this had happened until I looked up and saw that the roof was leaking from a hole where a light had once been suspended. I had already noticed the remains of old kerosene light fittings in the verandah alcoves and other places in the hotel. I was surprised that the electric power held out through this onslaught – there were a few big flickers. I didn’t look forward to telling the housemaid that I’d wet my bed.
When morning dawned the sun shone brilliantly and it was bliss to sit on a low wall waiting for a bus. This is one way to see life, I mused – sit in the gutter with a few of the local people. The bus driver must have had child-care duty that day, as he had his two-year-old baby girl with him. In these tin buses there was a flat area like an extended dashboard alongside the driver on which there was usually a box for the fare money, or else the money was simply spread on a piece of cloth. There didn’t seem to be any fear of theft. Neither was there a feeling of danger in the streets. People carried handbags and wore bumbags without fearing robbers. I noticed that people also paid as they got off the bus rather than when coming aboard. This driver had squeezed a rug into an indentation next to his money and his baby slept on it unconcerned. Later the wee one sat up on the front of the dash and watched the oncoming traffic. What a good little girl. There was not a peep out of her.
At times I saw other people working with a child in tow. A school teacher who was taking a group of older children out held a tot that was sucking on a bottle by the hand. I don’t think it was in school.
Turning my attention, reluctantly, to my damaged tooth, I decided to ask directions to a dentist from the man who ran the book shop at the library. A waspish little fellow, he was the only English speaker I’d found, but so far his track record wasn’t good. It was he who had directed me to a mythical book shop when I asked him where I could buy a Spanish dictionary. He was the sort of person who goes to live in foreign climes, considers the place his own and gets jealous of anybody else elbowing in. When you ask these people something they tell you the answer very fast and in the local accent so that you won’t understand. The book shop, I discovered much later by accident after several fruitless searches, was in a street called Jesus, but it was not pronounced the way it was written in English and he sure as all hell wasn’t going to write it down. But he did tell me the address of a dentist down the road, probably hoping I was going there to endure much pain.
Once at the dentist’s I discovered, by pantomime, that ‘El Dottore’ was away. I got another dentist’s address but was told not to go there until Monday. I supposed I’d live till then. I ate lunch in a tiny local cafe, unfortunately called the Colon. A set meal called comida – lunch – began with scrumptious tomato-based soup with melted corn chips, chunks of white goat’s cheese and avocado in it. I am such a messy eater that I normally never eat soup in public, but now I splashed it all down my front with gay abandon and didn’t give a hoot. I’d watched the locals at table and decided that anything goes. They slurped soup and shovelled food into their mouths with rolled-up flat bread. I was in my right element here. Following the soup came a thin beefsteak that was small, tough, but tasty and covered with a delectable meat sauce. It was like a lucky dip trying to find the meat but there was plenty to mix with the sauce – the cheese on top of it, rice and the ubiquitous bean paste that you are given with every meal as a side dish.
But no chilli. I asked for some and was given a big bowl from which I ladled liberally. I had expected Mexican food to have lots of chilli.
Lastly came a teeny sweet so small you could have put it in your eye. I think it was meant to be a creme caramel. The entire meal cost about five dollars including great coffee.
When morning dawned the sun shone brilliantly and it was bliss to sit on a low wall waiting for a bus. This is one way to see life, I mused – sit in the gutter with a few of the local people. The bus driver must have had child-care duty that day, as he had his two-year-old baby girl with him. In these tin buses there was a flat area like an extended dashboard alongside the driver on which there was usually a box for the fare money, or else the money was simply spread on a piece of cloth. There didn’t seem to be any fear of theft. Neither was there a feeling of danger in the streets. People carried handbags and wore bumbags without fearing robbers. I noticed that people also paid as they got off the bus rather than when coming aboard. This driver had squeezed a rug into an indentation next to his money and his baby slept on it unconcerned. Later the wee one sat up on the front of the dash and watched the oncoming traffic. What a good little girl. There was not a peep out of her.
At times I saw other people working with a child in tow. A school teacher who was taking a group of older children out held a tot that was sucking on a bottle by the hand. I don’t think it was in school.
Turning my attention, reluctantly, to my damaged tooth, I decided to ask directions to a dentist from the man who ran the book shop at the library. A waspish little fellow, he was the only English speaker I’d found, but so far his track record wasn’t good. It was he who had directed me to a mythical book shop when I asked him where I could buy a Spanish dictionary. He was the sort of person who goes to live in foreign climes, considers the place his own and gets jealous of anybody else elbowing in. When you ask these people something they tell you the answer very fast and in the local accent so that you won’t understand. The book shop, I discovered much later by accident after several fruitless searches, was in a street called Jesus, but it was not pronounced the way it was written in English and he sure as all hell wasn’t going to write it down. But he did tell me the address of a dentist down the road, probably hoping I was going there to endure much pain.
Once at the dentist’s I discovered, by pantomime, that ‘El Dottore’ was away. I got another dentist’s address but was told not to go there until Monday. I supposed I’d live till then. I ate lunch in a tiny local cafe, unfortunately called the Colon. A set meal called comida – lunch – began with scrumptious tomato-based soup with melted corn chips, chunks of white goat’s cheese and avocado in it. I am such a messy eater that I normally never eat soup in public, but now I splashed it all down my front with gay abandon and didn’t give a hoot. I’d watched the locals at table and decided that anything goes. They slurped soup and shovelled food into their mouths with rolled-up flat bread. I was in my right element here. Following the soup came a thin beefsteak that was small, tough, but tasty and covered with a delectable meat sauce. It was like a lucky dip trying to find the meat but there was plenty to mix with the sauce – the cheese on top of it, rice and the ubiquitous bean paste that you are given with every meal as a side dish.
But no chilli. I asked for some and was given a big bowl from which I ladled liberally. I had expected Mexican food to have lots of chilli.
Lastly came a teeny sweet so small you could have put it in your eye. I think it was meant to be a creme caramel. The entire meal cost about five dollars including great coffee.
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