Esperando

Esperando: waiting, hoping, expecting

Yo estoy esperando. I am waiting. Yo espero. I have hope. I am waiting and hoping and expecting - for a letter from customs.

Last week sophie and I went to the post office to see if it was there, maybe forgotten on a shelf somewhere. Really we went because I feel I have to DO something besides wait.As we walked I practiced my spanish on her. " Yo estoy esparando para una carta de aduana en Mexico. Sabe usted esta aqui?" close enough. I am waiting for a letter from customs. Do you know if it is here? The postal clerk looked. It was not.

My problem is that Margaret, my mini cooper, has been in quarantine since Dec 17.

It happened like this. I was driving my Dutch friend, Sasha, and I to the cinema. She said,"Vers yur ticker fur yur kar?" I said, "What sticker?" "Da oun dat ya ned ta driv en Mexico?" "I don't know. Noone gave me one." "Ohh, I thk dats bad.I thk dey cud tak yur kar avey frevr widoud da ticker."

That is bad.

Sasha was right. They could. For forever. So, I paid 350 US bucks to a woman to write up the proper paper work which will result in permission, in the form of a letter that allows me to drive back to the border legally, to get the sticker. I will have 5 days to do this.I don'tknow if those 5 days are from the day the letter is mailed or the day I get it. She said I could expect the letter to arrive in a month-mas o menos. That was December 17th so it's already mas. And getting more mas.

I'm not good at esperando. Most Norte Americanos aren't.We expect quick service. When it doesn't happen we get bitchy.Quick is not the Mexican way. I am struggling to adjust. On Friday my neighborhood post man was coming out of the building as I was going in. We spoke in spanglish. He asked me to tell him what it was I was looking for. He promised to watch for my letter. He got my phone number and said he would call when it came in. Yo espero.

As soon as the letter comes I will leave Sophie here and drive north for a turnaround trip for a fucking sticker. To southern California it takes three days. Amazing. What century is this?

A few blocks from me a faded sign reads: Maria Calendaria Authentica. Who knew Marie Calendar was Mexican?

My new favorite food is alote or esquite: corn in a cup. They boil corn kernels in big vats then spoon the hot corn into plastic cups: a little mayo, queso, lime, & some hot sauce.yum. And homemade ice cream: vanilla, coco, or another one I forget,and long skewers of grilled shrimp or fish fillets squirted liberally with lime, and fresh fruit and cucumber sticks, on the street! I love the street food.

In addition to the kid who bangs on the pan behind my departmento, and the gallos and barking dogs and very loud even for me music, there is someone tonight playing the tuba. I kid you not. It's been going on for over an hour, BOM bom BOM bom. bom bom Bom, bom.. It's not bad tuba playing. Just different. I never lived next to a tuba player before.

My neighbors are eating the pigeons. I've watched several pigeons come and go from various cages on the wall of the house behind me. It wasn't until I saw a woman stroking one and then put it back into a small cage that I got suspicious. When I observed them throw out corn meal to fatten them up I was certain.

My suitor from Guadalajara called me last saturday night. It was the 3rd or 4th time he's called and I've missed them all. Sunday I decided to call him back. I went to Lianna's so she could interpret for me if I needed her to. With the speaker phone on I asked " Es esta reyes? I asked. He said, "No." It's incorrecto or something to that effect. Wrong number. Wrong number? He hung up. I think he panicked. I'd used the redial so it couldn't have been the wrong number. The lying bastard. I called back. A woman answered. She said she was his wife. Lianna did most of the talking." She asked what did we want? Who were we?" Lianna said, Nada. Nada. and hung up. I wanted to call back and say, " I am a woman he calls, a woman he met in a bar." are you really his wife?

What is up with that? Why would a carousing man give a woman his phone number where his wife lives-which he did, and why would he call this woman on a phone that is apparently a home phone? Color me perplexed.I will never understand men.

