Flavours of the Hood

The thing about living in this Mexican neighbourhood is that even though it is rarely quiet, it still has a calmness to it, especially during the lazy part of the day about 3-4 pm.  It is then that I smile. I hear the music of some kind

 

of truck selling I'm not sure what yet, but one day I will find out  - to anyone who runs out to the street.  It is a happy piano tune that is so joyful sounding that even if you were having a siesta and it woke you up, you could only smile and tap your foot to the goofy tune.  It is not annoying, it even has a b and c section before returning to its chorus.  Later I realize it is the ice-cream wagon.

There are also the singing voices of men on foot selling things in the street  . . . eveything from water, to fresh flowers, strawberries, baked goods and more.  What I find lovely is hearing a musical voice from a great distance and waiting for it to get closer and then listening as it fades away again.  "Agua" never sounded so good.  I pick the man whose voice I like best.  There are a handful of water trucks, but I wait for that voice that I recognize.  I want to ask him if perhaps he sings at night at a second job.  One fellow whose voice made me smile was selling accessories for stoves and he let you know just what kinds of things he had . . . stringing the words along in a musical interlude.  Long drawn out words at the end of sentences.  "  . . . por tu estooooofa."  The strawberry truck is less appealing because it's being driven and it's not really poetry, but still has its charm.  Fresas con crema, Fresas por hacer agua, etc.  The wife and kids sit in the back of the pickup, which is full of strawberries.  The same system is used for corn, for other fruit, etc.  but I prefer the walking poets.  They are what gives this street its flavour.

That and dog shit.  But I do not find the dog shit charming at all.  I have spent many hours cleaning my flip flops with soap and bleach, scraping them clean.  I have flip flops for inside and others for outside.  Doggie doo is everwhere along the dirty dusty cobblestones, but especially it seems,  in front of my door.  A malodourous breeze blows into my place all day and night.  I try to scoop them up when I take out the garbage, but it's a full time job.  I have taken to placing bounce sheets in the doorways so I might smell something better or at least different.  A considerable amount of time is spent cleaning my dog Maddie's feet after each time she goes outside.  The other day she stepped in chewing gum.  Quite a process to clean up a furry foot.  Then 3 days later I stepped in gum and it was of a flavour I would never want to try . . . mixed with - you guessed it:  dog shit. 

When I first got to Mexico, it was a given that my dog would go anywhere she wanted and nobody in their right mind would deign to pick up after their dog.  This is mexico, it just dries up and blows away.  But I cannot do it.  Why would I want to  contribute to the amount of doggie doo in the street?  I'm sure I am viewed as the crazy white chick who picks up after her dog, but no matter what I do here, I will probably always be the crazy white chick, so I just go ahead and do whatever.  The garbage collectors who come by every evening except Sundays, often spill a lot of garbage into the street because they are either sloppy or the people are sloppy about tying up bags.  The mess stays there and blends in with the cobblestones, but not really.  The collection point is a certain lampost. I was out the other night, very late so I wouldn't be seen, picking up stray garbage.  Crazy white chick.

A Hellish Eden

The day didn't start off so great, although I tried to keep positive.  The ex roomate was leaving town to get away from the crazy roomate he couldn't deal with anymore.  She was the reason I left the nice house in Colonia Buenos Aires to live alone in a very hot, overpriced and small, dusty little ground floor quartito with charming window grates with a view of the street..  No, he couldn't meet for coffee, no he didn't have my rent money to refund me, and no he didn't bring my 20 dollar hair conditioner I had left in the very sorry shower cubicle of my former residence.  Can you call it a residence if it was only for two nights?  I was going to have to make a trip up there and possibly deal with a psychopath; the pathetic but definitely crazy post menopausal witch that made me hightail it out of there.  I told him I wouldn't be giving my keys back until I got my rent money back.  He seemed okay with that.  I wonderered if I would ever see my 2000 pesos again.

But today was the day Danielle and I had planned to go the river and some wonderful touted place called El Eden where there were waterfalls.  So, I called her to say we could leave earlier than planned, since my coffee meeting was cancelled.  We stopped at a charming art shop where the artist had whimsical prints of Vallarta for only ten us dollars.  Then we were off in my Toyota Sienna van to deal with my forgotten hair conditioner.  By some miracle, the crazy bitch was gone and so I got in, got what I needed and left again, towards the south and over some very rugged terrain.  Thirty minutes later, we were in what I would benevolently call a tourist trap, and luck of the luck wouldn't ya know it, but Tuesday was a busy day because of the cruise ships docking in town.  Oh boy.

Danielle was expecting some eco nature reserve like in Costa Rica.  I was expecting something a little less full of (no offense to my US friends) obnoxious american cruiseline clients.  But it was full of them, and it was a tourist trap.  The fish was tasty for 13 dollars and I ate the remnants of Danielles quesadilla and chichen fingers which she ordered from the kids menu.  I swam in the river amidst the stares of all the wait staff, zip line staff and other tourists.  But not before breaking my favourite Walmare flip flop (yes, for those who remember a past blog; I did bring two more pairs back to Mexico with me this time.) Damn. . . I am now down to one pair.  Well hiking was out of the question now.  Good thing it happened after lunch and after our trip to the Zoo a few days earlier.  That was an awesome day and the animals were delightful.

Si despite being lured into a trap called El Eden, we did find a nice out of the way place (meaning no tourists) on the way back where we could swim in the river and sit by it and gab.  The road back was full of construction and that must have been where I picked up the nail that punctured my tire.  The nice older englishman who stubbornly flashed his high beams at us indicating the flat, was also kind enough to stay with us and see that all turned out well.  He used to be a corporate person and now he works as a gardener to the rich. The 5th lug nut would not come lose, even with the special key that fit into the tire iron.  I am not impressed by this stupid Toyota feature.  I didn't know shit about changing a flat, but Danielle assures me that it would have been a cinch if not for the stupid lug nut.  Karl, our knight in shining armour, took us to a lllantero just a kilometre up the road.  He came back and he couldn't get it lose either.  So he broke the thread.  He assured me 4 lug nuts would be fine.  Hmm.

As if this wasn't enough, the hatchback on the van suddenly stopped working and it was impossible to open up the back of the van.  Not good since we needed to access the spare tire screw on the floor to release the spare underneath the carriage.  What else could go wrong i wondered, standing in my barefeet in dirt and ants and asphalt.  I secretly counted the blessings I did have; and they would be enough to get me out of this mess.  The tire man said he would just take it back to his shop right now and fix it, no need for the spare.  So one more time into Karl's Nissan with the tire man in the truck bed and within minutes the tire was fixed and back on.  Two hundred pesos and almost two hours later, we were back on the road.  First thing I did upon arriving home after Maddie attacked me with love and affection, was wash my feet.  The second thing; count my blessings.