Adventures in Mexico

I recently left my mosquito ridden, gas smelling, bad plumbing having apartment and traded up. My new apartment is a fabulous fifties wonder that makes me feel like I should be serving highballs every night and hosting coctail parties and bridge nights. The landlord, a gentle middle aged woman who greets me warmly with cheek kisses and speaks slowly to accomodate my second langauge status, jokes that a gym is included because I have to climb five flights of stairs to get to my place. The place has a wall of windows looking out at the skyline (really a jumble of pollution stained 70s era apartment buildings), a balcony, a working toilet and best of all, the mosquitoes are too lazy or blood engorged to fly all the way up to my lofty heights!

Leaving the other (bad) apartment was no easy affair, however. When I delivered the news to my landlady, she acted as though I was breaking up with her. She hurled insults at me, accusing me of not being trustworthy, breaking the "golden" word, not being a "humanist," and generally let me know that I was a horrible person in every way. Also, despite the fact the we are not bound by any contract, she will "press charges" if I don't pay my $2.00 power and light bill. Quel turd!

Week 2 of blogging and no new plumbing horror stories to report. I did discover that Watchamacallit candy bars can be found in select 7-11's throughout town. I made this exciting discovery as I was being followed home by an affable man from my local frame shop. He had just framed two cool vintage movie posters I bought at a flea market. He offered to deliver them to my house because they were very heavy (ah, the occasional joys of being a girl!). I assumed that he would be driving and popped into the 7-11 to get change for his tip. After buying my Watchamacallit and exiting 7-11, I found that, to my surprise and embarassment, the framer was following me by foot, hefting the cantankerous load. Que Pena! But he insisted that he carry the bulky posters and walk a few steps behind me.

Spanish Lessons: I spent last night with my Spanish teacher and classmates drinking! We started out at a yuppie beer bar where we shyly sipped micheladas (a delicious concoction of beer, lime, salt and chile). Then the teacher decided to take us to a Mezcal--which is like a smokey tequila-- bar. Our teacher's goal for us language learners was for one or all of us to eat the dead worm marinating sadly at the bottom of the bottle. Once at the bar,a haven for pure organic mezcal, we found out that the type of mezcal with worms in it actual contains more preservatives. (By the way,don't be fooled and say "pres-er-va-tiv" in Spanish because it means something entirely different). As a substitute, we were served a powder of ground worms, chile and salt to eat with oranges. I was the only one in our group who loves mezcal and drank heartily.
After dropping my compadres off, my teacher wanted a drink for the road (always a good idea) and we went out for a final beer. I think that he had had his fill speaking bad Spanish as a Second Language (I imagine I sound pretty pathetic like David Sedaris in French class in Me Talk Pretty One Day), so we had to speak German the rest of the night. My sentences came out as a strange Deutschpan~ol and my brain felt like it had been blended like a margarita by evening's end.

I woke up at 5:00 a.m. naturally very refreshed and ready to teach young people!
Here's a picture from my cute yet deceptively high maintenence "departmento."

I have been in Mexico City for about two months. While I love the food, am amazed by the friendliness of the people, my apartment leaves a little to be desired. It smells like burnt cooking gas, the bathroom sink leaks an equally sinister smelling water and my toilet, well, it suffers from depression and has no "ganas" to flush.

I have had several appointments with plumbers where I struggle with my limited vocabulary and shaky handle on verb conjugation. Mostly I resort to miming verbs like leak, plunge, flush and flood. In my most recent interaction, my plumber asked if I wanted a formal receipt or a less formal bill, a so-called note of "remission." I heard "permission" and drafted him a note giving him my blessings to fix my faucet.

Aside from the mundane details of my plumbing, I find my life and work here exhilirating challenge. My days are long. At 6:30 a.m., I pack myself into a bus called "The Xola" which is stuffed to the gills with tired teenagers heading to school and wearing way too much eyeliner. The bus driver, who was meant to drive Formula One cars not a honking bus in Mexico City, darts in and out of traffic, stops quickly and cuts off any cars in sight, which usually, at least one time, lurches me forward, into the arms of a sullen teen. From my noisy, personal space invading commute, I pass through the gates of my school and spent 10-12 hours teaching, meeting, taking Spanish classes and, if I have any energy left, exercising.

Weekends offer some respite from the grind. I have gotten to go to the Acapulco area and the old mining town of Taxco. Here's a pic. from the Taxco food market.