickly being reminded of my early days here..hot, hot days, & freezing cold nights. So many changes of clothes in one day!
The runny nose is mostly caused by the dust in the air; the annoying cough comes from the loss of humidity as this high desert land heads into winter..an asthmatic's nightmare.
Riding in buses with locals succumbing to seasonal colds & flu doesn't help. It's only a matter of weeks before once again I start every day with a bleeding nose. Dammit! I love the heat of this country, but living in the high desert has it's share of health issues!
I was laughing with my niece, Toni, earlier tonight about how I break a sweat every morning sweeping & mopping the floors with one of those industrial sized mops..a full body workout. Everyday I sweep up enough dirt to plant an orchard. When I mop straight afterwards, there's another orchard's worth of dirt in the bottom of the bucket. If I miss a day, the hair that my flatmate Dom & I shed creates 'tumbleweeds' worthy of a ghost town. DISGUSTING! I was wearing a summery top when I was talking to Toni. About now, that's a fond & distant memory; only a few more hours until I'm reliving that lovely warmth again.
I had been thinking of throwing away my Siberian boots and selling my coats and hats; now I'm relieved I haven't, though I suspect I could make a tidy sum of money if I chose to. Tonight I'm pleased I've been emotionally attached to these excess baggage nuisances; they're back to being essentials.
But how stupid do I feel sitting inside my apartment rugged up like I'm about to step outside into a Moscow winter?!
If you look past me in the photo, you'll notice that I've succumbed to owning a TV & turning it on. Not that I watch it all that often; it's either background noise or muted flickering light. Usually I'm listening to music & downloading loads of old stuff from the internet. I've already told you this.
Look a little closer & you'll see maps taped all over the wall. My world map (in Spanish), my map of Aguascalientes, my map of Mexico, a map of Guanajuato, & my well used & beloved map of Surgut.
Most people who come into my apartment are first drawn to the world map, then they spot the map of Sugut. "Where's that? Show me where that is on your world map! Wow! Now show me where New Zealand is! New Zealand's in Europe, right?!"
Cripes, and I thought everyone thought New Zealand was part of Australia!!!
The next time someone says New Zealand's part of Europe, I'm going to make them show me what part of Europe they think New Zealand is.
Part of Europe, part of Australia, or known for where I'm really from, it's all preferable to being assumed I'm from the US.
Most people quickly work out I'm not from the US cos my accent is so odd. They like it, & mostly they understand it. Sometimes it takes a week or so for them to really get the hang of it. My 'rrrr's' are too soft, as are my 'a's'. And let's not get into the 'zee' vs. 'zed' debate!
I've mentioned to my buddy Tim from Uni when chatting on Messenger, & Toni heard tonight how noisy Mexicans are. I wrote to you about the cursed Tomales truck that comes past every night.
There're also the gas bottle trucks that come past all day every day. Some of them have loud speakers singing out "Gasoline, gasoline, la-la-la-la-la-laaa, gasoli-ine". Some of them just have drivers pulling on a cord to constantly ring an annoying bell..please excuse my coarseness, but they must be fantastic wankers! Or they're too tired by the end of the day to actually do it.
There's the guy who pushes a trolley which has hot coals burning at the bottom of it. He's selling coal-cooked banana's. He has the shrillest train whistle in the world. Shrill enough to burst my eardrums every night.
Daily there're cars that drive through spouting political 'stuff'.
And then there's the water truck boys. You can't drink tap water so every home has bottled water delivered. These boys have their own racket to make, but they've taken a shine to me, so they park below my windows & then ring my doorbell until I pop my face out the window. "Agua Bonita Senora?" Grrrrrrrrr, smile, "No, gracias!" Occasionally they spot me at the shopping mall & bail me up there.
Honestly, this country is 18-hours out of 24 of NOISE!
And I thought Planeta in Surgut was a noisy place to be!
Good grief, & now the roosters have started crowing & I realise this place is 24-hours of NOISE!
Still, in spite of the challenges & annoyances, I love it!
I have 2 new 'boyfriends'.
With the first one, we haven't got to the point of exchanging names, but he's always popped out of his workshop to greet me. Last week, he grabbed hold of me, spent 10-minutes telling me I need to learn to speak Spanish well & he'll learn English so we can actually talk & romance. At the end of it he kissed my hand and let me go. He thinks I'm "muy, muy guapa" (very, very beautiful). In return I could tell him he's muy guapo (very handome). He's got drop dead gorgeous teeth! Hahahahaha..so I have a thing about teeth! That comes from not liking my own.
The second one is a 10-year old lad I teach for three hours a week. He's a difficult child & we've had a few staring out competitions to work out who's the boss. My icey blue eyes have won every time. Now he spends most of his lessons holding my hand, & every Friday he begs me to spend the weekend with him at his family's ranch.
Generally he addresses me as "Teacher", which is the accepted form of respect (regardless of the age of the student), however when he wants me to come to the ranch he hugs & kisses me & calls me Prue.
His parents started out being very off-hand & superior, now they call me Teacher, & kiss me on arrival & departure.
It's an odd world we live in, & I'm thrilled to bits to finally be experiencing it!
So what do you all think about me giving serious consideration to nipping into Libya? I read this neat article in National Geographic, & I'm a little bit hooked on the idea.
I'll leave you with that thought.
Toodle pip!
2006: Mexican Madness - Hppy Halloween Everyone!
31.10.2006
Hola, buenas tardes!
I hope you're all well, happy & coping with spring & winter weather.
Spare a thought for me this week. I'm exhaused already and it's only Monday. I didn't actually attend any of the parties..I just sat up all weekend trying to cope with the phenominal clamour! Parties started on Friday as a warm up for Halloween & The Day of The Dead (Dia de Muertos). The celebrations are combined here, so instead of celebrating 2 separate days, they celebrate for 10 days in a row (What the ...? :-O), with the biggest nights being Wednesday and Thursday, but continuing on through to the end of next weekend.
My alcohol intake will increase dramatically this week just so I can get some sleep!
The noise is especially bad in this apartment because I'm on the corner of a T intersection. Cars and buses coming from every direction, and they're all either V8's or have those stupid stereo's that vibrate your windows out of their frames! The buses start at 5:30am & finish at 10:30pm. The cars thunder past 24/7! I think I'll boost my friend Manuel's annual sales by purchasing all the nails and tacks from his tapateria (hardware store) and sprinkling them across the 4 roads! Do you think the police will trace all those nails to me?
The local kids (aged from 10 - 25) have decided the best pot-hole in the road for playing marbles is directly under my living room & bedroom windows. They start playing at around 8pm & usually finish up at 1am. More screaming from them than you'd hear at the Super Bowl on the biggest night of the season! I'm tempted to invest in some flour and water bombs..do you think that'll deter them? Or will it earn me a few nights in a Mexican jail?
Then there's the 'tomales' truck that cruises by late every night. A wonderful set of loudspeakers on the truck roof blast out "Tomales, tomales, your kids need tomales before they go to bed! Tomales, tomales, YOU need tomales before you go to bed! Tomales, tomales, everyone needs tomales right now!!" I want to run down the stairs & kick his tyres in! Another couple of nights in a Mexican jail!
Lastly, the girls that live in the apartment on top of mine get up every morning, put on their noisiest stilettos & start dragging their furniture across the tiled floor at high speed and in multiple directions. Don't ask me why..it's a mystery to me! Then at night, they run up and down the stairs as daintily as a stampeding herd of African elephants drunk on fermented amarula berries They have a penchant for starting up their incredibly loud blender at all unpleasant hours of the night and morning. Yesterday they ran out of gas before finishing cooking their afternoon meal 'knock, knock on my door' ... "Can we finishing cooking our meal on your stove with your gas?" They're lovely girls, but I want to lubricate their stairs with an oil slick! Oh lord..I'll be in jail forever! Hey, the bright side of that is that you get conjugal visits 'inside' here.
Add to this intolerance ...
...aaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhhh! Here comes the tomales truck!
... I have a temporary flatmate/room-mate. Dominique from Canada. He's 23 years old. I'm his surrogate mum, he's my surrogate son. He's driving me a little crazy. He's a messy little blighter in the kitchen, he has no idea how to replace the empty roll of toilet paper with the full roll sitting next to the toilet, and is quite negative..but he also has a really dry sense of humour..luckily for him. He has me on the verge of biting his head off, then he hits me with something really witty and I find myself having a great laugh! He is very good at making sure the water is hot for my shower.
Having dropped my good cellphone into the toilet & drowning it to death, I'm back to the one I had when I first arrived here. I think it's about 100 years old! It's been rebuilt 4 times this year, but I think it's finally on its last legs. Last night all the text on it turned upside-down and inside-out. If I want to read a message or look up a number I have to go to the bathroom, turn the phone upside-down and read everything through the mirror. I'M NOT JOKING!
Tonight, the vibrate mode died.
I think I'LL be mourning & commemorating my cellphones on Wednesday and Thursday!
On a more serious note..everyone please give a thought and toast to my sister, brother-in-law and their gorgeous boxer Shady; Shady went to sleep forever today (Southern Hemisphere time).
I'll be dedicating a flower & a few marshmallows to Shady this Wednesday and Thursday nights.
Light..light, I'm racking my brains for something light to sign off with.
Ok..maybe more vacuous than light..my stolen plant cuttings are starting to take root & flourish!
Daylight saving here kicked out last night..I was shocked by how dark it was by 6:30pm tonight!
The crazy supermarkets here have no change in their tills. Tonight the 'check-out Chick' asked the customer behind me for change! Bless his handsome skin, he tried but couldn't help. It was ok, because I was able to make the change myself. Both he and the guy customer behind HIM bade me a fond farewell, & raced to get through the check-out to escort me to where-ever I was going. Not a chance..I walk way too fast for everyone!
Which reminds me..you know how we all hate small change? Well, here in Mexico I hoard it because it's the only way to pay for things!
Mexican Madness! It frustrates the life out of me, and I love it..all at the same time!
Sorry to my Russian buddies for this very long English message.
Has this been a 'trick or treat' message?
Hola, buenas tardes!
I hope you're all well, happy & coping with spring & winter weather.
Spare a thought for me this week. I'm exhaused already and it's only Monday. I didn't actually attend any of the parties..I just sat up all weekend trying to cope with the phenominal clamour! Parties started on Friday as a warm up for Halloween & The Day of The Dead (Dia de Muertos). The celebrations are combined here, so instead of celebrating 2 separate days, they celebrate for 10 days in a row (What the ...? :-O), with the biggest nights being Wednesday and Thursday, but continuing on through to the end of next weekend.
My alcohol intake will increase dramatically this week just so I can get some sleep!
The noise is especially bad in this apartment because I'm on the corner of a T intersection. Cars and buses coming from every direction, and they're all either V8's or have those stupid stereo's that vibrate your windows out of their frames! The buses start at 5:30am & finish at 10:30pm. The cars thunder past 24/7! I think I'll boost my friend Manuel's annual sales by purchasing all the nails and tacks from his tapateria (hardware store) and sprinkling them across the 4 roads! Do you think the police will trace all those nails to me?
The local kids (aged from 10 - 25) have decided the best pot-hole in the road for playing marbles is directly under my living room & bedroom windows. They start playing at around 8pm & usually finish up at 1am. More screaming from them than you'd hear at the Super Bowl on the biggest night of the season! I'm tempted to invest in some flour and water bombs..do you think that'll deter them? Or will it earn me a few nights in a Mexican jail?
Then there's the 'tomales' truck that cruises by late every night. A wonderful set of loudspeakers on the truck roof blast out "Tomales, tomales, your kids need tomales before they go to bed! Tomales, tomales, YOU need tomales before you go to bed! Tomales, tomales, everyone needs tomales right now!!" I want to run down the stairs & kick his tyres in! Another couple of nights in a Mexican jail!
Lastly, the girls that live in the apartment on top of mine get up every morning, put on their noisiest stilettos & start dragging their furniture across the tiled floor at high speed and in multiple directions. Don't ask me why..it's a mystery to me! Then at night, they run up and down the stairs as daintily as a stampeding herd of African elephants drunk on fermented amarula berries They have a penchant for starting up their incredibly loud blender at all unpleasant hours of the night and morning. Yesterday they ran out of gas before finishing cooking their afternoon meal 'knock, knock on my door' ... "Can we finishing cooking our meal on your stove with your gas?" They're lovely girls, but I want to lubricate their stairs with an oil slick! Oh lord..I'll be in jail forever! Hey, the bright side of that is that you get conjugal visits 'inside' here.
Add to this intolerance ...
...aaaaarrrrrrrggggghhhhh! Here comes the tomales truck!
... I have a temporary flatmate/room-mate. Dominique from Canada. He's 23 years old. I'm his surrogate mum, he's my surrogate son. He's driving me a little crazy. He's a messy little blighter in the kitchen, he has no idea how to replace the empty roll of toilet paper with the full roll sitting next to the toilet, and is quite negative..but he also has a really dry sense of humour..luckily for him. He has me on the verge of biting his head off, then he hits me with something really witty and I find myself having a great laugh! He is very good at making sure the water is hot for my shower.
Having dropped my good cellphone into the toilet & drowning it to death, I'm back to the one I had when I first arrived here. I think it's about 100 years old! It's been rebuilt 4 times this year, but I think it's finally on its last legs. Last night all the text on it turned upside-down and inside-out. If I want to read a message or look up a number I have to go to the bathroom, turn the phone upside-down and read everything through the mirror. I'M NOT JOKING!
Tonight, the vibrate mode died.
I think I'LL be mourning & commemorating my cellphones on Wednesday and Thursday!
On a more serious note..everyone please give a thought and toast to my sister, brother-in-law and their gorgeous boxer Shady; Shady went to sleep forever today (Southern Hemisphere time).
I'll be dedicating a flower & a few marshmallows to Shady this Wednesday and Thursday nights.
Light..light, I'm racking my brains for something light to sign off with.
Ok..maybe more vacuous than light..my stolen plant cuttings are starting to take root & flourish!
Daylight saving here kicked out last night..I was shocked by how dark it was by 6:30pm tonight!
The crazy supermarkets here have no change in their tills. Tonight the 'check-out Chick' asked the customer behind me for change! Bless his handsome skin, he tried but couldn't help. It was ok, because I was able to make the change myself. Both he and the guy customer behind HIM bade me a fond farewell, & raced to get through the check-out to escort me to where-ever I was going. Not a chance..I walk way too fast for everyone!
Which reminds me..you know how we all hate small change? Well, here in Mexico I hoard it because it's the only way to pay for things!
Mexican Madness! It frustrates the life out of me, and I love it..all at the same time!
Sorry to my Russian buddies for this very long English message.
Has this been a 'trick or treat' message?
2006: Mexican Madness - Hello!
15.10.2006
It seems like ages to me since I last wrote to you. Some of you've caught me on MSM Messenger, which is really cool!
I've also spoken to some of you on the phone recently.
I have this fantastic new (to me) tool on my computer. It's called "Skype". You download it free off the internet, buy talk time in advance, and away you go! It's cheap, Cheap, CHEAP!!!
If any of you want or need to call me my Skype address is flyingk1w1me
My Skype phone number is 00 61 (07) 3102 83 72. No matter where in the world I am, as long as I'm connected to the internet we can keep in touch.
If you have a Skype phone number we can telephone each other for free!
I'm not sure, but I also think you can call me for free if you don't have a Skype phone number just by using my Skype address.
WOW..DO I EVER GET GRUMPY WHEN YAHOO DUMPS MY MESSAGE BEFORE I GET TO FINISH TYPING IT!
So let me try & remember what I wrote.
I have another piece of free software I want to share with you. Do an internet search on Ares. It lets you download music & stuff for free off the internet.
I now have 1,008 new music tracks to add to the almost 4,000 I have on i-Tunes.
I have a real 'smorgasbord' of music, from Tchaikovsky to Green Day, and everything you can think of in between. OLD stuff like Nancy Sinatra, Petula Clark and Cilla Black, naff stuff like Tiny Tim's 'Tiptoe Through The Tulips", sickly sweet stuff like The Carpenters, The Seekers, and Peter, Paul & Mary, classic stuff like Neil Diamond's 'Hot August Night' album. CCR, John Coltrane, Deep Purple, Janice Joplin, The Pogues, Thin Lizzy, Iggy Pop, Christina Aguilera, Anastacia, Blink 182, Linkin Park, & some reggae band I've never heard of before. You name it, I have it for your listening delight. I'm in heaven!
Even my parents would be making dust clouds in their urns over some of the music I'm listening to & loving! As would you freak out Ben!
The guy that introduced me to Ares is blown away by the stuff I've got .. "Wow! You have very eclectic taste in music!"
Hahahaha! I guess I do, but it helps to while away some empty hours & does wonders for my frame of mind..whatever it may be.
The last time I wrote I was threatening to find & adopt a cat or kitten to help keep me warm at night. Well, I've met a few dogs this week that are at risk of being brought home. My current favourite is a black one of indeterminate breed. No-one seems to know who he belongs to. The other night it was hosing down with rain and the poor boy was just sitting out on the street. We're tentative 'friends' now..I gave him 2 chicken breasts and some turkey ham, but he's still a bit nervous of me and my weird language.
We're having an amazing electrical storm with torrential rain tonight. It's hot as well, which is a bit of a nuisance because I've had to close most of the windows.
I was on my way home this afternoon after one of my exploratory walks when the storm started. I was picking my way down the street trying to avoid the 'rivers' when a couple of lovely young guys stopped & offered me a ride. I was almost home, so I thanked them but said no.
Ummmmm...I think that's all I have to tell you for now, so I'll love & leave you here.
It seems like ages to me since I last wrote to you. Some of you've caught me on MSM Messenger, which is really cool!
I've also spoken to some of you on the phone recently.
I have this fantastic new (to me) tool on my computer. It's called "Skype". You download it free off the internet, buy talk time in advance, and away you go! It's cheap, Cheap, CHEAP!!!
If any of you want or need to call me my Skype address is flyingk1w1me
My Skype phone number is 00 61 (07) 3102 83 72. No matter where in the world I am, as long as I'm connected to the internet we can keep in touch.
If you have a Skype phone number we can telephone each other for free!
I'm not sure, but I also think you can call me for free if you don't have a Skype phone number just by using my Skype address.
WOW..DO I EVER GET GRUMPY WHEN YAHOO DUMPS MY MESSAGE BEFORE I GET TO FINISH TYPING IT!
So let me try & remember what I wrote.
I have another piece of free software I want to share with you. Do an internet search on Ares. It lets you download music & stuff for free off the internet.
I now have 1,008 new music tracks to add to the almost 4,000 I have on i-Tunes.
I have a real 'smorgasbord' of music, from Tchaikovsky to Green Day, and everything you can think of in between. OLD stuff like Nancy Sinatra, Petula Clark and Cilla Black, naff stuff like Tiny Tim's 'Tiptoe Through The Tulips", sickly sweet stuff like The Carpenters, The Seekers, and Peter, Paul & Mary, classic stuff like Neil Diamond's 'Hot August Night' album. CCR, John Coltrane, Deep Purple, Janice Joplin, The Pogues, Thin Lizzy, Iggy Pop, Christina Aguilera, Anastacia, Blink 182, Linkin Park, & some reggae band I've never heard of before. You name it, I have it for your listening delight. I'm in heaven!
Even my parents would be making dust clouds in their urns over some of the music I'm listening to & loving! As would you freak out Ben!
The guy that introduced me to Ares is blown away by the stuff I've got .. "Wow! You have very eclectic taste in music!"
Hahahaha! I guess I do, but it helps to while away some empty hours & does wonders for my frame of mind..whatever it may be.
The last time I wrote I was threatening to find & adopt a cat or kitten to help keep me warm at night. Well, I've met a few dogs this week that are at risk of being brought home. My current favourite is a black one of indeterminate breed. No-one seems to know who he belongs to. The other night it was hosing down with rain and the poor boy was just sitting out on the street. We're tentative 'friends' now..I gave him 2 chicken breasts and some turkey ham, but he's still a bit nervous of me and my weird language.
We're having an amazing electrical storm with torrential rain tonight. It's hot as well, which is a bit of a nuisance because I've had to close most of the windows.