Our cold spell is abating. If anyone has the notion to visit the weather is perfect. The bay is dotted with white sails. You can have my undivided attention porque yo estoy esparando.

paz en tierra,
ruby

"You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?" -rumi









fgt

Camp Aldama

Camp Aldama is arriba on Calle Aldama above the Pacific and the malecon. The street stops-but doesn't end when it runs into the concrete wall that keeps the dirt of the hill from collapsing. At that point Aldama Privata continues up the hill by the way of steps that I'm sure go all the way to heaven and Emilio Caranzza begins where Aldama ends by making a sharp right and going south to Gringo Gulch.



From my west window Camp Aldama has a lovely view of the ocean, roof tops, the sky, and into the neighbors windows if you care to look. From the roof the view is spectacular. Out the back the view is east into the hills and of the houses stacked on top of each other. the amazing thing is they have all been built by hand. Burros, prodded by a huffing and puffing man with a small stick or rope that switches their butts when they falter, haul the sand and bricks up the steep hill to be made into concrete and walls by the amazing Mexican builders.



Directly behind me, one story higher, I had an exhibitionist for a few weeks. After some procrastination I got my long lens ready to take his picture-but he hasn't appeared lately. The neighbors are loud. One man sings the same notes as the gallo crows. It's not as pleasant a sound coming from a man. Dogs bark, chickens cluck and crow, & children scream. The Mexican doorbell is standing in the street yelling or whistling. All household essentials are sold through the streets: water, propane, honey, flowers..I am sure there are other goods I am not aware of. Reyna owns the launderia where I have my clothes washed.





My dpartmente is a one bedroom with a bath that has a shower with enough warm water for a quick washing. That is the only place there is hot water. My shit is mostly too large for the toilet so the plunger is indispensable. there is no TV, no oven and glacial ice has overtaken the small fridge. But, the bed is comfortable & the space conducive to work & reflection plus the requisite siesta I have gotten used to.



Puerto Vallarta is not necessarily old Mexico. It is populated with many gringos from Canada and the States both as permanent residents and tourists. Several very large cruise ships arrive and depart every day. because of the large influx of English speaking folks it is taking me much longer than I imagined to learn Spanish.





There have been several issues of note that I will post in the next few days: Margaret did not have the appropriate paper work so is in quarantine. I visited Guadalajara and some of Michoacan over Christmas with my friend Susan and my friend Xochili invited me to Mexico City to spend Three Kings Day with her family last week. The humpback whales are here for birthing and fucking. I have seen them from my window once so far. Mexican men apparently have no concept of seduction-at least the ones I meet. This very evening I sat beside one in the main parque to listen to the orchestra play favorite Mexican songs that most people knew the words to.



Before I learned his name he asked me if he and I could walk to my house. I said no. He said porque? I said I didn't even know his name. He shrugged. Perhaps I have it all wrong. Maybe names aren't important. At my friend's house, her dad grabbed my crotch at each opportunity and wanted to take me to a hotel or just to bed me in his house. No. I said.. Porque? he asked. I am not comfortable. I said. I hardly know you. He shrugged.



I guess I'm a picky Norte American bitch. At least with my diminished libido I don't care much. There is a man-Reyes, that I met in Guadalajara. He strikes me fancy but when he calls he is apparently either drunk or can't think of something to say in English or simple Spanish. it will be a minor miracle if we ever see each other again.



My book is coming along as much as possible considering my limited disclipline and organizational skills. I have met an angel named Yolanda. She runs a wonderful place for disabled kids, Pasito de Luz. I plan to spend time there raising money and holding the children.



I love sitting on the beach with my friends having a drink, listening to music while watching the sunset and walking along the malecon the weekends when the clowns are performing in the entertainment pit, and the food: corn in a cup with mayo and hot sauce, aqua fresca, made in a big gourd with nuts and fruits for a buck! The people smile at us -sophi and me. Especially the kids love the big dog. I say, no muerte alot so they aren't afraid. That seems to be enough.

The folks in the picture are: Lianna, yo y Sophi having drinks in the Rio Cuale before dinner, an old woman in Michoacan taken by Susan, GI Joe in a lancha de coco, the upside down dog barks thru the quadrafoil (sp?), Quimixto beach I think, and the pier in Pv where we watch the sunset and get the panja for Yelapa and Huichol ninas.


Enough now. hasta luego. rubi