I was on my way home this afternoon after one of my exploratory walks when the storm started. I was picking my way down the street trying to avoid the 'rivers' when a couple of lovely young guys stopped & offered me a ride. I was almost home, so I thanked them but said no.
Ummmmm...I think that's all I have to tell you for now, so I'll love & leave you here.
2006: Mexican Madness - I've Moved ... AGAIN!
26.9.2006
You can rest assured I'm ok. All Mexican wounds have healed & I'm working on not being clumsy & receiving any more.
I'm not teaching at the moment..I've been given a job researching & helping Mexicans emigrate to Canada. Interesting stuff! And the pay is better!!
I've moved into an apartment, so I'm living like a human being again. Hot water, gas, a good little kitchen to cook in (roast chicken basted with orange juice & honey, baked spuds with onion rings & avocado, orange & honey roasted kumara, & steamed carrots & brocolli tonight..wish I could find a meat-mallet to tenderise the evily tough beef), a telephone, internet access, & a nice big super-king bed! HEAVEN!
I've made a few friends in the neighbourhood, & even went to a party on Saturday night..yeeeha! Not bad going for only having been in the apartment for 2-weeks.
It's autumn here now, which reminds me very much of spring in NZ. Some days hot, some days chilly, lots of rain, & the nights now require a spare blanket next to the bed ready for 3am when it gets cold.
I had to wash my sleeping bag a couple of weeks ago cos it was a bit whiffy..& now it's ready for when it starts getting FREEZING overnight.
If it looks like I'm not going to get away from Mexico easily, I may just have to adopt a stray cat to help keep me warm at night.
You can rest assured I'm ok. All Mexican wounds have healed & I'm working on not being clumsy & receiving any more.
I'm not teaching at the moment..I've been given a job researching & helping Mexicans emigrate to Canada. Interesting stuff! And the pay is better!!
I've moved into an apartment, so I'm living like a human being again. Hot water, gas, a good little kitchen to cook in (roast chicken basted with orange juice & honey, baked spuds with onion rings & avocado, orange & honey roasted kumara, & steamed carrots & brocolli tonight..wish I could find a meat-mallet to tenderise the evily tough beef), a telephone, internet access, & a nice big super-king bed! HEAVEN!
I've made a few friends in the neighbourhood, & even went to a party on Saturday night..yeeeha! Not bad going for only having been in the apartment for 2-weeks.
It's autumn here now, which reminds me very much of spring in NZ. Some days hot, some days chilly, lots of rain, & the nights now require a spare blanket next to the bed ready for 3am when it gets cold.
I had to wash my sleeping bag a couple of weeks ago cos it was a bit whiffy..& now it's ready for when it starts getting FREEZING overnight.
If it looks like I'm not going to get away from Mexico easily, I may just have to adopt a stray cat to help keep me warm at night.
2006: Mexican Madness - Life's a Seesaw; mostly good, seldom boring
19.7.02006
Gidday Mates!
How's your week treating you? More ups than downs I hope!
Friday night was a 'gem'. I finished work at 8:15pm & the mother of one of my students gave me a lift to the supermarket close to home. Unfortunately it was all out of what I needed so I caught a taxi to the next one (it was bucketing down with rain). Purchases rapidly made, I nipped out expecting to grab one of the many taxi's permanently stationed outside. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson "Doh!" The taxi rank was empty and there were at least 30 groups waiting ahead of me. Quick calculation completed I guessed I'd be waiting at least 3-hours before my turn.
"Blow that for a game of soldiers at this time of night!", I thought.
For a fleeting moment I considered catching the bus then decided there was no point cos I'd still have 3 blocks to walk home. Gamely, & possibly naively, I started walking, thinking I'd hail a taxi on the way, but if worse came to worst I'd be home in an hour on foot.
Unbelievable! In the 3 km's I walked, I saw only 6 taxis. Usually they're wall-to-wall. The 1st 3 were full. By the time 2 empty ones were spotted I was so dripping wet they wouldn't stop for me..the brutes! I was getting a bit nervous by then as the lightning was popping directly above me in all its blue glory. The next taxi I saw was empty too..unfortunately for him I caught him at a red light. He didn't want to let me in, & it took all my powers of persuasion to convince him..I finally won out when I showed him that although I was drenched & dripping on my front half, the back half was dry. Plonked into the back seat & feeling relieved, he screamed off at a great rate, breaking all speed & road rules in order to get rid of my soggy self ASAP. Once he'd delivered me to my gate & collected his fare, he couldn't resist twisting round to check the condition of his back seat, & was gratified to find it dry. I popped through my front door envigorated by a refreshing soaking & successfully negotiating a ride home.
The rain continued all night and throughout Saturday.
Saturday morning my students took me to Sanbornes for a 2-hour 'English over coffee' lesson. Sanbornes is considered one of the 3 best places to go for coffee. It's simply filtered & as weak as a newborn kitten! Still, it's better than instant and as I haven't had coffee for months now it was a real treat. I'd planned to blinfold the boys for the 1st hour to hone their listening skills but Paco was full of the 'flu & I didn't think it would be fair.
Lesson over, Paco offered to drive me wherever I wanted to go. I declined his generous offer, preferring to head home, curl up on my bed with my e-book (The Count of Monte Christo..I had to delete Gulliver's Travels; what a YAWN that book is!), some chocolate & apples, & to read and snooze the day away. Heaven on a rainy day!
And snooze I did! I was amazed when I woke up & found the day had disappeared; it was after 6:30pm and I was still feeling shattered.
I stumbled out of my room to find the accountant sitting in his office & showing no signs of moving. I transferred my lappy to the kitchen where I could read some more & eat up a storm.
Midnight rolled around & the accountant was still here. I started puffing out a few irritable sighs. He was crowding my precious 'alone time'.
At 1:30am I appeared at his office door & told him to "vamos!" I finally got rid of him close to 2:15am.
The weather was still manky on Sunday so I repeated Saturday's indulgent & lazy performance.
4:30pm & the accountant rocked up again. "No!" I said. "All I ask is one day each week to be left entirely alone, now go!" I surrendered the battle in the end. He left after 10pm.
The ridiculous thing is that he invaded my space all weekend, but has nothing to do this week because of it.
Monday brought me my reward for an invaded weekend; back home by 8:30pm & yeeeeha!, the accountant was already gone for the day.
Uh-oh..no I wasn't alone. A massive flying cockroach & I played squealy cat & mouse for a couple of hours before I beat it into fatal submission. Just to be sure, I dumped a heavy archive box on top of it.
I had a meeting with Marifer's mother this afternoon. I was quaking in my boots. No need..she's quite happy for me to continue the informal 'chat' sessions now that she's seen the homework I set.
Earlier in the day I was walking back to the office/home from a lesson & spotted a chihuahua puppy playing in the window of a florists. I'm not a big fan of chihuahua's, but this little guy was so small & cute I had to stop & play with him through the window. Not good enough, I went inside. The owners had been watching & immediately uncaged the little man. I picked him up & he snuggled into me. MELT! We played for a while & then I left.
Striding down my home street I spotted the really pretty little kitten that lives up the road from me. We played 'You can't catch me, but I want you to'" for a while.
Tuesday, the day I have an early lesson & a horrid cold shower. How pleasing..no water in the tank! Once I'd performed the mandatory fight with the pump & the water started flowing, I got to have an even colder shower, given the water is pumped from an underground tank.
Joel finished with, Jorge arrived to collect me for his 3-hour (groan) lesson. I don't believe in lesson's lasting longer than 90-minutes max. It's too exhausting for both the teacher & the students..& especially when it's a 1:1 ordeal, which is what it is with Jorge.
Some respite today..half way through, Jorge had to stop for a business meeting with his lawyer, another bloke & HIS lawyer. The 2 lawyers & the other guy were dressed like Mafia Dons (an unusual sight here).
Holy Tamoly! Such passion! So much shouting & gesticulating! How nervous was I when these men erupted from their seats in their fury? Really bizare when all this was interspersed with jocularity. Jorge & his lawyer 'vanquished the enemy'. It was a very interesting performance for me to observe whilst sitting behind a spare desk in a corner & pretending to read my Lonely Planet Mexico guidebook. The 'enemy's' lawyer wasn't fooled; he kept catching my wide open mouth & even wider eyes.
The lesson resumed but with an unanticipated change of focus. Jorge, still full of adrenaline, 'interrogated' me. "How long have you been away from home? How long are you going to do this for? When do you plan to return to NZ? Where are you going next? No, not there, you should go to this place! Will you return to Mexico?"
Just as time was up Jorge received a phone call from his wife, Ceci. More drama, but this time a tragedy. Ceci's best friend, on her way to the hospital to deliver her baby, had died.
I've been asking myself all day how a woman can die giving birth in the 21st Century. I know Mexico's considered a 3rd world country, but this is supposed to be a civilised & educated city I'm living in.
Due to the unexpected turn to the lesson with Jorge, I arrived 15-minutes late for Marifer's lesson. Today's lesson with Marifer involved bathing her little dog, Cuca.
Cuca's a cute little 'motorised slipper' of indeterminate breed. She's absolutely filthy & has dreadlocks Bob Marley would've been proud to sport!
Until today Cuca has waited for me to get myself settled at the table before coming to leap into my lap & give me cuddles. Today she was leaping & pawing at me from the minute I walked through the gate. I needed that attention & distraction.
I don't think Marifer was particularly looking forward to the bathing exercise, & she was certainly rougher than I thought necessary, but I was determined Cuca would receive some long overdue personal hygiene & grooming. Cuca took it all in her stride, although she did try to escape a few times.
Her body & legs were washed with soap, but her "hair" was treated to the luxury of some conditioning shampoo I'd brought along with me.
What a hoot when she'd dried off & was brushed. Not much change to the terrible state of her body & legs, but the hair on her head was outrageous! The conditioning shampoo had worked magic..all soft & unmatted, & seriously fluffy! Marifer's description.."She looks like a crazy rock 'n' roll chick!"
It's true..she did! Actually, she looked like she could join Rod Stewart in his good old days without a 2nd glance.
After such a traumatic experience I expected Cuca to hold a grudge against me. Nope..she was all over me like a rash. Bless her little fluffy head! I took a couple of photos of Cuca & Marifer.
From there to a 2-hour meeting with Rene to discuss some timetable changes & 'issues'..aka "I'm really ticked off..my camera's been damaged by either you or the accountant..I know both of you have been in my room when I've been out teaching!"
I haven't touched my camera for a couple of weeks, & when I pulled it from its pack today I found the casing bent out of shape. I value all my possessions, but my camera & lappy are the most prized & savagely protected. Luckily for all, the camera's still working.
Even more bent out of shape than my camera, I'm having a lock put on my bedroom door tomorrow.
Back to home; oh heaven, oh bliss, it's only 6:15pm & the place is locked up & deserted!
It's occurred to me today that perhaps I should've become a pet psychologist. As much as I get a kick out of meeting new people & learning about their culture, it's the furry beasts that really make me feel happy at the moment.
For me, there've been a couple of downs this week, but the ups far outweigh the downs. I AM worried about Ceci though. I emailed a friend of hers tonight who lives in Mexico City, asking her to call Ceci.
Eternal power to 'fur therapy'!
Gidday Mates!
How's your week treating you? More ups than downs I hope!
Friday night was a 'gem'. I finished work at 8:15pm & the mother of one of my students gave me a lift to the supermarket close to home. Unfortunately it was all out of what I needed so I caught a taxi to the next one (it was bucketing down with rain). Purchases rapidly made, I nipped out expecting to grab one of the many taxi's permanently stationed outside. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson "Doh!" The taxi rank was empty and there were at least 30 groups waiting ahead of me. Quick calculation completed I guessed I'd be waiting at least 3-hours before my turn.
"Blow that for a game of soldiers at this time of night!", I thought.
For a fleeting moment I considered catching the bus then decided there was no point cos I'd still have 3 blocks to walk home. Gamely, & possibly naively, I started walking, thinking I'd hail a taxi on the way, but if worse came to worst I'd be home in an hour on foot.
Unbelievable! In the 3 km's I walked, I saw only 6 taxis. Usually they're wall-to-wall. The 1st 3 were full. By the time 2 empty ones were spotted I was so dripping wet they wouldn't stop for me..the brutes! I was getting a bit nervous by then as the lightning was popping directly above me in all its blue glory. The next taxi I saw was empty too..unfortunately for him I caught him at a red light. He didn't want to let me in, & it took all my powers of persuasion to convince him..I finally won out when I showed him that although I was drenched & dripping on my front half, the back half was dry. Plonked into the back seat & feeling relieved, he screamed off at a great rate, breaking all speed & road rules in order to get rid of my soggy self ASAP. Once he'd delivered me to my gate & collected his fare, he couldn't resist twisting round to check the condition of his back seat, & was gratified to find it dry. I popped through my front door envigorated by a refreshing soaking & successfully negotiating a ride home.
The rain continued all night and throughout Saturday.
Saturday morning my students took me to Sanbornes for a 2-hour 'English over coffee' lesson. Sanbornes is considered one of the 3 best places to go for coffee. It's simply filtered & as weak as a newborn kitten! Still, it's better than instant and as I haven't had coffee for months now it was a real treat. I'd planned to blinfold the boys for the 1st hour to hone their listening skills but Paco was full of the 'flu & I didn't think it would be fair.
Lesson over, Paco offered to drive me wherever I wanted to go. I declined his generous offer, preferring to head home, curl up on my bed with my e-book (The Count of Monte Christo..I had to delete Gulliver's Travels; what a YAWN that book is!), some chocolate & apples, & to read and snooze the day away. Heaven on a rainy day!
And snooze I did! I was amazed when I woke up & found the day had disappeared; it was after 6:30pm and I was still feeling shattered.
I stumbled out of my room to find the accountant sitting in his office & showing no signs of moving. I transferred my lappy to the kitchen where I could read some more & eat up a storm.
Midnight rolled around & the accountant was still here. I started puffing out a few irritable sighs. He was crowding my precious 'alone time'.
At 1:30am I appeared at his office door & told him to "vamos!" I finally got rid of him close to 2:15am.
The weather was still manky on Sunday so I repeated Saturday's indulgent & lazy performance.
4:30pm & the accountant rocked up again. "No!" I said. "All I ask is one day each week to be left entirely alone, now go!" I surrendered the battle in the end. He left after 10pm.
The ridiculous thing is that he invaded my space all weekend, but has nothing to do this week because of it.
Monday brought me my reward for an invaded weekend; back home by 8:30pm & yeeeeha!, the accountant was already gone for the day.
Uh-oh..no I wasn't alone. A massive flying cockroach & I played squealy cat & mouse for a couple of hours before I beat it into fatal submission. Just to be sure, I dumped a heavy archive box on top of it.
I had a meeting with Marifer's mother this afternoon. I was quaking in my boots. No need..she's quite happy for me to continue the informal 'chat' sessions now that she's seen the homework I set.
Earlier in the day I was walking back to the office/home from a lesson & spotted a chihuahua puppy playing in the window of a florists. I'm not a big fan of chihuahua's, but this little guy was so small & cute I had to stop & play with him through the window. Not good enough, I went inside. The owners had been watching & immediately uncaged the little man. I picked him up & he snuggled into me. MELT! We played for a while & then I left.
Striding down my home street I spotted the really pretty little kitten that lives up the road from me. We played 'You can't catch me, but I want you to'" for a while.
Tuesday, the day I have an early lesson & a horrid cold shower. How pleasing..no water in the tank! Once I'd performed the mandatory fight with the pump & the water started flowing, I got to have an even colder shower, given the water is pumped from an underground tank.
Joel finished with, Jorge arrived to collect me for his 3-hour (groan) lesson. I don't believe in lesson's lasting longer than 90-minutes max. It's too exhausting for both the teacher & the students..& especially when it's a 1:1 ordeal, which is what it is with Jorge.
Some respite today..half way through, Jorge had to stop for a business meeting with his lawyer, another bloke & HIS lawyer. The 2 lawyers & the other guy were dressed like Mafia Dons (an unusual sight here).
Holy Tamoly! Such passion! So much shouting & gesticulating! How nervous was I when these men erupted from their seats in their fury? Really bizare when all this was interspersed with jocularity. Jorge & his lawyer 'vanquished the enemy'. It was a very interesting performance for me to observe whilst sitting behind a spare desk in a corner & pretending to read my Lonely Planet Mexico guidebook. The 'enemy's' lawyer wasn't fooled; he kept catching my wide open mouth & even wider eyes.
The lesson resumed but with an unanticipated change of focus. Jorge, still full of adrenaline, 'interrogated' me. "How long have you been away from home? How long are you going to do this for? When do you plan to return to NZ? Where are you going next? No, not there, you should go to this place! Will you return to Mexico?"
Just as time was up Jorge received a phone call from his wife, Ceci. More drama, but this time a tragedy. Ceci's best friend, on her way to the hospital to deliver her baby, had died.
I've been asking myself all day how a woman can die giving birth in the 21st Century. I know Mexico's considered a 3rd world country, but this is supposed to be a civilised & educated city I'm living in.
Due to the unexpected turn to the lesson with Jorge, I arrived 15-minutes late for Marifer's lesson. Today's lesson with Marifer involved bathing her little dog, Cuca.
Cuca's a cute little 'motorised slipper' of indeterminate breed. She's absolutely filthy & has dreadlocks Bob Marley would've been proud to sport!
Until today Cuca has waited for me to get myself settled at the table before coming to leap into my lap & give me cuddles. Today she was leaping & pawing at me from the minute I walked through the gate. I needed that attention & distraction.
I don't think Marifer was particularly looking forward to the bathing exercise, & she was certainly rougher than I thought necessary, but I was determined Cuca would receive some long overdue personal hygiene & grooming. Cuca took it all in her stride, although she did try to escape a few times.
Her body & legs were washed with soap, but her "hair" was treated to the luxury of some conditioning shampoo I'd brought along with me.
What a hoot when she'd dried off & was brushed. Not much change to the terrible state of her body & legs, but the hair on her head was outrageous! The conditioning shampoo had worked magic..all soft & unmatted, & seriously fluffy! Marifer's description.."She looks like a crazy rock 'n' roll chick!"
It's true..she did! Actually, she looked like she could join Rod Stewart in his good old days without a 2nd glance.
After such a traumatic experience I expected Cuca to hold a grudge against me. Nope..she was all over me like a rash. Bless her little fluffy head! I took a couple of photos of Cuca & Marifer.
From there to a 2-hour meeting with Rene to discuss some timetable changes & 'issues'..aka "I'm really ticked off..my camera's been damaged by either you or the accountant..I know both of you have been in my room when I've been out teaching!"
I haven't touched my camera for a couple of weeks, & when I pulled it from its pack today I found the casing bent out of shape. I value all my possessions, but my camera & lappy are the most prized & savagely protected. Luckily for all, the camera's still working.
Even more bent out of shape than my camera, I'm having a lock put on my bedroom door tomorrow.
Back to home; oh heaven, oh bliss, it's only 6:15pm & the place is locked up & deserted!
It's occurred to me today that perhaps I should've become a pet psychologist. As much as I get a kick out of meeting new people & learning about their culture, it's the furry beasts that really make me feel happy at the moment.
For me, there've been a couple of downs this week, but the ups far outweigh the downs. I AM worried about Ceci though. I emailed a friend of hers tonight who lives in Mexico City, asking her to call Ceci.
Eternal power to 'fur therapy'!
2006: Mexican Madness - Shatter Me..There's a Spare Computer!
12.8.06
As you may have guessed already, internet access is proving a little difficult at the moment. What? In Mexico? In MY Mexico? Yep, sad to say.
There're plenty of internet cafes within a 1-hour walking radius of where I'm staying, it's just that they're always full when I want to use them. I tried for an early start the other day, but they don't open til after mid day. No such thing as listing open hours on the doors either; I just parked my butt on the footpath for a couple of hours until one opened.
So now I've explained myself, please cool your heels & don't be panicking about me. I think after surviving 18-months on my own on the road you can believe that I'm a seasoned traveller and know how to look after myself. I think I'm safer here than in New Zealand. With half a million men in this city, & at least half of THEM wanting to pick me up & take me home, I couldn't be safer. The crime rate is really low here, with almost zero% violent crime. It is a big drug-money laundry though.
I've moved into a 'hotel' though '1 cut above backpacker hostel' is a more appropriate description. It's clean & cheap, I have a room to myself & my own bathroom with hot water! I'm much happier here than at the accountant's office.
The room costs 60 peso's a night..for some perspective, my replacement world map costs 60 peso's.
That's all for now; I have a gazillion emails to reply to.
As you may have guessed already, internet access is proving a little difficult at the moment. What? In Mexico? In MY Mexico? Yep, sad to say.
There're plenty of internet cafes within a 1-hour walking radius of where I'm staying, it's just that they're always full when I want to use them. I tried for an early start the other day, but they don't open til after mid day. No such thing as listing open hours on the doors either; I just parked my butt on the footpath for a couple of hours until one opened.
So now I've explained myself, please cool your heels & don't be panicking about me. I think after surviving 18-months on my own on the road you can believe that I'm a seasoned traveller and know how to look after myself. I think I'm safer here than in New Zealand. With half a million men in this city, & at least half of THEM wanting to pick me up & take me home, I couldn't be safer. The crime rate is really low here, with almost zero% violent crime. It is a big drug-money laundry though.
I've moved into a 'hotel' though '1 cut above backpacker hostel' is a more appropriate description. It's clean & cheap, I have a room to myself & my own bathroom with hot water! I'm much happier here than at the accountant's office.
The room costs 60 peso's a night..for some perspective, my replacement world map costs 60 peso's.
That's all for now; I have a gazillion emails to reply to.
2006: Mexican Madness - Have You Ever Felt Like the Blanket?
22.7.2006
You know that cute little saying "They stick like sh"t to a blanket!"?
I've been busting myself to hold things together this year cos it's been a really tough experience. It doesn't seem to matter what decision I make something crops up to thwart me.
I decide to stay & battle through, & the sh"t hits the fan; being the 'blanket' I am it all sticks to me.
I decide to get the hell out of here, & I can't 'cos the job market's on hold due to the summer holidays. Ah Sh"t!
I don't know where the 450 litres of water I pumped yesterday morning went, but there was no water this morning, & the cursed pump decided to play games with me. 1st lesson for today cancelled due to the higher priority of getting water into the place & at least re-establishing a functioning loo.
Remaining lessons completed & I learned that the accountant's being evicted tomorrow for not paying his rent. Fab! That means I have to pack up & find somewhere to live tomorrow after my morning class. Don't hold your breath for any email contact from me after tonight. AGAIN!
I have no idea how I'll accommodate the students that come to me for lessons. I have no idea how I'll be able to get to the students I travel to. If this eviction means I have to start from scratch again I think I'll lose my mind!
Internet stuff completed (email, Messenger, some research for tomorrow's class), I tried to go to my bed but the door handle poohed itself.
I patiently jiggled & fiddled it to no avail for 30-minutes.
I went for the forceful approach I've seen on TV by ramming it with my shoulder..I have a bruised and aching shoulder & a persistently closed door.
"Right..then I'll go for the door kicking approach next to the door handle all the TV cops use."
BASH, BOING, BOUNCE, BANG, BANG, BANG..my hip hit the tiled floor 1st, rapidly followed by my shoulders & head. The door is still closed.
Furious verbal abuse followed with no result..neither did "Open Sesame".
I CAN'T get into my room!
I wish I could shrug my bruised, aching shoulders & decide to resort to alcoholic oblivion in order to pass out on the couch that's about the size of an armchair anywhere else in the world, but you can't buy booze here after 10pm..and it's WAY past that time.
No prizes for guessing tomorrow's class will be cancelled. I'll be in no fit state to teach after 26-hours on the trot. I can't call to let my students know in advance cos the pay phone down the road is broken & it chewed up my phone card last night.
I'm livid! I'm frustrated! I'm tired! I want to scream! I want to cry! I want to kick an inflatable dolly to death!
If any one of you has a direct line to the guy in charge of 'lucky breaks' would you please have a word with him? Surely I've earned one by now?!
He can find me here trying to maintain my sanity & recoup my sense of humour by playing computer card games, whilst also scraping all this brown stinky stuff off myself.
Catch you when I can.
You know that cute little saying "They stick like sh"t to a blanket!"?
I've been busting myself to hold things together this year cos it's been a really tough experience. It doesn't seem to matter what decision I make something crops up to thwart me.
I decide to stay & battle through, & the sh"t hits the fan; being the 'blanket' I am it all sticks to me.
I decide to get the hell out of here, & I can't 'cos the job market's on hold due to the summer holidays. Ah Sh"t!
I don't know where the 450 litres of water I pumped yesterday morning went, but there was no water this morning, & the cursed pump decided to play games with me. 1st lesson for today cancelled due to the higher priority of getting water into the place & at least re-establishing a functioning loo.
Remaining lessons completed & I learned that the accountant's being evicted tomorrow for not paying his rent. Fab! That means I have to pack up & find somewhere to live tomorrow after my morning class. Don't hold your breath for any email contact from me after tonight. AGAIN!
I have no idea how I'll accommodate the students that come to me for lessons. I have no idea how I'll be able to get to the students I travel to. If this eviction means I have to start from scratch again I think I'll lose my mind!
Internet stuff completed (email, Messenger, some research for tomorrow's class), I tried to go to my bed but the door handle poohed itself.
I patiently jiggled & fiddled it to no avail for 30-minutes.
I went for the forceful approach I've seen on TV by ramming it with my shoulder..I have a bruised and aching shoulder & a persistently closed door.
"Right..then I'll go for the door kicking approach next to the door handle all the TV cops use."
BASH, BOING, BOUNCE, BANG, BANG, BANG..my hip hit the tiled floor 1st, rapidly followed by my shoulders & head. The door is still closed.
Furious verbal abuse followed with no result..neither did "Open Sesame".
I CAN'T get into my room!
I wish I could shrug my bruised, aching shoulders & decide to resort to alcoholic oblivion in order to pass out on the couch that's about the size of an armchair anywhere else in the world, but you can't buy booze here after 10pm..and it's WAY past that time.
No prizes for guessing tomorrow's class will be cancelled. I'll be in no fit state to teach after 26-hours on the trot. I can't call to let my students know in advance cos the pay phone down the road is broken & it chewed up my phone card last night.
I'm livid! I'm frustrated! I'm tired! I want to scream! I want to cry! I want to kick an inflatable dolly to death!
If any one of you has a direct line to the guy in charge of 'lucky breaks' would you please have a word with him? Surely I've earned one by now?!
He can find me here trying to maintain my sanity & recoup my sense of humour by playing computer card games, whilst also scraping all this brown stinky stuff off myself.
Catch you when I can.
Mexican Madness - It's The Mexican Way
Monday, 20 March 2006 Hi Again! Some stuff I forgot to tell you on Sunday, and an update.
My understanding of Spanish is going ahead in leaps and bounds; though still sketchy, I’m at about the same level I was in Surgut after 8 months there. Sadly, my speaking skills are still atrocious! The phrase book I bought isn’t a patch on my Russian one, which is REALLY frustrating.
I saw another accident: a food delivery boy on a motorbike went under the front wheel of a car. I tell you, these Mexicans are tough! He clambered out with just a bad foot!
We were following my landlord to go and get some things to furnish my apartment when I saw a group of boys beating up and kicking another boy. No time to think whether I have sludge for brains, I yelled for the car to be stopped, leaped out before it got to a standstill, started running, and roared at the kids. Mad scatter! I picked the poor little man up off the street, wiped his eyes for him, checked he was ok, & delivered him to his dad. That earned me heroine status for 2 minutes, then a serious berating..”What if they’d turned on you? DON’T do it again!”
Yep, I have to concede it was a rash action, but no promises that I won’t do it again.
I drove! A car! Twice! Bloody scary! Not too bad just driving straight ahead, but come to an intersection where I need to turn and the temptation to head for the left hand side of the road is huge. Phew! It took more concentration than a University 3-hour end of year exam! I hereby go on record apologising to all the foreign-driver/lunatics I've mentally abused on the roads in New Zealand.
Also, I’m seriously attached to the shoulder of roads..so much so that we nearly went off a couple of times. Nasty shoulders, they drop instead of sloping. Heart palpitations when overtaking too..I was sure I was going to scrape one of those big freight trucks or buses. To be fair though, I was driving a great big Chrysler thingy (kind of like a Chariot) that seats 7 people. A bit wide for me to see my sides.
Who in Oz or NZ would ever think I’d be an overwrought driver and prefer to be a passenger? What? Prue? The speed freak? The wanna-be drag queen who needs to beat everyone off the mark when the traffic lights turn green? The crazy one who loved to chop a gear and accelerate into corners on unsealed roads? “Yeeeeha” as I took some of those corners sideways! Not to mention, squealing tyres cornering on sealed roads. No!
Yes! Friends, I think I’ve hung up my drivers gloves. It was fun while it lasted. Now it’s time to become a bus rider or car passenger.
Mexicans LOVE their car horns! The traffic lights turn green, and cars 15 back in line start tooting at the lead car. The poor soul hasn’t even had time to release clutch & press the accelerator! No toots at me..I’d relinquished the driver’s seat before reaching the city entrance. Blow THAT for a game of soldiers!
VW beetles are everywhere..and not the new models! I don’t know how many would be considered road worthy elsewhere, very few I suspect, but here..no problems! Omar, my Accountant business partner has one..he nurses that little baby when he first starts it, then gives it hell on the road! There're all sorts of suspicious vacant spaces in front of the steering wheel where inconsequentials like speedometers and gauges usually are, but hey, it speeds from A – D – B – C (time management and planning is a problem! It’s the Mexican way..Mexican version of ‘RNT’ Vadim [Russian National Tradition]) If I’m ever going to drive here, a VW is what I want! Next to no Honda’s here, but I’d go for one of them too given they’re my favourite car.
You know you’re in a devoutly Catholic country when:-
Every business and office has a crucifix on the wall..and graphically gruesome ones they are too. Blood everywhere! Accompanying these is a plethora of pictures of Jesus Christ, and Mary (Maria Guadalupe).
Every car and bus you climb into has the same. Crucifixes (crucifi?) either dangle from the rear view mirror, or are wedged into the panel in front of the speedometer. Sometimes both. Pictures abound on the dashboard, glove boxes, windows, seat backs, doors..anywhere and everywhere.
In a city of 600,000 people, there’s something like 7 major cathedrals to accommodate a minimum of 1,000 people each, plus your average neighbourhood church..and they’re full to overflowing on Sundays all day, and busy the remaining 6 days of the week. I don’t think I’ve seen a church for any other religion yet.
Whenever you’re in close proximity to a church, the people around you are ‘crossing’ themselves. And it’s a strange ‘crossing’. They ‘cross’ their foreheads, then just below their bottom lip, then their face, then they do this convoluted ‘crossing’ over their chests (not your ‘normal’ 4-point cross), then finally ‘cross’ their lips and kiss their fingertips 2 or 3 times.
I was taken to church by my last landlady. Yes, I’m a fraud and a wimp! I went through the motions to keep her happy, but when it came to the crossing thingy I was totally stumped. I think she got the message; she didn’t take me again. I’ve learned through a previous encounter not to comment on my personal beliefs..that earned me a 3-hour session of attempted soul-saving and conversion..until 3:30am! AND I’d watered down my viewpoint! NOT doing that one again!
As a result of the religious fervour, couples don’t live together, and they take years to get married e.g. 8 years dating is quite ok (that last because of finances). Consequently, “F*ck Hotels” abound. I’m not being crass..that’s what they’re called. Rent a room for a maximum of 8-hours, though the norm is 2-hours; have noisy, abandoned sex until your brains fall out, then go to your separate homes (usually where mum and dad live, no matter what your age), or back to work. These hotels are everywhere, and they do a roaring trade 24/7. I know because I’ve stayed in a couple of them, though it’s difficult to find one that will let you stay longer than 8-hours let alone a week. They’re cheaper and nicer than regular hotels and motels. But oh, my poor wee ‘good girl’ ears and blushing cheeks. No point in turning on the fabulously big TV; porn, porn, and more porn..and the volume is always at maximum when you turn the cursed thing on. No power points either to run my lappy off..until I got this nifty little plug that screws into the light socket..bliss..’Prue music’ to drown out the ear shattering groans and wails surrounding me!
No blankets on the beds, just a plastic mattress protector (oh gross!), sheets, and a ‘cosmetic’ bed cover. I had to beg for some blankets after I froze my butt off and sought refuge in my sleeping bag the first night.
Perhaps as an off-shoot of the religious fervour; I’ve never seen so many bridal shops. They’re enormous, and all the dresses would do Cinderella proud! One shop even hires models to parade the pavement for hours at a time. Unbelievable.
Kiwi family/mates: the ‘pavement’ word noted? Yeah, well I have international ‘family’/mates now! How awesome is that! I love it! Yes, yes; most of you have ‘been there, done that’, but it’s new for me, and so, so cool!
OSH (Occupational Safety and Health) hasn’t reached Mexico yet. Every day my blood runs cold! At the ‘nothing’ end of the scale are the office chairs and desks. Good grief, I haven’t seen such appalling furniture since my mother was alive and working (25 years ago), and hers was luxurious by comparison!
One of the ‘offices’ I had to visit to get my visa extended was in fact the gap under the stairs in a building. In that wee space they squeezed a documentation adviser, a passport photographer and her development equipment, a woman with typewriter to complete documentation, a photocopier, 3 spare plastic stools for the customers, the requisite crucifixes, religious pictures, and bibles for 3 employees. Being smallish, temporary, and in no need of the photographer just now, I got the stool placed at the lowest point of the stairs..I perched on that stool, doubled over, sucking in photocopier toner, for an hour! Sssshhhhhhhh! Don’t tell my insurance company..they’ll never pay out on the chiropractic and oncology claims!
At the other end of the scale are the ‘trade’ workers. No gloves for butchers and fish filleters. Guys working with fibreglass, spray paint, or welding; not a facemask in sight. Walking past their shops, I get woozy from the fumes or blinded by the light! No matter, for most, working life ends circa age 40..trade or management! After that, you’d better hope you can set up your own business, otherwise it’s just years of treading water, sitting on the pavement outside your 2-room, dirt floor ‘casa’ (home). Some take to begging, some make and sell beadwork, some perform ‘stuff’ at the traffic lights for peso’s (juggling is common, one family has a WWF type wrestling routine going on..”school and education? What’s that for?”). Lots and lots of ‘cripples’ at the lights and on the streets too..wheelchairs, armless or legless people. It’s all a nightmare to me, and yet the vast majority of locals are happy, smiley people!! There’ve been plenty of times since I arrived that I’ve been down to 20 peso’s (US$2:00) in my wallet with a long time until payday (they’ve been erratic to say the least..actually, I’ve only been paid once..that’s another story), but I can’t resist these people. I’ve bought and broken a tonne of bead bracelets and rings. At least I have all my body parts, clothes and a little bit of food in my fridge. Hahahahahahaha..the buggers..they’ve probably got more money than me! Don’t let my red hair fool you, I’m definitely a dumb blonde at heart and to the roots..though there’s a well overdue trace of grey starting to kick in, (in)conveniently shining through when I have a centre part in loose hair, or at the temples when I go for the ‘tied back’ look. So few still that people are shocked when they learn my age (haven’t reached the stage of lying about that (where’s the sense?), just enough to make me gasp a little when the sunlight catches it in the mirror occasionally. No hiding from my advancing years..even the dye bottle only gives me a couple of weeks grace!
I ‘met’ a boxer dog at the beach that I’d have sworn was 100 years old. No! The poor young thing had eaten a blowfish washed up with the tide. It almost killed her, but she’s been fighting back with a lot of veterinary help. She was your typical boxer..stupid but loveable!
A timely reminder about those damned fish; there are loads of them on the beach, it made me so much more careful about looking where I was walking..shades of learning to look further than the tips of my toes when walking in Oz in case of snakes.
Shoe shops (zapaterria’s): OH MY GOD! I’m sure there has to be 4 of these for every other shop, and they’re huge! I don’t get it. The average Mexican can’t afford more than a couple of pairs of shoes, and I haven’t been in ‘gringo/gringa/tourist central’. Imelda Marcos heaven..I’ve scared myself a couple of times by stopping and seriously looking and pricing cowboy boots! Oh dear Lord, don’t let me stoop to such ridiculous levels! There are some pretty styley ones here though, and so cheap.
“STOP! Just stop it now! You’re not going there! What you need is jandals!”..”Yeah but 500 peso’s for leather boots vs. 500 peso’s for rubber jandals..what do you do?”..”You step away from the zappateria!” It’s a tough call, but my big back pack is already dedicated to shoes and boots courtesy of Surgut and Aguascalientes.
Good business meetings over the last couple of days. A snappy one with my Mexican business partners..”get yourselves together; if I can arrive on time and prepared then you must too..I’m not interested in sitting around for a couple of hours waiting for you, and then have you dither!” A fright for them..yikes, she gets stroppy! I only had to wait one hour for them today; still not good enough, but it’s progress.
Beauty meetings with both the lawyer and the Senator..the ‘boys’ were impressed by how little I needed to have translated..”I like the speed at which you learn, now I just need you to start speaking!” Wink, wink, kiss, kiss. Rampant sexual overtones, but not seriously..I’m learning..”it’s the Mexican way!”
The Immigration guys were cool too. Much greater tolerance for a Kiwi who doesn’t speak Spanish than any American/Canadian aka gringo/gringa that does. They queued up to talk to me, and went to great lengths to help me..even staying 2-hours after close-up time to give me my extended tourist visa. And didn’t their smiles just make me swoon?! Wheeeeeeyew! And, and, and, they’ve promised to fast-track my FM3, which is a working visa, and the first step to naturalization.
Hand shake, cheek kiss, “encantado, buenas tardes, hasta luego, dos semana!” (enchanted, good afternoon, see you later, in two weeks!)
What does a middle-aged woman do? Wobble out to the car on weak knees! How to get ‘loved up’ without serious physical contact in one easy lesson! It’s the Mexican way!
Breakfast: frijoles (freeholeys)..mashed bayo beans, and huevos revueltos..scrambled eggs with chopped ham and covered with chilli sauce! Any takers? No, me neither. Breakfast isn’t my favourite meal here; there’s just something not quite right about starting your day with chilli, and of course there should be a law against beans no matter where you are in the world!
Some of you have asked whatever happened to that strange boss I had when I first got here. After that rocky start, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t like him and was leaving. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to stay, and if I did he’d make it worth my while. We had an uneasy truce that ended up a great friendship. He told me what triggered his odd behaviour in December, and I’ve helped him work out some of those problems. He still grabs my hand or arm when we’re crossing roads (I’m learning Mexican men are prone to physical contact, grabbing hands, guiding you in the right direction with a hand on your back or hip or shoulder), but he no longer takes my bag off me. He’s one of my business partners.
I’ve attached some photos so you can see what Omar and Rene look like. Now you’ll be able to picture them when I write about them.
My understanding of Spanish is going ahead in leaps and bounds; though still sketchy, I’m at about the same level I was in Surgut after 8 months there. Sadly, my speaking skills are still atrocious! The phrase book I bought isn’t a patch on my Russian one, which is REALLY frustrating.
I saw another accident: a food delivery boy on a motorbike went under the front wheel of a car. I tell you, these Mexicans are tough! He clambered out with just a bad foot!
We were following my landlord to go and get some things to furnish my apartment when I saw a group of boys beating up and kicking another boy. No time to think whether I have sludge for brains, I yelled for the car to be stopped, leaped out before it got to a standstill, started running, and roared at the kids. Mad scatter! I picked the poor little man up off the street, wiped his eyes for him, checked he was ok, & delivered him to his dad. That earned me heroine status for 2 minutes, then a serious berating..”What if they’d turned on you? DON’T do it again!”
Yep, I have to concede it was a rash action, but no promises that I won’t do it again.
I drove! A car! Twice! Bloody scary! Not too bad just driving straight ahead, but come to an intersection where I need to turn and the temptation to head for the left hand side of the road is huge. Phew! It took more concentration than a University 3-hour end of year exam! I hereby go on record apologising to all the foreign-driver/lunatics I've mentally abused on the roads in New Zealand.
Also, I’m seriously attached to the shoulder of roads..so much so that we nearly went off a couple of times. Nasty shoulders, they drop instead of sloping. Heart palpitations when overtaking too..I was sure I was going to scrape one of those big freight trucks or buses. To be fair though, I was driving a great big Chrysler thingy (kind of like a Chariot) that seats 7 people. A bit wide for me to see my sides.
Who in Oz or NZ would ever think I’d be an overwrought driver and prefer to be a passenger? What? Prue? The speed freak? The wanna-be drag queen who needs to beat everyone off the mark when the traffic lights turn green? The crazy one who loved to chop a gear and accelerate into corners on unsealed roads? “Yeeeeha” as I took some of those corners sideways! Not to mention, squealing tyres cornering on sealed roads. No!
Yes! Friends, I think I’ve hung up my drivers gloves. It was fun while it lasted. Now it’s time to become a bus rider or car passenger.
Mexicans LOVE their car horns! The traffic lights turn green, and cars 15 back in line start tooting at the lead car. The poor soul hasn’t even had time to release clutch & press the accelerator! No toots at me..I’d relinquished the driver’s seat before reaching the city entrance. Blow THAT for a game of soldiers!
VW beetles are everywhere..and not the new models! I don’t know how many would be considered road worthy elsewhere, very few I suspect, but here..no problems! Omar, my Accountant business partner has one..he nurses that little baby when he first starts it, then gives it hell on the road! There're all sorts of suspicious vacant spaces in front of the steering wheel where inconsequentials like speedometers and gauges usually are, but hey, it speeds from A – D – B – C (time management and planning is a problem! It’s the Mexican way..Mexican version of ‘RNT’ Vadim [Russian National Tradition]) If I’m ever going to drive here, a VW is what I want! Next to no Honda’s here, but I’d go for one of them too given they’re my favourite car.
You know you’re in a devoutly Catholic country when:-
Every business and office has a crucifix on the wall..and graphically gruesome ones they are too. Blood everywhere! Accompanying these is a plethora of pictures of Jesus Christ, and Mary (Maria Guadalupe).
Every car and bus you climb into has the same. Crucifixes (crucifi?) either dangle from the rear view mirror, or are wedged into the panel in front of the speedometer. Sometimes both. Pictures abound on the dashboard, glove boxes, windows, seat backs, doors..anywhere and everywhere.
In a city of 600,000 people, there’s something like 7 major cathedrals to accommodate a minimum of 1,000 people each, plus your average neighbourhood church..and they’re full to overflowing on Sundays all day, and busy the remaining 6 days of the week. I don’t think I’ve seen a church for any other religion yet.
Whenever you’re in close proximity to a church, the people around you are ‘crossing’ themselves. And it’s a strange ‘crossing’. They ‘cross’ their foreheads, then just below their bottom lip, then their face, then they do this convoluted ‘crossing’ over their chests (not your ‘normal’ 4-point cross), then finally ‘cross’ their lips and kiss their fingertips 2 or 3 times.
I was taken to church by my last landlady. Yes, I’m a fraud and a wimp! I went through the motions to keep her happy, but when it came to the crossing thingy I was totally stumped. I think she got the message; she didn’t take me again. I’ve learned through a previous encounter not to comment on my personal beliefs..that earned me a 3-hour session of attempted soul-saving and conversion..until 3:30am! AND I’d watered down my viewpoint! NOT doing that one again!
As a result of the religious fervour, couples don’t live together, and they take years to get married e.g. 8 years dating is quite ok (that last because of finances). Consequently, “F*ck Hotels” abound. I’m not being crass..that’s what they’re called. Rent a room for a maximum of 8-hours, though the norm is 2-hours; have noisy, abandoned sex until your brains fall out, then go to your separate homes (usually where mum and dad live, no matter what your age), or back to work. These hotels are everywhere, and they do a roaring trade 24/7. I know because I’ve stayed in a couple of them, though it’s difficult to find one that will let you stay longer than 8-hours let alone a week. They’re cheaper and nicer than regular hotels and motels. But oh, my poor wee ‘good girl’ ears and blushing cheeks. No point in turning on the fabulously big TV; porn, porn, and more porn..and the volume is always at maximum when you turn the cursed thing on. No power points either to run my lappy off..until I got this nifty little plug that screws into the light socket..bliss..’Prue music’ to drown out the ear shattering groans and wails surrounding me!
No blankets on the beds, just a plastic mattress protector (oh gross!), sheets, and a ‘cosmetic’ bed cover. I had to beg for some blankets after I froze my butt off and sought refuge in my sleeping bag the first night.
Perhaps as an off-shoot of the religious fervour; I’ve never seen so many bridal shops. They’re enormous, and all the dresses would do Cinderella proud! One shop even hires models to parade the pavement for hours at a time. Unbelievable.
Kiwi family/mates: the ‘pavement’ word noted? Yeah, well I have international ‘family’/mates now! How awesome is that! I love it! Yes, yes; most of you have ‘been there, done that’, but it’s new for me, and so, so cool!
OSH (Occupational Safety and Health) hasn’t reached Mexico yet. Every day my blood runs cold! At the ‘nothing’ end of the scale are the office chairs and desks. Good grief, I haven’t seen such appalling furniture since my mother was alive and working (25 years ago), and hers was luxurious by comparison!
One of the ‘offices’ I had to visit to get my visa extended was in fact the gap under the stairs in a building. In that wee space they squeezed a documentation adviser, a passport photographer and her development equipment, a woman with typewriter to complete documentation, a photocopier, 3 spare plastic stools for the customers, the requisite crucifixes, religious pictures, and bibles for 3 employees. Being smallish, temporary, and in no need of the photographer just now, I got the stool placed at the lowest point of the stairs..I perched on that stool, doubled over, sucking in photocopier toner, for an hour! Sssshhhhhhhh! Don’t tell my insurance company..they’ll never pay out on the chiropractic and oncology claims!
At the other end of the scale are the ‘trade’ workers. No gloves for butchers and fish filleters. Guys working with fibreglass, spray paint, or welding; not a facemask in sight. Walking past their shops, I get woozy from the fumes or blinded by the light! No matter, for most, working life ends circa age 40..trade or management! After that, you’d better hope you can set up your own business, otherwise it’s just years of treading water, sitting on the pavement outside your 2-room, dirt floor ‘casa’ (home). Some take to begging, some make and sell beadwork, some perform ‘stuff’ at the traffic lights for peso’s (juggling is common, one family has a WWF type wrestling routine going on..”school and education? What’s that for?”). Lots and lots of ‘cripples’ at the lights and on the streets too..wheelchairs, armless or legless people. It’s all a nightmare to me, and yet the vast majority of locals are happy, smiley people!! There’ve been plenty of times since I arrived that I’ve been down to 20 peso’s (US$2:00) in my wallet with a long time until payday (they’ve been erratic to say the least..actually, I’ve only been paid once..that’s another story), but I can’t resist these people. I’ve bought and broken a tonne of bead bracelets and rings. At least I have all my body parts, clothes and a little bit of food in my fridge. Hahahahahahaha..the buggers..they’ve probably got more money than me! Don’t let my red hair fool you, I’m definitely a dumb blonde at heart and to the roots..though there’s a well overdue trace of grey starting to kick in, (in)conveniently shining through when I have a centre part in loose hair, or at the temples when I go for the ‘tied back’ look. So few still that people are shocked when they learn my age (haven’t reached the stage of lying about that (where’s the sense?), just enough to make me gasp a little when the sunlight catches it in the mirror occasionally. No hiding from my advancing years..even the dye bottle only gives me a couple of weeks grace!
I ‘met’ a boxer dog at the beach that I’d have sworn was 100 years old. No! The poor young thing had eaten a blowfish washed up with the tide. It almost killed her, but she’s been fighting back with a lot of veterinary help. She was your typical boxer..stupid but loveable!
A timely reminder about those damned fish; there are loads of them on the beach, it made me so much more careful about looking where I was walking..shades of learning to look further than the tips of my toes when walking in Oz in case of snakes.
Shoe shops (zapaterria’s): OH MY GOD! I’m sure there has to be 4 of these for every other shop, and they’re huge! I don’t get it. The average Mexican can’t afford more than a couple of pairs of shoes, and I haven’t been in ‘gringo/gringa/tourist central’. Imelda Marcos heaven..I’ve scared myself a couple of times by stopping and seriously looking and pricing cowboy boots! Oh dear Lord, don’t let me stoop to such ridiculous levels! There are some pretty styley ones here though, and so cheap.
“STOP! Just stop it now! You’re not going there! What you need is jandals!”..”Yeah but 500 peso’s for leather boots vs. 500 peso’s for rubber jandals..what do you do?”..”You step away from the zappateria!” It’s a tough call, but my big back pack is already dedicated to shoes and boots courtesy of Surgut and Aguascalientes.
Good business meetings over the last couple of days. A snappy one with my Mexican business partners..”get yourselves together; if I can arrive on time and prepared then you must too..I’m not interested in sitting around for a couple of hours waiting for you, and then have you dither!” A fright for them..yikes, she gets stroppy! I only had to wait one hour for them today; still not good enough, but it’s progress.
Beauty meetings with both the lawyer and the Senator..the ‘boys’ were impressed by how little I needed to have translated..”I like the speed at which you learn, now I just need you to start speaking!” Wink, wink, kiss, kiss. Rampant sexual overtones, but not seriously..I’m learning..”it’s the Mexican way!”
The Immigration guys were cool too. Much greater tolerance for a Kiwi who doesn’t speak Spanish than any American/Canadian aka gringo/gringa that does. They queued up to talk to me, and went to great lengths to help me..even staying 2-hours after close-up time to give me my extended tourist visa. And didn’t their smiles just make me swoon?! Wheeeeeeyew! And, and, and, they’ve promised to fast-track my FM3, which is a working visa, and the first step to naturalization.
Hand shake, cheek kiss, “encantado, buenas tardes, hasta luego, dos semana!” (enchanted, good afternoon, see you later, in two weeks!)
What does a middle-aged woman do? Wobble out to the car on weak knees! How to get ‘loved up’ without serious physical contact in one easy lesson! It’s the Mexican way!
Breakfast: frijoles (freeholeys)..mashed bayo beans, and huevos revueltos..scrambled eggs with chopped ham and covered with chilli sauce! Any takers? No, me neither. Breakfast isn’t my favourite meal here; there’s just something not quite right about starting your day with chilli, and of course there should be a law against beans no matter where you are in the world!
Some of you have asked whatever happened to that strange boss I had when I first got here. After that rocky start, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t like him and was leaving. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted me to stay, and if I did he’d make it worth my while. We had an uneasy truce that ended up a great friendship. He told me what triggered his odd behaviour in December, and I’ve helped him work out some of those problems. He still grabs my hand or arm when we’re crossing roads (I’m learning Mexican men are prone to physical contact, grabbing hands, guiding you in the right direction with a hand on your back or hip or shoulder), but he no longer takes my bag off me. He’s one of my business partners.
I’ve attached some photos so you can see what Omar and Rene look like. Now you’ll be able to picture them when I write about them.
Tuesday, 12 December 2006
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - HOW do they know?
Aguascalientes is a comfortably sized city for me (under 1,000,000 people); the streets are safe no matter the time of day or night. Heart-warmingly friendly people who stop me in the street to welcome me to their city cos they can see I’m foreign.
HOW DOES EVERYONE KNOW? Do I have a larger & flatter ‘snorer’ than the rest of the Northern Hemisphere? Are my clothes so bizarre that I must come from the Antipodes (has ‘Once Were Warriors’ screened here?)..Nup, I don’t think it’s any of those things; after some serious people-watching & evaluation, I’m none the wiser! Certainly, there are white Mexicans here.
cheap, Cheap, cHeAp, ChEaP, CHEAP cost of living if you shop for food, clothes, & sundry other requirements at your local tiangues..10 peso’s (US$1) for the pair of Calvin Klein shorts that I bought & only peel off my body once they’ve become too crinkled for words … ah-ha..that’s it! No self-respecting Mexican steps out the door in jeans, shorts, or trousers without a knife-edged crease ironed down the middle of their pants! Now that I come to think of it, I haven’t seen any women wearing shorts either. No, that’s not true, I have seen a couple, but they were wearing ankle-breaking stiletto’s as well..definitely NOT my style!
Have you ever felt like you’re something under a microscope?
Whilst doing my ‘geriatric’ impersonation with a couple of ruined ankles for almost 2-months, I requested to be dropped at a park for fresh air & sunshine a couple of times..a nice break from my room & TV..or so I thought.
No matter where I sat, every time I glanced up from my book, I was confronted by ‘the stare’; women as well as men! As I mentioned in the ‘Moscow to Ags’ email, women don’t approach each other. I wasn’t concerned about the women’s stares..they were just curious & making feminine comparisons. The men were a different matter. Detrimental to my recuperation, but necessary for my psychological comfort, I moved several times.
Disconcerting were the 2 guys that came and flanked me on the bench, and spent an hour staring at me..”Go away guys, you’re making nervous!” is what I wanted to say..afraid of being paranoid, insufficient language skills to hand, I settled for one acknowledging smile to each, and engrossed book reading thereafter.
What do you do?
Most disconcerting of all was the guy who spent 90-minutes maneuvering his way around a ¼ hectare of park until he was sitting next to me. Treated with ignore, after 30-minutes he wandered off..”whew!’ I thought. Then I spotted him in the next ‘bay’ peering round at me. “OK! Now you’re freaking me out!” An intricate navigation of the park..a wheelchair or zimmer-frame would’ve been helpful..eventually out onto the very public benches overlooking the main road..frigging hot & sweaty terrain, but I lost the cretin!
It’s the 1st time I’ve felt intimidated here.
When Rene collected me to take me back to the hotel, I talked about my ‘microscope’ day. He said “you dress differently..you walk differently..everything about you is different.. most are attracted to you because you’re different, & your age doesn’t matter..there’s nothing you can do to change what they see; the young ones are more aggressive..You did right to get away from the weird guy though!”
That was a useless educational pep-talk because I still can’t see what everyone else seems to see.
“Rene, why do Mexican women use umbrellas instead of wearing hats?” (I feel like a 4-year-old!) It stems from the early Spanish occupation apparently, and they’ve never changed. “Oh, and that’s another thing that identifies you as foreign..you wear hats!”
Interesting information/Spanish lesson: umbrella in summer = parasol..para (for) + sol (sun).
I saw a ridiculous sight today (actually, most days)..a woman with a perfectly pretty and functional hat, held aloft like a parasol to keep the sun off her. What the …? Hat hair; it has to be a fear of hat hair! I can ‘get’ that..after a day sitting in the park or traipsing the streets in a hat my hair looks like 200 grams of rat’s tails; better that than rushing about holding a hat above my head like a loon though!
2nd visit to the park..I’m NOT doing it again! One guy came to sit and talk with me; he spoke English, was 27 years old, and asked me to be his girlfriend! Disrespectful laughter didn’t work. “No, you’re too young for me” didn’t work. “No, I’m only attracted to men my own age” didn’t work. “No, I have a son your age” didn’t work. “No, I work in Guadalajara and am going back there tomorrow” didn’t work. “No, you’re moving to Canada in a couple of months” didn’t work. Fernando (“Like the ABBA song” he told me proudly, and sang the chorus) gave me his phone number, and demanded to know when I would call him, and when he could come and stay with me in Guadalajara! “Never!” I said. Undeterred, he finally left me with assurances that we WOULD become lovers! Good Grief!!!
Hot on Fernando’s heels came Arturo, who spoke almost no English. He wanted me to go for a walk through the park with him. When I pointed out my broken ankle and said I couldn’t, he told me he’s a professional masseur, and went to grab my leg. “NO!” I yelped. More talk, he wanted to know where I’m from, where I’ve been in Mexico, and when we could get together. “Sorry, we can’t, I’m going back to Guadalajara tomorrow, which is where I work.” “That’s great! I’m a tour company manager and I’m in Guadalajara every week. I can see you there! What’s your phone number?” he said. (Huh? I thought he said he was a professional masseur!) Give me strength!
After Arturo came the guy..I dunno..maybe 20?, who all-but attached himself to my hips. He skipped to either side of me, depending on who looked as though he may seat himself next to me. No-one was going to come between us! He never once spoke to me. Since that day, I’ve spotted him in the same shops I’ve been in; curiously we seem to have the same itinerary. This guy doesn’t scare me; I think he’s just curious & shy.
I did discover one invaluable defense trick..Mexican guys can’t cope with full exposure to the sun. They overheat, and their skin burns. Go my reptilian need to bask in the sun; go my Kiwi Teflon skin! All requests to sit in the shade turned down, it’s only a matter of time before the boys are forced to abandon their quest!
My only almost-welcome ‘amour’ is a senior cop often in the area. He’s an oldish codger (gotta be in his 60’s), and a real gentleman. He’s often personally walked me across roads arm-in-arm when the lights change to ‘pedestrian’; once on the other side, he kisses my hand & returns to duty. Today, when I grinned & greeted him with “Buenos dias” he grabbed my hand, fished into his pocket, and ‘made me his fiancé’ by sliding an incredibly tacky yellow plastic heart-ring with glitter and pink and white flowers set inside onto my left hand . What a hoot! This time, he stopped ‘green-light’ traffic, and I was helped across the road with his arm around my waist.
Rene was astounded when I showed him my “engagement” ring. Floored when I told him about the regular traffic-stopping and escorts. “But..but he’s a nasty old b@st@rd! Everyone’s scared of him! J#s%s Kiwi-Chick, you’re an unusual one!”
Mobile again (should’ve been tentative, but why go for anything less than ‘all guns blazing..no guts, no glory?’) I ended up going for what became a 2-hour walk. A life-time’s worth of ogling endured, I found myself down where ‘The Ferria’ will be centered. The great thing about my hats here, they have big woven brims that I can see through..it’s a one-way convenience. When I’m sure all is flat and safe I take a glance up from the road to get my bearings or take in a ‘cool’ sight, but not such a high glance that anyone can see my eyes (sunglasses are helpful too). I cop the full impact of everyone’s gaze, but they don’t know I’ve seen them so they can’t interpret any encouragement from me. Most are content with unacknowledged open-mouthed gazing, plenty seek a reaction by whistling and cat-calling. Some come right into my space and demand attention by grabbing hold of me..arm or body twist to release their grip (Angel gave me some nice little personal protection lessons back in January), glasses raised to give the full impact of my eyes when brassed off! “DON’T touch me!” The combination of skillful twisting & stroppy eyes & voice works wonders! Mexican girlies are free with their kisses, but not much else; wives & ‘novias’ (girlfriends) are feisty but controllable; a foreign, single, white woman who’s friendly & chats but refuses to be ‘easy game’ is a novelty & commands respect..”sorry, I’m so sorry, let me take you to dinner & introduce you to my family!”
A month or so ago I was flattered by the ‘gentlemanly’ appreciation I was getting. With ‘The Ferria’ looming & the population swelling from circa 600,000 to 4 million, too many men are from out of town & aggressively out of control; I’m really hating being alone in public at the moment.
Time out..I need to get indoors and eat some food over my book, under my hat and through the tissues with which I indelicately blow my nose at the moment!
Bon Appetite .. Prietnovo Appetit .. Enjoy your Meal!
Sunday, May 28, 2006 The Ferria is over..hoo-oo-oo-rah! Aguascalientes is back to normal. I was introduced to a local guy today..a car-detailer. He’s a sweet wee man who turned himself inside-out telling me I have beautiful eyes, with no sexual overtones. YEAH RIGHT! I HAVEN’T SLEPT FOR A WEEK. I LOOK LIKE CRAP!
Monday, May 29, 2006 I’m back to not getting it! How do the Northern Hemispheroids know?..I let a WHITE guy through the gates today..I was wearing a skirt, top, & shoes bought in Mexico; no-one in NZ would’ve looked twice at him, no chance of considering him a foreigner..but he took one look at me & started speaking fractured English. Once inside the office, he was clearly a native Mexican.
Oh, it must be my trend-setting all-over array of mosquito bites at the moment! Ok, the mystery’s solved..for now!
HOW DOES EVERYONE KNOW? Do I have a larger & flatter ‘snorer’ than the rest of the Northern Hemisphere? Are my clothes so bizarre that I must come from the Antipodes (has ‘Once Were Warriors’ screened here?)..Nup, I don’t think it’s any of those things; after some serious people-watching & evaluation, I’m none the wiser! Certainly, there are white Mexicans here.
cheap, Cheap, cHeAp, ChEaP, CHEAP cost of living if you shop for food, clothes, & sundry other requirements at your local tiangues..10 peso’s (US$1) for the pair of Calvin Klein shorts that I bought & only peel off my body once they’ve become too crinkled for words … ah-ha..that’s it! No self-respecting Mexican steps out the door in jeans, shorts, or trousers without a knife-edged crease ironed down the middle of their pants! Now that I come to think of it, I haven’t seen any women wearing shorts either. No, that’s not true, I have seen a couple, but they were wearing ankle-breaking stiletto’s as well..definitely NOT my style!
Have you ever felt like you’re something under a microscope?
Whilst doing my ‘geriatric’ impersonation with a couple of ruined ankles for almost 2-months, I requested to be dropped at a park for fresh air & sunshine a couple of times..a nice break from my room & TV..or so I thought.
No matter where I sat, every time I glanced up from my book, I was confronted by ‘the stare’; women as well as men! As I mentioned in the ‘Moscow to Ags’ email, women don’t approach each other. I wasn’t concerned about the women’s stares..they were just curious & making feminine comparisons. The men were a different matter. Detrimental to my recuperation, but necessary for my psychological comfort, I moved several times.
Disconcerting were the 2 guys that came and flanked me on the bench, and spent an hour staring at me..”Go away guys, you’re making nervous!” is what I wanted to say..afraid of being paranoid, insufficient language skills to hand, I settled for one acknowledging smile to each, and engrossed book reading thereafter.
What do you do?
Most disconcerting of all was the guy who spent 90-minutes maneuvering his way around a ¼ hectare of park until he was sitting next to me. Treated with ignore, after 30-minutes he wandered off..”whew!’ I thought. Then I spotted him in the next ‘bay’ peering round at me. “OK! Now you’re freaking me out!” An intricate navigation of the park..a wheelchair or zimmer-frame would’ve been helpful..eventually out onto the very public benches overlooking the main road..frigging hot & sweaty terrain, but I lost the cretin!
It’s the 1st time I’ve felt intimidated here.
When Rene collected me to take me back to the hotel, I talked about my ‘microscope’ day. He said “you dress differently..you walk differently..everything about you is different.. most are attracted to you because you’re different, & your age doesn’t matter..there’s nothing you can do to change what they see; the young ones are more aggressive..You did right to get away from the weird guy though!”
That was a useless educational pep-talk because I still can’t see what everyone else seems to see.
“Rene, why do Mexican women use umbrellas instead of wearing hats?” (I feel like a 4-year-old!) It stems from the early Spanish occupation apparently, and they’ve never changed. “Oh, and that’s another thing that identifies you as foreign..you wear hats!”
Interesting information/Spanish lesson: umbrella in summer = parasol..para (for) + sol (sun).
I saw a ridiculous sight today (actually, most days)..a woman with a perfectly pretty and functional hat, held aloft like a parasol to keep the sun off her. What the …? Hat hair; it has to be a fear of hat hair! I can ‘get’ that..after a day sitting in the park or traipsing the streets in a hat my hair looks like 200 grams of rat’s tails; better that than rushing about holding a hat above my head like a loon though!
2nd visit to the park..I’m NOT doing it again! One guy came to sit and talk with me; he spoke English, was 27 years old, and asked me to be his girlfriend! Disrespectful laughter didn’t work. “No, you’re too young for me” didn’t work. “No, I’m only attracted to men my own age” didn’t work. “No, I have a son your age” didn’t work. “No, I work in Guadalajara and am going back there tomorrow” didn’t work. “No, you’re moving to Canada in a couple of months” didn’t work. Fernando (“Like the ABBA song” he told me proudly, and sang the chorus) gave me his phone number, and demanded to know when I would call him, and when he could come and stay with me in Guadalajara! “Never!” I said. Undeterred, he finally left me with assurances that we WOULD become lovers! Good Grief!!!
Hot on Fernando’s heels came Arturo, who spoke almost no English. He wanted me to go for a walk through the park with him. When I pointed out my broken ankle and said I couldn’t, he told me he’s a professional masseur, and went to grab my leg. “NO!” I yelped. More talk, he wanted to know where I’m from, where I’ve been in Mexico, and when we could get together. “Sorry, we can’t, I’m going back to Guadalajara tomorrow, which is where I work.” “That’s great! I’m a tour company manager and I’m in Guadalajara every week. I can see you there! What’s your phone number?” he said. (Huh? I thought he said he was a professional masseur!) Give me strength!
After Arturo came the guy..I dunno..maybe 20?, who all-but attached himself to my hips. He skipped to either side of me, depending on who looked as though he may seat himself next to me. No-one was going to come between us! He never once spoke to me. Since that day, I’ve spotted him in the same shops I’ve been in; curiously we seem to have the same itinerary. This guy doesn’t scare me; I think he’s just curious & shy.
I did discover one invaluable defense trick..Mexican guys can’t cope with full exposure to the sun. They overheat, and their skin burns. Go my reptilian need to bask in the sun; go my Kiwi Teflon skin! All requests to sit in the shade turned down, it’s only a matter of time before the boys are forced to abandon their quest!
My only almost-welcome ‘amour’ is a senior cop often in the area. He’s an oldish codger (gotta be in his 60’s), and a real gentleman. He’s often personally walked me across roads arm-in-arm when the lights change to ‘pedestrian’; once on the other side, he kisses my hand & returns to duty. Today, when I grinned & greeted him with “Buenos dias” he grabbed my hand, fished into his pocket, and ‘made me his fiancé’ by sliding an incredibly tacky yellow plastic heart-ring with glitter and pink and white flowers set inside onto my left hand . What a hoot! This time, he stopped ‘green-light’ traffic, and I was helped across the road with his arm around my waist.
Rene was astounded when I showed him my “engagement” ring. Floored when I told him about the regular traffic-stopping and escorts. “But..but he’s a nasty old b@st@rd! Everyone’s scared of him! J#s%s Kiwi-Chick, you’re an unusual one!”
Mobile again (should’ve been tentative, but why go for anything less than ‘all guns blazing..no guts, no glory?’) I ended up going for what became a 2-hour walk. A life-time’s worth of ogling endured, I found myself down where ‘The Ferria’ will be centered. The great thing about my hats here, they have big woven brims that I can see through..it’s a one-way convenience. When I’m sure all is flat and safe I take a glance up from the road to get my bearings or take in a ‘cool’ sight, but not such a high glance that anyone can see my eyes (sunglasses are helpful too). I cop the full impact of everyone’s gaze, but they don’t know I’ve seen them so they can’t interpret any encouragement from me. Most are content with unacknowledged open-mouthed gazing, plenty seek a reaction by whistling and cat-calling. Some come right into my space and demand attention by grabbing hold of me..arm or body twist to release their grip (Angel gave me some nice little personal protection lessons back in January), glasses raised to give the full impact of my eyes when brassed off! “DON’T touch me!” The combination of skillful twisting & stroppy eyes & voice works wonders! Mexican girlies are free with their kisses, but not much else; wives & ‘novias’ (girlfriends) are feisty but controllable; a foreign, single, white woman who’s friendly & chats but refuses to be ‘easy game’ is a novelty & commands respect..”sorry, I’m so sorry, let me take you to dinner & introduce you to my family!”
A month or so ago I was flattered by the ‘gentlemanly’ appreciation I was getting. With ‘The Ferria’ looming & the population swelling from circa 600,000 to 4 million, too many men are from out of town & aggressively out of control; I’m really hating being alone in public at the moment.
Time out..I need to get indoors and eat some food over my book, under my hat and through the tissues with which I indelicately blow my nose at the moment!
Bon Appetite .. Prietnovo Appetit .. Enjoy your Meal!
Sunday, May 28, 2006 The Ferria is over..hoo-oo-oo-rah! Aguascalientes is back to normal. I was introduced to a local guy today..a car-detailer. He’s a sweet wee man who turned himself inside-out telling me I have beautiful eyes, with no sexual overtones. YEAH RIGHT! I HAVEN’T SLEPT FOR A WEEK. I LOOK LIKE CRAP!
Monday, May 29, 2006 I’m back to not getting it! How do the Northern Hemispheroids know?..I let a WHITE guy through the gates today..I was wearing a skirt, top, & shoes bought in Mexico; no-one in NZ would’ve looked twice at him, no chance of considering him a foreigner..but he took one look at me & started speaking fractured English. Once inside the office, he was clearly a native Mexican.
Oh, it must be my trend-setting all-over array of mosquito bites at the moment! Ok, the mystery’s solved..for now!
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - The Food in Mexico
150 peso’s to feed myself over the next 4 weeks..gotta love mince, onions, garlic, chilli, coriander (cilantro here), & eggs; rice & bread for fillers..tomato & cucumber sandwiches at least once a day, if not twice.
Here, you never ever count the money you’re promised until it hits your wallet in cold hard cash! That lesson harshly learned, if no cash arrives between the end of the 1st lesson & the beginning of the 2nd, there is no 2nd lesson. So whilst I’ve been assured of a load of students, I’m not counting on it yet.
HEY! Don’t you be worrying about me..I LOVE tomatoes & cucumber! The other stuff too..except for maybe the mince (depending on my culinary inventiveness), & definitely the eggs. The last of the licorice teabags Claire sent me while I was in Surgut are working some serious wonders in my rice salads..the Canook & Mexicans, like the Russians, are in ecstasy over this new flavour!
Best we don’t talk about the exhorbitantly priced quality beef steaks cos I think it’s marbled fatty gaggy crud..give me a nasty tough & tasty rump for marinating any day (GASP! SHOCK! HORROR! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, CHICK FROM NZ, WHERE THE BEST BEEF IN THE WORLD COMES FROM?) I’ve taught a few locals the joys of garlic, red or white wine vinegar, herbs, & the occasional mango.
Mince is the same price per kilo as eye-fillet!
FANTASTIC street food for next to nothing..I could eat chicken mole every day for the rest of my life! Hey Gary & B-S; if you love curries Gary, you’d mess your pants over mole!..& for B-S & all my girlies out there..mole is this amazing Indian curry-type sauce, but LOADED with CHOCOLATE! Hang on a minute..I need to grab a cloth to wipe my drool off the keyboard & table! Contrary to what you’d expect, it’s not hideously sweet. Very rich though.
Taco’s..the real McCoy, are not those crispy curled things we buy in NZ. A taco is a soft corn bread thing, like a burrito. The only difference between a taco & a burrito here is that a burrito comes ready-filled & rolled; a taco is the same except it isn’t rolled..just folded in half. Sometimes your taco meal is a plastic bag or bowl of heated corn bread, accompanied by the usual ‘team’ of lettuce, tomato, grilled onions & chillies, bags or bowls of guacamole & chili sauce, & some grilled beef or lamb..you make your own combination.
Chillies..you imagine it, it’s here! Dried little red or green ones..like the Asian ones we find in NZ..they’re in bulk bins..grab a bag & start scooping. The ‘normal’ fresh red or green ones we buy at the supermarket in those plastic cubes..here they’re in chilled compartments like the ones that contain lettuces, tomatoes & the like. Big ones..green or yellow, that I’ve never seen before. Huge ones..green or yellow, about the size of a big capsicum..sometimes in chilled compartments, sometimes just sitting in crates on the supermarket floor. The ‘big’ and the ‘huge’ ones you can buy cooked from a street vendor. They’re stuffed with cheese & grilled. The first couple of them that I was fed, I was assured they’re not spicy. In the greater scheme of things, they’re not, but after a year of bland Russian food, those chilies made my nose run & my breath catch in the back of my throat. They ARE delicious though! Not nearly as hot as some of the curries I used to make..I’m just out of practice.
Finally getting back into the swing of spicy food, I find the locals protective warnings about something being ‘caliente’ (hot) endearing. In return, they’re thrilled by my capacity.
Gordita’s: the same as taco’s & fajita’s, except the corn bread is like a pita bread pocket. Most gordita stands are ‘ordinary’, but occasionally you come across a “WOW!” taste sensation.
Barbecoa: generally the meat is lamb, hogget, or mutton. Traditional barbecoa is a HANGI! Sadly, 21st Century economics mean something more like B-B-Q’d meat & grilled onions.
(epiphany..Rene has frustrated me for months with his loss of English “you’re an English teacher for heaven’s sake!” I’ve just spent 10-minutes trying to remember..still can’t..what’s the casserole cut of beef that usually comes cubed, that the likes of Andrew Jarvis calls ‘animal food? AH..got it! Gravy beef! Criminy..I’m starting to worry about me!)
Tomales: I’m positive I’ve told you about these already, so I won’t expand. If I haven’t, let me know. It’ll be because I’ve written but not been able to send.
Cactus: raja's are YUMMY! Juicy..sometimes sticky & stringy like..well, like aloe leaves! The spines are sliced off, then you either buy the whole ‘leaf’, or you buy a sliced salad.
Same but different from Russia; pork skin is a delicacy. It comes two ways; sliced & presented in brine, or something like crackling..an entire pig skin crackled & available for sale, you choose how much you want.
Bread: 99% sugar..it’s evil stuff! It doesn't even go moldy! The ‘Vogel’s” ads are all true! A loaf of Vogels would be separated & hidden in multitudes of supermarket bags under my mattress!
Fresh fruit: you can buy it in the supermarket. You can buy it from a street vendor. If pre-prepared, it comes doused with fresh lime-juice & sprinkled liberally with chili powder. “Errrrrrrr..isn’t fruit supposed to be sweet, juicy & refreshing?”
Sensible folk; breakfast is reasonably substantial, lunch is a big event, dinner is often cereal & milk.
Needless to say, although tasty, the traditional food is not too good for my body. By choice, I never eat beans, seldom corn or dairy products. With the lack of real work & activity over the last few months, I’ve ‘chunked up’ a bit. Nothing any of you would fret about, but I’m so afraid of regaining those 27 kg’s that cost me so much to lose.
Gastronomically betwixt & between,
Pru XXXX
Here, you never ever count the money you’re promised until it hits your wallet in cold hard cash! That lesson harshly learned, if no cash arrives between the end of the 1st lesson & the beginning of the 2nd, there is no 2nd lesson. So whilst I’ve been assured of a load of students, I’m not counting on it yet.
HEY! Don’t you be worrying about me..I LOVE tomatoes & cucumber! The other stuff too..except for maybe the mince (depending on my culinary inventiveness), & definitely the eggs. The last of the licorice teabags Claire sent me while I was in Surgut are working some serious wonders in my rice salads..the Canook & Mexicans, like the Russians, are in ecstasy over this new flavour!
Best we don’t talk about the exhorbitantly priced quality beef steaks cos I think it’s marbled fatty gaggy crud..give me a nasty tough & tasty rump for marinating any day (GASP! SHOCK! HORROR! DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, CHICK FROM NZ, WHERE THE BEST BEEF IN THE WORLD COMES FROM?) I’ve taught a few locals the joys of garlic, red or white wine vinegar, herbs, & the occasional mango.
Mince is the same price per kilo as eye-fillet!
FANTASTIC street food for next to nothing..I could eat chicken mole every day for the rest of my life! Hey Gary & B-S; if you love curries Gary, you’d mess your pants over mole!..& for B-S & all my girlies out there..mole is this amazing Indian curry-type sauce, but LOADED with CHOCOLATE! Hang on a minute..I need to grab a cloth to wipe my drool off the keyboard & table! Contrary to what you’d expect, it’s not hideously sweet. Very rich though.
Taco’s..the real McCoy, are not those crispy curled things we buy in NZ. A taco is a soft corn bread thing, like a burrito. The only difference between a taco & a burrito here is that a burrito comes ready-filled & rolled; a taco is the same except it isn’t rolled..just folded in half. Sometimes your taco meal is a plastic bag or bowl of heated corn bread, accompanied by the usual ‘team’ of lettuce, tomato, grilled onions & chillies, bags or bowls of guacamole & chili sauce, & some grilled beef or lamb..you make your own combination.
Chillies..you imagine it, it’s here! Dried little red or green ones..like the Asian ones we find in NZ..they’re in bulk bins..grab a bag & start scooping. The ‘normal’ fresh red or green ones we buy at the supermarket in those plastic cubes..here they’re in chilled compartments like the ones that contain lettuces, tomatoes & the like. Big ones..green or yellow, that I’ve never seen before. Huge ones..green or yellow, about the size of a big capsicum..sometimes in chilled compartments, sometimes just sitting in crates on the supermarket floor. The ‘big’ and the ‘huge’ ones you can buy cooked from a street vendor. They’re stuffed with cheese & grilled. The first couple of them that I was fed, I was assured they’re not spicy. In the greater scheme of things, they’re not, but after a year of bland Russian food, those chilies made my nose run & my breath catch in the back of my throat. They ARE delicious though! Not nearly as hot as some of the curries I used to make..I’m just out of practice.
Finally getting back into the swing of spicy food, I find the locals protective warnings about something being ‘caliente’ (hot) endearing. In return, they’re thrilled by my capacity.
Gordita’s: the same as taco’s & fajita’s, except the corn bread is like a pita bread pocket. Most gordita stands are ‘ordinary’, but occasionally you come across a “WOW!” taste sensation.
Barbecoa: generally the meat is lamb, hogget, or mutton. Traditional barbecoa is a HANGI! Sadly, 21st Century economics mean something more like B-B-Q’d meat & grilled onions.
(epiphany..Rene has frustrated me for months with his loss of English “you’re an English teacher for heaven’s sake!” I’ve just spent 10-minutes trying to remember..still can’t..what’s the casserole cut of beef that usually comes cubed, that the likes of Andrew Jarvis calls ‘animal food? AH..got it! Gravy beef! Criminy..I’m starting to worry about me!)
Tomales: I’m positive I’ve told you about these already, so I won’t expand. If I haven’t, let me know. It’ll be because I’ve written but not been able to send.
Cactus: raja's are YUMMY! Juicy..sometimes sticky & stringy like..well, like aloe leaves! The spines are sliced off, then you either buy the whole ‘leaf’, or you buy a sliced salad.
Same but different from Russia; pork skin is a delicacy. It comes two ways; sliced & presented in brine, or something like crackling..an entire pig skin crackled & available for sale, you choose how much you want.
Bread: 99% sugar..it’s evil stuff! It doesn't even go moldy! The ‘Vogel’s” ads are all true! A loaf of Vogels would be separated & hidden in multitudes of supermarket bags under my mattress!
Fresh fruit: you can buy it in the supermarket. You can buy it from a street vendor. If pre-prepared, it comes doused with fresh lime-juice & sprinkled liberally with chili powder. “Errrrrrrr..isn’t fruit supposed to be sweet, juicy & refreshing?”
Sensible folk; breakfast is reasonably substantial, lunch is a big event, dinner is often cereal & milk.
Needless to say, although tasty, the traditional food is not too good for my body. By choice, I never eat beans, seldom corn or dairy products. With the lack of real work & activity over the last few months, I’ve ‘chunked up’ a bit. Nothing any of you would fret about, but I’m so afraid of regaining those 27 kg’s that cost me so much to lose.
Gastronomically betwixt & between,
Pru XXXX
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - End of March
End of March …
CELEBRATION! Found a place to live on Saturday..a studio apartment. Moved in Sunday; Monday finished unpacking; had 10kg of clothing and linen washed dried and ironed for less than $10; hung curtains; washed dishes; bought food & soaked the veges; marinated steak ready for tomorrow (not a chilli in sight..”Where’s the tin of jalapenos?!” says Rene..philistine!..”get a grip!” says Pru “Taste the coriander and garlic!”); have candles burning (love that kind of light..I should’ve been born a century or 2 ago)..even have an ‘interesting’ entrance-way (comment from landlord & his wife)..an array of hats (mostly Russian), more candles, missing a miniature vase to hold the cute berry branches I collected under the trees this afternoon (but I like them crammed into the candle holder), the Khanty-Mansi framed work from Victor & Nelly, a couple of dog gifts from Russia (thanks to Alex & Olya, & Irene) to protect & bring luck in this ‘Year of the Dog’, handcrafted beaded Mexican panther from Angel, the volcanic rock from Barra de Navidad, an incense burner (never thought I’d live to see the day..me burning incense? Travellers can’t afford luxury items like essential oils and oil burners..sigh).
Oh yes, there’s no doubt about it..I’m a typical Cancerian; give me a semi-permanent home & watch me nest!
There are 2 German Shepherds to keep me in line (cranky hounds!) The male, a long-haired shepherd..Einstein. The female, a short-haired shepherd..Lila..we have a mutual dislike of each other. Most unusual for me, but I think they’re trained to be unpleasant..not to mention they spend 22 of every 24 hours every day locked up in their pens.
A serious list of rules accompany the tenancy agreement. No parties! No food to be stored outside of the fridge! No..absolutely NO toilet paper to be flushed!!!!! All paper is to be discarded in the rubbish bin next to the loo!
It’s that 3rd rule that has me worried.
“OK! I’ll behave..but those bins are DISGUSTING!”
In spite of knowing I shouldn’t in Mexico, I’ve continued to flush paper. In this place, it’s more serious. My landlord has obviously watched ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy and fallen in love with Hobbits & Hobbit-land. My home is..you guessed it..underground! Well, sort of..a thoughtful few scoops of earth have been excavated to accommodate 4 windows on one side of the Hobbit-Hole. The septic tank (no poo-ponds here) is located directly under my ‘lair’ and NOT to be messed with! I’ve flushed paper twice..once before I knew the rules, once from force of habit…”Oh mierda!” (m-yairda..shit!) “Pinche Hijole!” (peencheh eeholeh..Bloody hell!)..forehead slapping to get this message home. Since then, I’ve had to pluck paper back out of the loo a few times..revolting! A fortune spent on extensive and obsessive hand soaping afterwards. Having been a determined, proud, and unrepentant ‘scruncher’ (of loo paper) all my life, I now find myself a ‘folder’..my version of modest cat scratching. Shuddery but resolute, bin liners are disposed of every morning. There goes another shudder just writing about it!
Why am I so squeamish about this when I successfully dealt with Ben’s nappies?
No-one else here appears to feel the same squeamishness about the loo bins..mine seems to be the only one in Mexico with a lid; everyone else is happy to have them lidless, & let theirs fill over a period of time to overflowing. Aside from the stench, I’m sure there are serious hygiene and health issues! It’s particularly gross when forced to use a public loo; because the bins are full & overflowing, you wade your way through everyone else’s shitty toilet paper to get to the loo. Zoiks! I REALLY object to having to pay 2 pesos to use some of the loo’s..the money is supposed to ensure you’re peeing in a clean & well maintained baňo (barn-yo)! I NEED A HANDBAG-SIZED BOTTLE OF DETTOL!
Continuing on the subject of toilets (is nothing taboo? Nope, not when you’re on Pru’s e-mail list!), there’s no such thing as a full seat. This one’s ok cos it’s solid; if you catch one that’s flimsy plastic (there are soooo many) and you don’t sit on it completely straight the miserable thing BITES you! I’ve had a semi-permanent blood blister on the back of my right leg since arriving in December..and damn it hurts..in incrementally increasing proportions! It’s not cool when a seat’s winning number comes up and bursts the blister! Thank goodness for the occasional hard plastic seat and some respite. No smart-arse comments about my peeing technique..THANK YOU! Suffice to say, I’m generally BURSTING and hurling myself at the loo without caution (minutes spent in the loo are such a waste of time..I might miss out on something)! Occasionally, I’m just ‘aiming’ for the quiet approach. And, just sometimes, the rotten things are so precariously attached to the bowl, no matter how straight & carefully you seat yourself, they move & bite. I wonder if I might make my fortune introducing full seats to Mexico?
Again, my current loo is a goody..not too much water sitting in the bowl. Much to my horror, bowls with a lot of water are noisy! It’s an uncomfortable decision to make with those ones..make a hell of a racket, or lift the seat and get a wet butt! EEEEEEEYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUKKKKK!
In spite of my wee whinge (no pun intended), I love living in this lair. It’s too small, it’s too one-roomish, I keep smacking my head on ‘interesting’ roof angles & low hung range-hoods, but it feels really safe (other than neurological issues) and private. It doesn’t get too hot cos it’s protected from the heat by being mostly underground; the excavation allows it to absorb some of the sun’s heat during the day; it doesn’t get too cold cos it’s sheltered from the wind by being underground, and has been positioned nicely to catch a little sun during the day. Underground being natural soundproofing, I don’t disturb anyone..like I could with mere laptop speakers..which incidentally I’ve blown..nasty crackly sounds interfering with some of my favourite music! No-one disturbs me..except for the occasional din as someone runs across my roof to collect a soccer ball or dog.
Sadly, this is only an interim home..it’s too expensive at 3,500 peso’s per month. It’ll do until we find a place that’ll accommodate our sleeping arrangements more appropriately, as well as rooms to spare for classrooms.
In the meantime, we’re familiarising ourselves with this city by way of two steps forward, one step back (yuk, sometimes 1 step forward & 2 back!) I thought Auckland was confusing to navigate..hello?! Wake up and smell the bourganvillea! Generally, street signs are posted on the exterior walls of corner buildings..challengingly tiny (about the size of a car’s registration plate) and inconveniently posted on the wall that requires irreversible commitment to the direction taken (Noooooo! We needed to go left! Shit, too late! Goddamn; it’s a ring-road system here!) All too often though, there are either no signs, or they’ve been prettily adorned and masked with..bourganvillea! What’s with these signs, and the damned council? Grrrrrr!! It doesn’t help that, although the speed limit is 40km/h, the traffic flows between 60 and 70km/h, sometimes 100km/h..also, I’ve lost my classy, expensive, but ½ price D&G graduated lens glasses in all the chaos over the last few months, so I can’t see for crap!
We did this amazing tour of the district Monday evening trying to get home from the supermarket..no ‘pinche’ (bloody) benefit, it was dark & nothing looked familiar. Me at my most intelligent and helpful, I got the giggles. It WAS funny as we zoomed and zigzagged, this way and that, only to see landmarks changed from the left of the car to the right, but still none the wiser or closer to home.
It’s one of my favourite things about Mexico; we get lost, Rene pulls up next to any car at an intersection, rolls down my window (generally cos he’s in the wrong lane), leans over me & calls “Oiga!” through their window. Sometimes I have to offer a ‘pretty woman, pathetically touristy’ smile & wave to get them to roll down their window. In return, ‘Oiga’ proffers a massive smile; a conversation ensues regarding our whereabouts, our desired destination, and the best possible route to get there.
Peak traffic? Bonus..no-one’s going anywhere fast! Green lights? “No le hace!” (no leh aseh..Don’t worry!) Sit tight and listen to the directions; ignore those agitated honking horns, they’re only Chilango’s (Mexico’s version of JAFA’s..what they call inhabitants & expats of Mexico City). There’ll be another green light in about 30 minutes, they can wait! (”oh God, this is terrible!” I groan quietly as I shrink in my seat)
Thanks given by us, another global-warming smile (a-ha! So the Mexicans are to blame!), best wishes offered, along with cheerful waves, and we zoom off to the next set of lights, only to select a new ‘Oiga!’, and get conflicting directions. Every ‘Oiga’ greets our enquiries with a beautiful smile and willing helpfulness..unfortunately few actually know the city, hence the goose chases!
Tonight we got lucky..catching a local who called, “Follow me!”, & screeched off at a great rate of V8 knots! Bless! Better than directions, a chase at high speed; I enjoyed the trip. It had taken us over an hour find this guy, and to complete what was a 15-minute journey. Chihuahuas! (chee-wa-wa’s..crikey!)
Another awesome thing about road travel here; if you find yourself in the wrong lane, & you actually know the direction you want to go, all you have to do is catch the eye of the driver in the lane you want to be in, make ‘big eyes’, smile & wave. He/She is quite happy to let you cut across so you can get to where you’re going. AMAZING! Can you imagine a Kiwi or Aussie graciously letting that happen?
My address is:-
Pru Jarvis (from New Zealand)
Calz. De los Alamos #123,
Fracc. Ciudad Granja
Zapopan,
Mexico 45010
Don’t ask me how to get here. If you can get from the airport or bus-station to ‘Minerva’ aka ‘Diana’ in other cultures (a fab sculpture in the middle of a round-about fountain..naughty girl..she’s wearing a flimsy little calico number that’s sagged in the water, & so her top has slipped below her very erect nipples..I spotted that on about my 20th trip past her..very observant Pru!) by bus or taxi, I can collect you from there. Then we’ll take the Puerto Vallarta highway, or Avenida Puerto Vallarta (2 different off-ramps, 2 different routes, same result) to Ciudad Granja. If you opt for the surprise or independent approach, once you’re at my home gate take a hard right, and look for the Hobbit-hole. You can’t miss it! Really, you can’t..all the other houses in the ‘compound’ are above-ground & high-rise. (Snort..conformists!) Actually, we’ll get together by you breaking your ankles navigating the fantastically green and spongy grass hiding rabbit-holes and tomo’s! I’ll come running to rescue the ‘screamer’..1st Aid kit in hand, of course!
Still no phone..having been paid the princely sum of US$460 in the last 4 and a bit months, and a phone connection costing US$200, I’m not about to fly into connecting a phone when I’m pretty sure I won’t be staying in this Hobbit-Hole.
The cell phone I bought in Surgut can’t take a Mexican sim-card..gutted! Apparently..& let this be a lesson to all other travellers..the phone companies selling cell phones have a block on the phone which must be removed prior to leaving their country. Mexican cell phones are the same. Mostly I’m upset because I love the Khanty phone ‘mitten’ Mark bought me as a farewell gift, and I can’t use it for now.
Mexican cell phones don’t get service to NZ, Oz or Russia, so text messages are a failure. Believe me, I know..I’ve sent messages to most of you..not a single reply..irrefutable proof!
Patience, please people! Actually, I really need to get the time difference through to you all. Ben asked me to call him 7pm Saturday NZ time..RACK OFF! That’s midnight Friday here (or least it was..but some daylight saving changes have been made and I haven’t worked out whether they’re in our favour or not)! Besides, it was Saturday morning here when I got the e-mail! Any phone calls will need to be mornings your time, and carefully planned weeks in advance, especially until I can afford my own phone & internet access. Back to sporadic e-mail contact..the only place I’ve found within 1-hour walking distance advertising internet service is perpetually closed..probably run by a Kiwi ‘tripping’ on peyote (an hallucinogenic cactus) and still on Southern Hemisphere time! Three times the standard price as well!
Love to you all from the contented little nester, Pru, XXXX
CELEBRATION! Found a place to live on Saturday..a studio apartment. Moved in Sunday; Monday finished unpacking; had 10kg of clothing and linen washed dried and ironed for less than $10; hung curtains; washed dishes; bought food & soaked the veges; marinated steak ready for tomorrow (not a chilli in sight..”Where’s the tin of jalapenos?!” says Rene..philistine!..”get a grip!” says Pru “Taste the coriander and garlic!”); have candles burning (love that kind of light..I should’ve been born a century or 2 ago)..even have an ‘interesting’ entrance-way (comment from landlord & his wife)..an array of hats (mostly Russian), more candles, missing a miniature vase to hold the cute berry branches I collected under the trees this afternoon (but I like them crammed into the candle holder), the Khanty-Mansi framed work from Victor & Nelly, a couple of dog gifts from Russia (thanks to Alex & Olya, & Irene) to protect & bring luck in this ‘Year of the Dog’, handcrafted beaded Mexican panther from Angel, the volcanic rock from Barra de Navidad, an incense burner (never thought I’d live to see the day..me burning incense? Travellers can’t afford luxury items like essential oils and oil burners..sigh).
Oh yes, there’s no doubt about it..I’m a typical Cancerian; give me a semi-permanent home & watch me nest!
There are 2 German Shepherds to keep me in line (cranky hounds!) The male, a long-haired shepherd..Einstein. The female, a short-haired shepherd..Lila..we have a mutual dislike of each other. Most unusual for me, but I think they’re trained to be unpleasant..not to mention they spend 22 of every 24 hours every day locked up in their pens.
A serious list of rules accompany the tenancy agreement. No parties! No food to be stored outside of the fridge! No..absolutely NO toilet paper to be flushed!!!!! All paper is to be discarded in the rubbish bin next to the loo!
It’s that 3rd rule that has me worried.
“OK! I’ll behave..but those bins are DISGUSTING!”
In spite of knowing I shouldn’t in Mexico, I’ve continued to flush paper. In this place, it’s more serious. My landlord has obviously watched ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy and fallen in love with Hobbits & Hobbit-land. My home is..you guessed it..underground! Well, sort of..a thoughtful few scoops of earth have been excavated to accommodate 4 windows on one side of the Hobbit-Hole. The septic tank (no poo-ponds here) is located directly under my ‘lair’ and NOT to be messed with! I’ve flushed paper twice..once before I knew the rules, once from force of habit…”Oh mierda!” (m-yairda..shit!) “Pinche Hijole!” (peencheh eeholeh..Bloody hell!)..forehead slapping to get this message home. Since then, I’ve had to pluck paper back out of the loo a few times..revolting! A fortune spent on extensive and obsessive hand soaping afterwards. Having been a determined, proud, and unrepentant ‘scruncher’ (of loo paper) all my life, I now find myself a ‘folder’..my version of modest cat scratching. Shuddery but resolute, bin liners are disposed of every morning. There goes another shudder just writing about it!
Why am I so squeamish about this when I successfully dealt with Ben’s nappies?
No-one else here appears to feel the same squeamishness about the loo bins..mine seems to be the only one in Mexico with a lid; everyone else is happy to have them lidless, & let theirs fill over a period of time to overflowing. Aside from the stench, I’m sure there are serious hygiene and health issues! It’s particularly gross when forced to use a public loo; because the bins are full & overflowing, you wade your way through everyone else’s shitty toilet paper to get to the loo. Zoiks! I REALLY object to having to pay 2 pesos to use some of the loo’s..the money is supposed to ensure you’re peeing in a clean & well maintained baňo (barn-yo)! I NEED A HANDBAG-SIZED BOTTLE OF DETTOL!
Continuing on the subject of toilets (is nothing taboo? Nope, not when you’re on Pru’s e-mail list!), there’s no such thing as a full seat. This one’s ok cos it’s solid; if you catch one that’s flimsy plastic (there are soooo many) and you don’t sit on it completely straight the miserable thing BITES you! I’ve had a semi-permanent blood blister on the back of my right leg since arriving in December..and damn it hurts..in incrementally increasing proportions! It’s not cool when a seat’s winning number comes up and bursts the blister! Thank goodness for the occasional hard plastic seat and some respite. No smart-arse comments about my peeing technique..THANK YOU! Suffice to say, I’m generally BURSTING and hurling myself at the loo without caution (minutes spent in the loo are such a waste of time..I might miss out on something)! Occasionally, I’m just ‘aiming’ for the quiet approach. And, just sometimes, the rotten things are so precariously attached to the bowl, no matter how straight & carefully you seat yourself, they move & bite. I wonder if I might make my fortune introducing full seats to Mexico?
Again, my current loo is a goody..not too much water sitting in the bowl. Much to my horror, bowls with a lot of water are noisy! It’s an uncomfortable decision to make with those ones..make a hell of a racket, or lift the seat and get a wet butt! EEEEEEEYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUKKKKK!
In spite of my wee whinge (no pun intended), I love living in this lair. It’s too small, it’s too one-roomish, I keep smacking my head on ‘interesting’ roof angles & low hung range-hoods, but it feels really safe (other than neurological issues) and private. It doesn’t get too hot cos it’s protected from the heat by being mostly underground; the excavation allows it to absorb some of the sun’s heat during the day; it doesn’t get too cold cos it’s sheltered from the wind by being underground, and has been positioned nicely to catch a little sun during the day. Underground being natural soundproofing, I don’t disturb anyone..like I could with mere laptop speakers..which incidentally I’ve blown..nasty crackly sounds interfering with some of my favourite music! No-one disturbs me..except for the occasional din as someone runs across my roof to collect a soccer ball or dog.
Sadly, this is only an interim home..it’s too expensive at 3,500 peso’s per month. It’ll do until we find a place that’ll accommodate our sleeping arrangements more appropriately, as well as rooms to spare for classrooms.
In the meantime, we’re familiarising ourselves with this city by way of two steps forward, one step back (yuk, sometimes 1 step forward & 2 back!) I thought Auckland was confusing to navigate..hello?! Wake up and smell the bourganvillea! Generally, street signs are posted on the exterior walls of corner buildings..challengingly tiny (about the size of a car’s registration plate) and inconveniently posted on the wall that requires irreversible commitment to the direction taken (Noooooo! We needed to go left! Shit, too late! Goddamn; it’s a ring-road system here!) All too often though, there are either no signs, or they’ve been prettily adorned and masked with..bourganvillea! What’s with these signs, and the damned council? Grrrrrr!! It doesn’t help that, although the speed limit is 40km/h, the traffic flows between 60 and 70km/h, sometimes 100km/h..also, I’ve lost my classy, expensive, but ½ price D&G graduated lens glasses in all the chaos over the last few months, so I can’t see for crap!
We did this amazing tour of the district Monday evening trying to get home from the supermarket..no ‘pinche’ (bloody) benefit, it was dark & nothing looked familiar. Me at my most intelligent and helpful, I got the giggles. It WAS funny as we zoomed and zigzagged, this way and that, only to see landmarks changed from the left of the car to the right, but still none the wiser or closer to home.
It’s one of my favourite things about Mexico; we get lost, Rene pulls up next to any car at an intersection, rolls down my window (generally cos he’s in the wrong lane), leans over me & calls “Oiga!” through their window. Sometimes I have to offer a ‘pretty woman, pathetically touristy’ smile & wave to get them to roll down their window. In return, ‘Oiga’ proffers a massive smile; a conversation ensues regarding our whereabouts, our desired destination, and the best possible route to get there.
Peak traffic? Bonus..no-one’s going anywhere fast! Green lights? “No le hace!” (no leh aseh..Don’t worry!) Sit tight and listen to the directions; ignore those agitated honking horns, they’re only Chilango’s (Mexico’s version of JAFA’s..what they call inhabitants & expats of Mexico City). There’ll be another green light in about 30 minutes, they can wait! (”oh God, this is terrible!” I groan quietly as I shrink in my seat)
Thanks given by us, another global-warming smile (a-ha! So the Mexicans are to blame!), best wishes offered, along with cheerful waves, and we zoom off to the next set of lights, only to select a new ‘Oiga!’, and get conflicting directions. Every ‘Oiga’ greets our enquiries with a beautiful smile and willing helpfulness..unfortunately few actually know the city, hence the goose chases!
Tonight we got lucky..catching a local who called, “Follow me!”, & screeched off at a great rate of V8 knots! Bless! Better than directions, a chase at high speed; I enjoyed the trip. It had taken us over an hour find this guy, and to complete what was a 15-minute journey. Chihuahuas! (chee-wa-wa’s..crikey!)
Another awesome thing about road travel here; if you find yourself in the wrong lane, & you actually know the direction you want to go, all you have to do is catch the eye of the driver in the lane you want to be in, make ‘big eyes’, smile & wave. He/She is quite happy to let you cut across so you can get to where you’re going. AMAZING! Can you imagine a Kiwi or Aussie graciously letting that happen?
My address is:-
Pru Jarvis (from New Zealand)
Calz. De los Alamos #123,
Fracc. Ciudad Granja
Zapopan,
Mexico 45010
Don’t ask me how to get here. If you can get from the airport or bus-station to ‘Minerva’ aka ‘Diana’ in other cultures (a fab sculpture in the middle of a round-about fountain..naughty girl..she’s wearing a flimsy little calico number that’s sagged in the water, & so her top has slipped below her very erect nipples..I spotted that on about my 20th trip past her..very observant Pru!) by bus or taxi, I can collect you from there. Then we’ll take the Puerto Vallarta highway, or Avenida Puerto Vallarta (2 different off-ramps, 2 different routes, same result) to Ciudad Granja. If you opt for the surprise or independent approach, once you’re at my home gate take a hard right, and look for the Hobbit-hole. You can’t miss it! Really, you can’t..all the other houses in the ‘compound’ are above-ground & high-rise. (Snort..conformists!) Actually, we’ll get together by you breaking your ankles navigating the fantastically green and spongy grass hiding rabbit-holes and tomo’s! I’ll come running to rescue the ‘screamer’..1st Aid kit in hand, of course!
Still no phone..having been paid the princely sum of US$460 in the last 4 and a bit months, and a phone connection costing US$200, I’m not about to fly into connecting a phone when I’m pretty sure I won’t be staying in this Hobbit-Hole.
The cell phone I bought in Surgut can’t take a Mexican sim-card..gutted! Apparently..& let this be a lesson to all other travellers..the phone companies selling cell phones have a block on the phone which must be removed prior to leaving their country. Mexican cell phones are the same. Mostly I’m upset because I love the Khanty phone ‘mitten’ Mark bought me as a farewell gift, and I can’t use it for now.
Mexican cell phones don’t get service to NZ, Oz or Russia, so text messages are a failure. Believe me, I know..I’ve sent messages to most of you..not a single reply..irrefutable proof!
Patience, please people! Actually, I really need to get the time difference through to you all. Ben asked me to call him 7pm Saturday NZ time..RACK OFF! That’s midnight Friday here (or least it was..but some daylight saving changes have been made and I haven’t worked out whether they’re in our favour or not)! Besides, it was Saturday morning here when I got the e-mail! Any phone calls will need to be mornings your time, and carefully planned weeks in advance, especially until I can afford my own phone & internet access. Back to sporadic e-mail contact..the only place I’ve found within 1-hour walking distance advertising internet service is perpetually closed..probably run by a Kiwi ‘tripping’ on peyote (an hallucinogenic cactus) and still on Southern Hemisphere time! Three times the standard price as well!
Love to you all from the contented little nester, Pru, XXXX
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - Mexican Pets
A Pet Shop! I MUST go in there! Very disapointing..here, most pet shops only sell fish..& the poor buggers are prone in a plastic bag with enough water to keep them from drowning, but insufficient to allow them to swim.
I’ve felt sorry for a few fish in my lifetime. The one Toni, my niece, killed (2nd degree homicide) when she was 4 years old; she decided it was thirsty (plucking it out of its bowl & dumping it into a glass of orange juice). The 2 that died resulting from my compulsive use of Pea-Beau to combat the flies & cockroaches in Tolaga Bay. The 3 I was convicted of understandable, but slipshod care of when I cleaned their FILTHY POOEY stones with liquid Ajax & neglected to rinse sufficiently. The most tragic story of all..Christmas 1985, living in Te Kaha, the Mackintosh clan (Ben’s father’s family..all 7 of them), my Dad with his new wife & her 2 kids (14 of us in total) descending on my two-bedroom home..the Christmas Day kitchen was a frenzy from 5am. I’d moved the fish bowl from the kitchen table to the stove top (temporarily). Dad, bless his 1st-in-a-lifetime helpful jandals, turned the stove on around mid-day. Before we knew it, there was a foreign & awfully bad smell in the kitchen..”OH MY GOD..Goldie & Horny!” Too late..the bowl was melting, the water was boiling, G & H were cooked! No up-side..they were too small for filleting. I’ve never had a fishbowl since!
So what’s in this glass tank? YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRKKKK! A god-damned tarantula! YOU’VE GOT TO BE JE-YOKING! Nup..it’s true..they’re for sale in pet shops..5 tanks of them! Yes, I write “fuck’ reasonably regularly, but there’s NO WAY I’m going to share the quantity that day, or the myriad of other filthy words that went through my mind when I saw THOSE tanks!
Tanks of snakes, mice, rats, gerbils, & other vermin-like things..some isolated ‘mummy’s with their squirming furless yam-like off-spring..gross!
5 happy tanks for me..4 containing cutie puppies; one with 3 lizards..dunno what they were, other than fascinating.
The Cats: Ow-ow-ow..the strays make my ears bleed with their yowling, my heart ache because I know they’re hungry & need some loving, & my lap crave for a furry cuddle. Back in February, Sybil grabbed my arm & gently maneuvered me away from the 1st ‘little baby’ begging me to take it home.
Lots since then that I’ve had to force myself to be tough over.
The 2nd night I was back in Aguascalientes (the latest tour of duty) I was sitting at the kitchen table when an ear-splitting yowley racket set up in the reception area. Out to investigate, I found a tiny wee fur-ball skittering from the doorway under the client interview table, then from the client table to under my desk, then from my desk to behind the leather couch, then from the couch to under the coffee table..”yeehaaa” it yowled as it found a clear path to the kitchen..”Doh!” No escape route! Not true..the little bugger shot through my legs back to the reception area as I opened the fridge to get it some food. NO WAY was it going to take food from me..not even delectably pulsating imitation KFC. It quickly found the door it originally came in through.
All that fright hasn’t stopped it from making nightly visits..& today ‘Mum’ came to call. She didn’t deign to dismount the high wall from which she was observing me, but she had a lot to say for herself. We had quite a good chat!
The Accountant’s office may end up with a nice wee family before I depart!
I think I’ve already written about the small dogs that wear doggie clothes to ward off the chill of +25°C, live on the roofs, & make me giggle.
Since then, I’ve had a run-in with a couple of German Shepherds. They were co-residents of my Guadalajara compound. Most of the time they were cooped up in their pens, but one evening they were let loose for their daily run earlier than usual. I returned from my evening hour-long stride, stepped in through the gates only to be confronted by two territorial dogs. I gave the male my hand to sniff & said “Hola”. He stepped back, looked at me, then lunged & took the knee out of my jeans! “Aaaaah, ya bastard!” I shouted. As I leaped back from him his bitch grabbed my arm in her teeth. “FUCK OFF!” I barked as I wrenched & cunningly whipped back through the gate. I buzzed the landlord’s house & asked that he come & collect his dogs so I could get back to the safety of my hobbit-hole. 30-MINUTES LATER, the dogs were penned again. In the meantime, a golden retriever, smelling the terror oozing out of my pores, decided IT should bark & growl at me on the street! A BAD evening..I’ve never had dogs hate me before (other than one senile old codger that took exception to me walking home after dropping Ben off on his 2nd day of school). For the 1st time since I was 4 years old I’ve felt an all encompassing fear of dogs. The problem here is they don’t understand English, & I don’t speak Spanish.
Once again..my beloved Aguascalientes has worked its magic.
I can’t remember the name of the film, but do you remember it? Tom Hanks, can’t remember the name of the actress who played the vet/love-interest..she’s famous though, & the MASSIVE dog named ‘Hooch’.
Well, Hooch’s great-great-great-great…-grandson lives across the road from me. He’s gorgeous! He’s a bugger! He ‘monsters’ anyone foolish enough to walk past his fence..but the fence is a strong, tall, chicken-wire jobby, so he can’t do any damage. That said, he hasn’t once become agitated by my voice & foreign language. I’m taking him a whole minced cow before I leave, just to say “Thanks, & I think you’re lovely!” I’ve watched him during the recent storms..he gets so excited by the rain. He runs around his yard, leaps at the back-boards of the utes parked there, springs off them, twists in mid-air, lands, & races off on another circuit of the yard. He’s very daggy! I feel sorry for him..he’s locked in the yard 24/7, & is a ‘junk-yard-dog’..he’s fed & watered (though his water bucket is a disgusting stagnant pond..no-one thinks to clean the bucket), has maybe 15-minutes of ‘human-therapy’ each day which he’s ecstatic about. On the other hand, he has more area to race around in than any dog I’ve seen here yet..so he’s also lucky. On the OTHER hand, again I feel sorry for him..with the heavy rains, at the highest & driest point of his territory, he’s snuggled into a 1-inch puddle. (I refer you, at this point, to my comment about 7am showers..COLD!)
He’s given me a few sleepless nights; “Why’s he barking this late? What’s that rattling noise..is it my gate?”..on the hour, every hour! Nada, pequeño cabrõn (nothing, little bastard)!
I’ve started talking to him, & calling out “Hooch, enough! Shut up! Go to sleep!” It hasn’t made any difference of course, but at least knows my voice.
Friday, 02 June 2006 Too much for me, Hooch was going off his rocker tonight. I sifted through the kitchen crap & grabbed a polystyrene plate that I loaded with onion, garlic, chilli & mint loaded mince, plus a raw egg mixed through, & a small plastic container filled with fresh water that would fit under the fence. “Sod off with your water, gimme the food!” The poor boy is painfully skinny! Mince gone in a gnat’s breath, I was back to the kitchen to find something else to feed him. A couple of plastic bags with scorned crusts, & a paper bag with half a delicious bakery bread loaf turned to concrete..the concrete bread softened with water & flavoured with a chicken stock cube in my best bowl; back to ‘my boy’. I tentatively fed him the crusts through the chicken wire (aka poked it through & whipped my hand away before he could bite it off)..no need for fear, he has the softest mouth in the world! After discovering that, I poked my hand through the wire gaps & let him eat the bakery bread & lick the chicken stock juice from my hand & fingers. I jimmied the fence enough to get my bowl through to him so he could lap up the rest of the stock..he was STILL hungry! Back to the kitchen & I whipped up 4 eggs that failed MY freshness test, plus a couple of stolen soft taco’s torn up & mixed in. “OK Hooch, this is all you’re getting tonight!” He allowed my arm into his territory to retrieve my bowl; & has been quiet for the rest of tonight. I still have 4 ‘not for Pru’ eggs that he can have tomorrow.
I’m expecting to be paid some peso’s tomorrow..that’ll buy me & Hooch enough mince & bread to feed us both for the next week. I just need to work out how I can get a big bucket of fresh water into his compound.
Saturday, 03 June 2006 Hooch & I are firm friends! I shared my breakfast, lunch, & afternoon tea with him.
Rene, doubting the friendship, demanded I show him how nice Hooch actually is. He watched my lack of fear (in comparison to the terror the Guadalajara Shepherds instilled in me), Hooch came to my call & gently lapped food from my hand. Rene watched as I poked my hand through the fence to feed Hooch, & was amazed that a dog so starved would take food with nothing but his softie lips.
Hooch & I both passed the test..he’s a nice dog; I’m a dog lover.
Rene spoke to the neighbours, & they all agree Hooch never has fresh water, & is seldom fed. We linked a series of hoses so we could fill two huge buckets of water for Hooch.
The latest edgy law-break game..Rene, the neighbours & I are planning to ‘jail-break’ Hooch. The only catch..”what’re we going to do with him?” As far as I’m concerned, it’s easy..”He’s coming with me!”
Ahhhhh..there’s nothing like ‘fur-therapy’!
Love from Pru, the lizard, kitty, & doggy lover! XXXX
I’ve felt sorry for a few fish in my lifetime. The one Toni, my niece, killed (2nd degree homicide) when she was 4 years old; she decided it was thirsty (plucking it out of its bowl & dumping it into a glass of orange juice). The 2 that died resulting from my compulsive use of Pea-Beau to combat the flies & cockroaches in Tolaga Bay. The 3 I was convicted of understandable, but slipshod care of when I cleaned their FILTHY POOEY stones with liquid Ajax & neglected to rinse sufficiently. The most tragic story of all..Christmas 1985, living in Te Kaha, the Mackintosh clan (Ben’s father’s family..all 7 of them), my Dad with his new wife & her 2 kids (14 of us in total) descending on my two-bedroom home..the Christmas Day kitchen was a frenzy from 5am. I’d moved the fish bowl from the kitchen table to the stove top (temporarily). Dad, bless his 1st-in-a-lifetime helpful jandals, turned the stove on around mid-day. Before we knew it, there was a foreign & awfully bad smell in the kitchen..”OH MY GOD..Goldie & Horny!” Too late..the bowl was melting, the water was boiling, G & H were cooked! No up-side..they were too small for filleting. I’ve never had a fishbowl since!
So what’s in this glass tank? YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRKKKK! A god-damned tarantula! YOU’VE GOT TO BE JE-YOKING! Nup..it’s true..they’re for sale in pet shops..5 tanks of them! Yes, I write “fuck’ reasonably regularly, but there’s NO WAY I’m going to share the quantity that day, or the myriad of other filthy words that went through my mind when I saw THOSE tanks!
Tanks of snakes, mice, rats, gerbils, & other vermin-like things..some isolated ‘mummy’s with their squirming furless yam-like off-spring..gross!
5 happy tanks for me..4 containing cutie puppies; one with 3 lizards..dunno what they were, other than fascinating.
The Cats: Ow-ow-ow..the strays make my ears bleed with their yowling, my heart ache because I know they’re hungry & need some loving, & my lap crave for a furry cuddle. Back in February, Sybil grabbed my arm & gently maneuvered me away from the 1st ‘little baby’ begging me to take it home.
Lots since then that I’ve had to force myself to be tough over.
The 2nd night I was back in Aguascalientes (the latest tour of duty) I was sitting at the kitchen table when an ear-splitting yowley racket set up in the reception area. Out to investigate, I found a tiny wee fur-ball skittering from the doorway under the client interview table, then from the client table to under my desk, then from my desk to behind the leather couch, then from the couch to under the coffee table..”yeehaaa” it yowled as it found a clear path to the kitchen..”Doh!” No escape route! Not true..the little bugger shot through my legs back to the reception area as I opened the fridge to get it some food. NO WAY was it going to take food from me..not even delectably pulsating imitation KFC. It quickly found the door it originally came in through.
All that fright hasn’t stopped it from making nightly visits..& today ‘Mum’ came to call. She didn’t deign to dismount the high wall from which she was observing me, but she had a lot to say for herself. We had quite a good chat!
The Accountant’s office may end up with a nice wee family before I depart!
I think I’ve already written about the small dogs that wear doggie clothes to ward off the chill of +25°C, live on the roofs, & make me giggle.
Since then, I’ve had a run-in with a couple of German Shepherds. They were co-residents of my Guadalajara compound. Most of the time they were cooped up in their pens, but one evening they were let loose for their daily run earlier than usual. I returned from my evening hour-long stride, stepped in through the gates only to be confronted by two territorial dogs. I gave the male my hand to sniff & said “Hola”. He stepped back, looked at me, then lunged & took the knee out of my jeans! “Aaaaah, ya bastard!” I shouted. As I leaped back from him his bitch grabbed my arm in her teeth. “FUCK OFF!” I barked as I wrenched & cunningly whipped back through the gate. I buzzed the landlord’s house & asked that he come & collect his dogs so I could get back to the safety of my hobbit-hole. 30-MINUTES LATER, the dogs were penned again. In the meantime, a golden retriever, smelling the terror oozing out of my pores, decided IT should bark & growl at me on the street! A BAD evening..I’ve never had dogs hate me before (other than one senile old codger that took exception to me walking home after dropping Ben off on his 2nd day of school). For the 1st time since I was 4 years old I’ve felt an all encompassing fear of dogs. The problem here is they don’t understand English, & I don’t speak Spanish.
Once again..my beloved Aguascalientes has worked its magic.
I can’t remember the name of the film, but do you remember it? Tom Hanks, can’t remember the name of the actress who played the vet/love-interest..she’s famous though, & the MASSIVE dog named ‘Hooch’.
Well, Hooch’s great-great-great-great…-grandson lives across the road from me. He’s gorgeous! He’s a bugger! He ‘monsters’ anyone foolish enough to walk past his fence..but the fence is a strong, tall, chicken-wire jobby, so he can’t do any damage. That said, he hasn’t once become agitated by my voice & foreign language. I’m taking him a whole minced cow before I leave, just to say “Thanks, & I think you’re lovely!” I’ve watched him during the recent storms..he gets so excited by the rain. He runs around his yard, leaps at the back-boards of the utes parked there, springs off them, twists in mid-air, lands, & races off on another circuit of the yard. He’s very daggy! I feel sorry for him..he’s locked in the yard 24/7, & is a ‘junk-yard-dog’..he’s fed & watered (though his water bucket is a disgusting stagnant pond..no-one thinks to clean the bucket), has maybe 15-minutes of ‘human-therapy’ each day which he’s ecstatic about. On the other hand, he has more area to race around in than any dog I’ve seen here yet..so he’s also lucky. On the OTHER hand, again I feel sorry for him..with the heavy rains, at the highest & driest point of his territory, he’s snuggled into a 1-inch puddle. (I refer you, at this point, to my comment about 7am showers..COLD!)
He’s given me a few sleepless nights; “Why’s he barking this late? What’s that rattling noise..is it my gate?”..on the hour, every hour! Nada, pequeño cabrõn (nothing, little bastard)!
I’ve started talking to him, & calling out “Hooch, enough! Shut up! Go to sleep!” It hasn’t made any difference of course, but at least knows my voice.
Friday, 02 June 2006 Too much for me, Hooch was going off his rocker tonight. I sifted through the kitchen crap & grabbed a polystyrene plate that I loaded with onion, garlic, chilli & mint loaded mince, plus a raw egg mixed through, & a small plastic container filled with fresh water that would fit under the fence. “Sod off with your water, gimme the food!” The poor boy is painfully skinny! Mince gone in a gnat’s breath, I was back to the kitchen to find something else to feed him. A couple of plastic bags with scorned crusts, & a paper bag with half a delicious bakery bread loaf turned to concrete..the concrete bread softened with water & flavoured with a chicken stock cube in my best bowl; back to ‘my boy’. I tentatively fed him the crusts through the chicken wire (aka poked it through & whipped my hand away before he could bite it off)..no need for fear, he has the softest mouth in the world! After discovering that, I poked my hand through the wire gaps & let him eat the bakery bread & lick the chicken stock juice from my hand & fingers. I jimmied the fence enough to get my bowl through to him so he could lap up the rest of the stock..he was STILL hungry! Back to the kitchen & I whipped up 4 eggs that failed MY freshness test, plus a couple of stolen soft taco’s torn up & mixed in. “OK Hooch, this is all you’re getting tonight!” He allowed my arm into his territory to retrieve my bowl; & has been quiet for the rest of tonight. I still have 4 ‘not for Pru’ eggs that he can have tomorrow.
I’m expecting to be paid some peso’s tomorrow..that’ll buy me & Hooch enough mince & bread to feed us both for the next week. I just need to work out how I can get a big bucket of fresh water into his compound.
Saturday, 03 June 2006 Hooch & I are firm friends! I shared my breakfast, lunch, & afternoon tea with him.
Rene, doubting the friendship, demanded I show him how nice Hooch actually is. He watched my lack of fear (in comparison to the terror the Guadalajara Shepherds instilled in me), Hooch came to my call & gently lapped food from my hand. Rene watched as I poked my hand through the fence to feed Hooch, & was amazed that a dog so starved would take food with nothing but his softie lips.
Hooch & I both passed the test..he’s a nice dog; I’m a dog lover.
Rene spoke to the neighbours, & they all agree Hooch never has fresh water, & is seldom fed. We linked a series of hoses so we could fill two huge buckets of water for Hooch.
The latest edgy law-break game..Rene, the neighbours & I are planning to ‘jail-break’ Hooch. The only catch..”what’re we going to do with him?” As far as I’m concerned, it’s easy..”He’s coming with me!”
Ahhhhh..there’s nothing like ‘fur-therapy’!
Love from Pru, the lizard, kitty, & doggy lover! XXXX
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - Shower Time
Shower Time!
Here you have me in my 1st apartment, off the loo (last email), & into the shower.
It seems to me you have 2 choices here in Mexico when it comes to showers; full jets of cold water, or 3 squirts of warm that you chase to catch. If you’re inclined towards a quality Russian ‘contra-shower’ regime, then best you make time for a 24-hour shower. The water is bone-chillingly cold at 7am, only warming to tepid at around 1pm, & cooling rapidly after 7pm.
I’ve lived in a couple of places that had gas heating for the water.
The 1st was the best; a mere 20 minutes for the gas to heat the water..but you’d better be the 1st one in the shower!
The 2nd had greater hot-water capacity..it’s just that the shower rose didn’t work. I had to douse myself with a hose-arrangement, soap & shampoo up, rinse off with the hose, condition my hair, & whilst letting that work, plunge the plug hole because the drains were clogged, & scrub the shower down. Rinse off the conditioner, dry myself off, AND the entire bathroom..no shower curtain!
After that, I lived in a place that had no gas heating; it relied on the natural hot-water springs. No complaint from me..except for the days when the spring was over-taxed..NO WATER AT ALL! “BUT WHAT ABOUT FLUSHING THE TOILET?” WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Then there was the Hobbit-hole..no gas..all electricity. No charge for electricity..it was incorporated into the rent..the landlord had the water regulated. 3 squirts..COLD! 5 squirts..WARM! 7 squirts..REALLY CHILLY! 9 squirts..PIPED DIRECTLY FROM SURGUT SNOW! If I was back in my ‘dike’ haircut days I wouldn’t care, but it makes for a VERY long shower trying to wash, condition, & rinse longish locks under 5 squirts of water..especially when 3 of them are directed at the shower wall about a foot above my head! Great exercise though, chasing & jumping for those water squirts.
Now I’m living in an accountant’s office. No gas..no electrical heating. I can shower in privacy at 7:00am before anyone arrives, freeze my bits off, look presentable for the hoardes that traipse through the office shortly there-after, & wake up with a cold the next morning. OR, I can hide out in my room until 2:00pm when everyone takes their 2-hour lunch & siesta break, & the sun has warmed the water tank to a tepid level. OR I can save my shower until the last person leaves the office somewhere between 9:00pm & 1:00am. Sad to say, I can’t get myself cracking until I’ve had my morning shower..so every 2nd morning I have a sore throat & blocked nose..just to add to the bleeding nose I have every morning from the pressure & dryness of living in high desert.
I’m getting used to the cold showers though. I no longer squeal, gasp, & groan my way through them; I mentally prepare myself by pretending I’m diving into a cold NZ lake..1-minute of held breath, then get down to the business of swimming or washing. I have to qualify that statement though..a shower before 7am is HORRENDOUS! Only had to try it once so far; I just couldn’t do it. I filled a bucket with the cold water, soaped & sponged off..a ponytail day seeing I couldn’t wash my hair. SHEEEE-YATTER-ME it was cold!
And this is summer! I can’t even bring myself to think what it might be like in January when the overnight temp drops to -6°C. I can’t see me hanging around to find out..but “never say never”..I’d be definitely taking mid-day to late afternoon showers!
Better than no personal hygiene..I’m not griping..just letting you know how much I’ve learned we Kiwi’s & Aussies take ‘basic’ necessities for granted back home.
Those of you that have never lived with me or experienced stepping into the shower at MY chosen level of heat, you need to understand that my personal choice of temperature is somewhere between boiling & REALLY boiling..irrespective of season or climate! If I didn’t emerge from the bathroom looking like some thing resembling strawberry jam or cooked lobster, then I clearly wasn’t clean!
When & if I ever get back down-under, I challenge everyone for all the Corona we can drink to beat me into any stretch of water..no matter the temperature! AND I want perfect fresh limes squished into the bottles..very un-Mexican you know!
As for my Russian mates..”race you to the ‘swimming pool’ in January!” If you win, I have to buy you all the tequila you can drink for a night..if I win you have to drink all the tequila I can buy you for a night! ;oD
Ha—ah—gasp—phee-eeew—ppffffffffffff—I’m ok..I’m ok..YEAH, this is all fine! It’s going to be great when I get out, dried (haha), dressed (hahaha), & outside (yeeeehahahahahahahahaha..cutesie little sun dance!) “Get AWAY with your rain dances & prayers for cooler weather, you Mexican freaks!”
Challengingly awake & refreshed, sharp as a scorpion’s tail,
Pru XXXX
Here you have me in my 1st apartment, off the loo (last email), & into the shower.
It seems to me you have 2 choices here in Mexico when it comes to showers; full jets of cold water, or 3 squirts of warm that you chase to catch. If you’re inclined towards a quality Russian ‘contra-shower’ regime, then best you make time for a 24-hour shower. The water is bone-chillingly cold at 7am, only warming to tepid at around 1pm, & cooling rapidly after 7pm.
I’ve lived in a couple of places that had gas heating for the water.
The 1st was the best; a mere 20 minutes for the gas to heat the water..but you’d better be the 1st one in the shower!
The 2nd had greater hot-water capacity..it’s just that the shower rose didn’t work. I had to douse myself with a hose-arrangement, soap & shampoo up, rinse off with the hose, condition my hair, & whilst letting that work, plunge the plug hole because the drains were clogged, & scrub the shower down. Rinse off the conditioner, dry myself off, AND the entire bathroom..no shower curtain!
After that, I lived in a place that had no gas heating; it relied on the natural hot-water springs. No complaint from me..except for the days when the spring was over-taxed..NO WATER AT ALL! “BUT WHAT ABOUT FLUSHING THE TOILET?” WAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Then there was the Hobbit-hole..no gas..all electricity. No charge for electricity..it was incorporated into the rent..the landlord had the water regulated. 3 squirts..COLD! 5 squirts..WARM! 7 squirts..REALLY CHILLY! 9 squirts..PIPED DIRECTLY FROM SURGUT SNOW! If I was back in my ‘dike’ haircut days I wouldn’t care, but it makes for a VERY long shower trying to wash, condition, & rinse longish locks under 5 squirts of water..especially when 3 of them are directed at the shower wall about a foot above my head! Great exercise though, chasing & jumping for those water squirts.
Now I’m living in an accountant’s office. No gas..no electrical heating. I can shower in privacy at 7:00am before anyone arrives, freeze my bits off, look presentable for the hoardes that traipse through the office shortly there-after, & wake up with a cold the next morning. OR, I can hide out in my room until 2:00pm when everyone takes their 2-hour lunch & siesta break, & the sun has warmed the water tank to a tepid level. OR I can save my shower until the last person leaves the office somewhere between 9:00pm & 1:00am. Sad to say, I can’t get myself cracking until I’ve had my morning shower..so every 2nd morning I have a sore throat & blocked nose..just to add to the bleeding nose I have every morning from the pressure & dryness of living in high desert.
I’m getting used to the cold showers though. I no longer squeal, gasp, & groan my way through them; I mentally prepare myself by pretending I’m diving into a cold NZ lake..1-minute of held breath, then get down to the business of swimming or washing. I have to qualify that statement though..a shower before 7am is HORRENDOUS! Only had to try it once so far; I just couldn’t do it. I filled a bucket with the cold water, soaped & sponged off..a ponytail day seeing I couldn’t wash my hair. SHEEEE-YATTER-ME it was cold!
And this is summer! I can’t even bring myself to think what it might be like in January when the overnight temp drops to -6°C. I can’t see me hanging around to find out..but “never say never”..I’d be definitely taking mid-day to late afternoon showers!
Better than no personal hygiene..I’m not griping..just letting you know how much I’ve learned we Kiwi’s & Aussies take ‘basic’ necessities for granted back home.
Those of you that have never lived with me or experienced stepping into the shower at MY chosen level of heat, you need to understand that my personal choice of temperature is somewhere between boiling & REALLY boiling..irrespective of season or climate! If I didn’t emerge from the bathroom looking like some thing resembling strawberry jam or cooked lobster, then I clearly wasn’t clean!
When & if I ever get back down-under, I challenge everyone for all the Corona we can drink to beat me into any stretch of water..no matter the temperature! AND I want perfect fresh limes squished into the bottles..very un-Mexican you know!
As for my Russian mates..”race you to the ‘swimming pool’ in January!” If you win, I have to buy you all the tequila you can drink for a night..if I win you have to drink all the tequila I can buy you for a night! ;oD
Ha—ah—gasp—phee-eeew—ppffffffffffff—I’m ok..I’m ok..YEAH, this is all fine! It’s going to be great when I get out, dried (haha), dressed (hahaha), & outside (yeeeehahahahahahahahaha..cutesie little sun dance!) “Get AWAY with your rain dances & prayers for cooler weather, you Mexican freaks!”
Challengingly awake & refreshed, sharp as a scorpion’s tail,
Pru XXXX
Mexican Madness; 2006 in Aguascalientes - Toilet Talk
Way, way, way back in December 2005. I was celebrating having a bathroom & toilet inside my own apartment..no walking through a speech therapist’s waiting room with multitudes of kiddies & fathers. How pathetic? How exciting! Ahhhh, such is life away from ‘home’..hahahahaha!
A serious list of rules accompanied my Guadalajara tenancy agreement. No parties! No food to be stored outside of the fridge! No..absolutely NO toilet paper to be flushed!!!!! All paper is to be discarded in the rubbish bin next to the loo!
It’s that 3rd rule that has me worried.
“OK! I’ll behave..but those bins are DISGUSTING!”
In spite of knowing I shouldn’t in Mexico, I continued to flush paper. In the Guadalajara place, it was more serious. My landlord had obviously watched ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy and fallen in love with Hobbits & Hobbit-land. My home was..you guessed it..underground! Well, sort of..a thoughtful few scoops of earth had been excavated to accommodate 4 windows on one side of the Hobbit-Hole. The photo shows me standing outside my windows (OH MY GOD! BAD hair!)..just above my head is the roof to the Hobbit-hole; inside the hobbit-hole, my head barely reached where my knees are.
The septic tank (no poo-ponds here) was located directly under my ‘lair’ and NOT to be messed with! I flushed paper three times..once before I knew the rules, once from force of habit…”Oh mierda!” (m-yairda..shit!) “Pinche Hijole!” (peencheh eeholeh..Bloody hell!)..forehead slapping to get the message home. After that, I had to pluck paper back out of the loo a few times..revolting! A fortune spent on extensive and obsessive hand soaping afterwards. Once, I utterly refused because it landed smack into the water..not touching THAT soggy mess! Having been a determined, proud, and unrepentant ‘scruncher’ (of loo paper) all my life, I now find myself a ‘folder’..my version of modest cat scratching. Shuddery but resolute, bin liners are disposed of every morning. There goes another shudder just writing about it!
Why am I so squeamish about this when I successfully dealt with Ben’s nappies? Because that was 20+ years ago, & I loved my baby!
No-one else here appears to feel the same squeamishness about the loo bins..mine seems to be the only one in Mexico with a lid; everyone else is happy to have them lidless, & allow theirs to fill over a period of time to overflowing. Aside from the stench, I’m sure there are serious hygiene and health issues!
It’s particularly gross when forced to use a public loo. The bins are full & overflowing; you wade your way through everyone else’s shitty toilet paper to get to the loo. Zoiks! I REALLY object to having to pay 2 pesos to use some of the loo’s..the money’s supposed to ensure you’re peeing in a clean & well maintained baňo (barn-yo)! I NEED A HANDBAG-SIZED BOTTLE OF DETTOL! Imagine my consternation when I come across a pay-for-the-privilege public loo that’s well maintained, only to spot all the used loo paper sitting in a bin outside on the road..waiting to dry out & be burned off. As it dries, of course it becomes more susceptible to breezes..m-mmmm, septic paper fluttering about your head..”GARK! Let me back into the car..NOW!”
Continuing on the subject of toilets (is nothing taboo? Nope, not when you’re on Pru’s e-mail list!), there’s no such thing as a full seat. This one’s ok cos it’s solid ; if you catch one that’s flimsy plastic (there are way too many) and you don’t sit on it completely straight, the miserable thing BITES you! I’ve had a semi-permanent blood blister on the back of my right leg since arriving in December..and damn it hurts..in incrementally increasing proportions! It’s not cool when a seat’s winning number comes up and bursts the blister! Thank goodness for the occasional hard plastic seat and some respite. No smart-arse comments about my peeing technique..THANK YOU! Suffice to say, I’m generally BURSTING and hurling myself at the loo without caution (minutes spent in the loo are such a waste of time..I might miss out on something)! Occasionally, I’m just ‘aiming’ for the quiet approach. All too often, the rotten things are so precariously attached to the bowl, no matter how straight & carefully you seat yourself, they move & bite. I wonder if I might make my fortune introducing full seats to Mexico?
The Guadalajara loo was a goody..not too much water sitting in the bowl. Much to my horror, bowls with a lot of water are noisy! It’s an uncomfortable decision to make with those ones..make a hell of a racket, or lift the seat and get a wet butt! EEEEEEEYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUKKKKK!
This is what a mid-range loosely attached, soft-seated, high-tide loo looks like ..”YEE-OWWWWWW...F#*K that HURT!” Too much noise “Oh you’ve GOT to be JOKING!”..Ok, control,,control..lift the seat, ‘pleease don’t let me get a wet butt!’..oh that’s so good..silence & a dryness!” No judging this particular style of loo..it looks sturdy, but the seat shifts without warning; the tide-mark doesn’t look too high..it’s a trick! A pacifyingly dry butt though. Note the bin? Yeah, well I emptied the pig last night before I went to bed; the piece of paper at the very bottom of the bin is mine (7am visit)..the rest?..these people eat too much chilli, & don’t exercise caution when it comes to tap water!
Given all this lack of hygiene..WHAT’S WITH THE FRILLY GERM CATCHERS? Botulism to the wound? Being an avid hater of those mats that wrap around the base of the loo to keep feet warm & catch boys ‘drips’, these frilly things offend me both aesthetically & hygienically! Sorry if I’m offending anyone..it’s just my perspective..even before I left my own home, & NZ!
Sometimes you strike a loo that has a cistern that doesn’t fill automatically. If you’re lucky, there’s a shower & bucket in the same room..turn on the shower, hang the bucket over the shower rose..by the time you’ve finished peeing the bucket’s full..turn off the shower, lift the toilet seat, toss the contents of the bucket into the loo..abracadabra..flushed!
No bucket? No shower? No full cistern?..clearly, I’ve learned to check for these tell-tale signs before I drop my trou! Bad signs? Thanks to Dad for not having the right sperm..I’m a woman, which means a cast-iron bladder, & hours of restraint!
My favourite public loos are the ones that you flush with a foot-pedal. It took me about 5-minutes to locate the ‘flush mechanism’ the 1st time, but once I did, I was a convert! Next time I have my own home..I’m going to have a foot-pedal flusher!
Dash..launch..land ... squeek..reposition ... ahhhhhh ... fold, wipe, fold, bury ... PSsshhhhhhhhhhhhh..hospital-grade soap for hands for 5-minutes
Ablution-Block-Pru XXXX
P.S. Stop being squeamish about too much information..it’s life!
P.P.S Shower stories come next..no need for staunch bellies.
A serious list of rules accompanied my Guadalajara tenancy agreement. No parties! No food to be stored outside of the fridge! No..absolutely NO toilet paper to be flushed!!!!! All paper is to be discarded in the rubbish bin next to the loo!
It’s that 3rd rule that has me worried.
“OK! I’ll behave..but those bins are DISGUSTING!”
In spite of knowing I shouldn’t in Mexico, I continued to flush paper. In the Guadalajara place, it was more serious. My landlord had obviously watched ‘The Lord of the Rings’ trilogy and fallen in love with Hobbits & Hobbit-land. My home was..you guessed it..underground! Well, sort of..a thoughtful few scoops of earth had been excavated to accommodate 4 windows on one side of the Hobbit-Hole. The photo shows me standing outside my windows (OH MY GOD! BAD hair!)..just above my head is the roof to the Hobbit-hole; inside the hobbit-hole, my head barely reached where my knees are.
The septic tank (no poo-ponds here) was located directly under my ‘lair’ and NOT to be messed with! I flushed paper three times..once before I knew the rules, once from force of habit…”Oh mierda!” (m-yairda..shit!) “Pinche Hijole!” (peencheh eeholeh..Bloody hell!)..forehead slapping to get the message home. After that, I had to pluck paper back out of the loo a few times..revolting! A fortune spent on extensive and obsessive hand soaping afterwards. Once, I utterly refused because it landed smack into the water..not touching THAT soggy mess! Having been a determined, proud, and unrepentant ‘scruncher’ (of loo paper) all my life, I now find myself a ‘folder’..my version of modest cat scratching. Shuddery but resolute, bin liners are disposed of every morning. There goes another shudder just writing about it!
Why am I so squeamish about this when I successfully dealt with Ben’s nappies? Because that was 20+ years ago, & I loved my baby!
No-one else here appears to feel the same squeamishness about the loo bins..mine seems to be the only one in Mexico with a lid; everyone else is happy to have them lidless, & allow theirs to fill over a period of time to overflowing. Aside from the stench, I’m sure there are serious hygiene and health issues!
It’s particularly gross when forced to use a public loo. The bins are full & overflowing; you wade your way through everyone else’s shitty toilet paper to get to the loo. Zoiks! I REALLY object to having to pay 2 pesos to use some of the loo’s..the money’s supposed to ensure you’re peeing in a clean & well maintained baňo (barn-yo)! I NEED A HANDBAG-SIZED BOTTLE OF DETTOL! Imagine my consternation when I come across a pay-for-the-privilege public loo that’s well maintained, only to spot all the used loo paper sitting in a bin outside on the road..waiting to dry out & be burned off. As it dries, of course it becomes more susceptible to breezes..m-mmmm, septic paper fluttering about your head..”GARK! Let me back into the car..NOW!”
Continuing on the subject of toilets (is nothing taboo? Nope, not when you’re on Pru’s e-mail list!), there’s no such thing as a full seat. This one’s ok cos it’s solid ; if you catch one that’s flimsy plastic (there are way too many) and you don’t sit on it completely straight, the miserable thing BITES you! I’ve had a semi-permanent blood blister on the back of my right leg since arriving in December..and damn it hurts..in incrementally increasing proportions! It’s not cool when a seat’s winning number comes up and bursts the blister! Thank goodness for the occasional hard plastic seat and some respite. No smart-arse comments about my peeing technique..THANK YOU! Suffice to say, I’m generally BURSTING and hurling myself at the loo without caution (minutes spent in the loo are such a waste of time..I might miss out on something)! Occasionally, I’m just ‘aiming’ for the quiet approach. All too often, the rotten things are so precariously attached to the bowl, no matter how straight & carefully you seat yourself, they move & bite. I wonder if I might make my fortune introducing full seats to Mexico?
The Guadalajara loo was a goody..not too much water sitting in the bowl. Much to my horror, bowls with a lot of water are noisy! It’s an uncomfortable decision to make with those ones..make a hell of a racket, or lift the seat and get a wet butt! EEEEEEEYYYYYYYYUUUUUUUKKKKK!
This is what a mid-range loosely attached, soft-seated, high-tide loo looks like ..”YEE-OWWWWWW...F#*K that HURT!” Too much noise “Oh you’ve GOT to be JOKING!”..Ok, control,,control..lift the seat, ‘pleease don’t let me get a wet butt!’..oh that’s so good..silence & a dryness!” No judging this particular style of loo..it looks sturdy, but the seat shifts without warning; the tide-mark doesn’t look too high..it’s a trick! A pacifyingly dry butt though. Note the bin? Yeah, well I emptied the pig last night before I went to bed; the piece of paper at the very bottom of the bin is mine (7am visit)..the rest?..these people eat too much chilli, & don’t exercise caution when it comes to tap water!
Given all this lack of hygiene..WHAT’S WITH THE FRILLY GERM CATCHERS? Botulism to the wound? Being an avid hater of those mats that wrap around the base of the loo to keep feet warm & catch boys ‘drips’, these frilly things offend me both aesthetically & hygienically! Sorry if I’m offending anyone..it’s just my perspective..even before I left my own home, & NZ!
Sometimes you strike a loo that has a cistern that doesn’t fill automatically. If you’re lucky, there’s a shower & bucket in the same room..turn on the shower, hang the bucket over the shower rose..by the time you’ve finished peeing the bucket’s full..turn off the shower, lift the toilet seat, toss the contents of the bucket into the loo..abracadabra..flushed!
No bucket? No shower? No full cistern?..clearly, I’ve learned to check for these tell-tale signs before I drop my trou! Bad signs? Thanks to Dad for not having the right sperm..I’m a woman, which means a cast-iron bladder, & hours of restraint!
My favourite public loos are the ones that you flush with a foot-pedal. It took me about 5-minutes to locate the ‘flush mechanism’ the 1st time, but once I did, I was a convert! Next time I have my own home..I’m going to have a foot-pedal flusher!
Dash..launch..land ... squeek..reposition ... ahhhhhh ... fold, wipe, fold, bury ... PSsshhhhhhhhhhhhh..hospital-grade soap for hands for 5-minutes
Ablution-Block-Pru XXXX
P.S. Stop being squeamish about too much information..it’s life!
P.P.S Shower stories come next..no need for staunch bellies.
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