Mexico says hello

So. Here we are. Lots of time has passed. We've already been in Mexico for a month, which reminds me I should probably change the description to this here blog, and the picture, and such (luckily, I'm as undecided as ever, so the name at least still applies). If I were actually blogging, that is. Which I don't seem to be doing. Except for right now.

You know, this one might actually turn into a post. We'll see how long until my thoughts veer to the Starbucks conveniently located only a few blocks away, and I completely lose track of what I was going on about and I end up writing about how much better Mexican cows must be treated than cows in other Starbucks locations to produce such superior milk that is then frothed and made into the loveliest latte just for me and available to me now almost at any hour of the day and/or night, and then I'll just go on about coffee vs. Starbucks coffee for several paragraphs and cap everything off with a picture of the cool Starbucks mugs the Viking bought me and...

Well. That didn't take long, did it now? Still, I guess that counts as blogging. Yes?

But what is it that's kept me from spending my boredom and general (as well as quite overwhelming) inclination to sit around for hours on end by writing my caffeinated quirks (and sometimes preaching about coffee and/or other important issues) into the great big void, also known as the blogosphere-hood of the internetz?

Well, partly (the Viking would say mostly, but I'm still telling him my obsession will get better), Starbucks is to blame. Damn their comfy chairs, alluring coffee smell, and the staff knowing my name and being all nice to me in several different locations in several different languages! That's how they get me, they have nice-smelling, polite people and a place for me to sit down while I drink my umpteenth coffee of the day. Damn them. Sometimes there are even tables. Can you believe it?

But also, there's been quite a lot of life. Quite a lot of life in Mexico and Mexico City.

I hadn't realized how much I'd missed this place - its food, people, coffee, traffic, attitude, sounds, altitude, views, colors, and so on. I didn't remember how much this place had always felt like home to me and the Viking, or how many good friends we had here, or how ardently the customer the Viking had been working with worshipped at his feet (even when they kind of reeked [sometimes the feet, sometimes the customer]), or how good a proper guacamole really could taste when it was properly made in a molcajete by a surprisingly brawny old lady with more grey hair on her head than a docile Finnish bear after it had been hunted by my hunting-crazy relatives (imagine: Extranjera with a gun! I know.). In the two and a half years we'd been gone from here, I had adapted to life in Africa and really enjoyed it too, but I had forgotten how well this continent of colors and permeating smell of raw sewage really fitted my (increasingly cellulite-inflicted) contours.

Good thing we're back, and I'm getting a chance at remembering. (The Viking maintains he remembers everything, which I take to mean I'm lucky to still have him in my life, but also that perhaps that teetotalling-thing might just be of some value when it comes to such trifles as job performance, avoiding senility, and saying only smart things instead of blurting out drunken sentences like "two dead zebras would be a wonderful buy, yes please I'd like two." But that's only me. And then there's wine. And, in all honesty, I think the two are inseparable.)

Still, our stuff is stuck in a container in South Africa, the Mexican government refuses to officially acknowledge that they'd like for us to stay longer, leaving us to live in a vacation rental apartment, out of our suitcases, without a car, without a local bank account (leaving my Danish Visa-card soon closed and screaming for mercy), without a cellular subscription, and without anywhere to properly call home. Although we already are, referring to Mexico City as home, like we never left in the first place.

Sun sets over Polanco and Santa Fe, Mexico City

Yes, that brown haze is pollution. No, you can't see it when you're breathing it in.

On my way to Africa

Exactly one year ago today we landed in Madrid, Spain, after having waved Mexico goodbye, possibly for good.

Actually I can't remember whether it was one year ago yesterday, today or tomorrow, but I'm going to say today for dramatic effect. And since I'm telling you I might be fibbing, the fib doesn't really count as a fib, right? Just more of a literary tool. Yes? 

Although... I bet the Hubs would know what day it was. Maybe I should call him. 

[telephone ringing]

Hubs: Yell-O

Me: When did we come here?

Hubs: Oh, Hi Pumpkin! Did you know that the Woolies that's opening at the new mall is like the farthest away from us?

Me: huh? (also because his Woolies sounds like 'wolies')

Hubs: Yup. First you have to turn off the road and then you have to turn left at the parking lot entrance and drive aaalllll the way to the other end of the mall to get to it. It's at the far corner.

Me: What?

Hubs: It figures, when that's the only store we're gonna be going to, it's at the far corner of the mall.

Me: Why you telling me this?

Hubs: Just making conversation. Thought you'd want to know.

Me: I called you.

Hubs: Oh. Yeah. But you're gonna have to drive further.

Me: Across a parking lot.

Hubs: Just making conversation.

Me: But I called you. I'm using up my fokken prepaid.

Hubs: Thought you'd want to know.

Me: Whatevs. Love you. Bring pizza.

[Click. Or bleep. Or whatever sound cellphone makes when you hang up]

Exactly one year ago today we landed in Madrid, Spain, after having waved Mexico goodbye, possibly for good.

When the plane landed and we were faced with the smallness of Europe in the fact that we had to take two taxis from the airport to the hotel on account of having two suitcases each, it began. We began pining for Mexico. An nowhere else was going to be good. Although the taxi drivers all spoke Spanish (seeing as we were in Spain) they lacked the flexibility we had first come to accept, then to understand, then to utilize and finally to appreciate in Mexico. None of the taxi drivers were willing to strap a suitcase on the front seat.

Not allowed by law my Mexico-missing patootie.

After our (non-simultaneous) arrival at the hotel, and following the sampling of some suspect tapas from the room service menu chased down with some minibar-peanuts priced at €2 a nut, I began to miss the Mexican food.

Why is it that I never have any pictures of the food that I actually ate? Just stuff that is notorious for giving you Montezuma's revenge.

After attempting to chat with the hotel staff, the staff at Starbucks (yes, Madrid has them. A great redeeming quality), and one very, very rude shop assistant, I began to miss the Mexican people.

Mah peeps. Aren't they cute. Don't you just want to grab that hat, and...

An exact replica.

Ah, the people and their bold accessorizing. Purple is the new black.

More fashion choices. These are those pants that make it look like you have a tattoo, I'm told. 

Once I ventured outside of the Starbucks I noticed the pervasive dust on the streets and buildings of Madrid (however, I must admit this might have been the result of a going away party followed by one mother of an airplane-bender) and I began to miss the colors, that shine through any and all layers of persistent pollution.

Ain't them colors purty?

I mean it.

But then I thought, "I'm moving to Africa (the country). This will be an amazing adventure, this here Africa deelio. It really will!" followed by "I'm so lucky to be experiencing Africa, not just as a traveler, but as a resident, as a working part of it, as a Mandela-stalking nut. This'll be fokken awesome!"

Little did I know that I would discover blogging, only talk about stalking Mandela and the occasional Oprah, and never leave the house again.

Guess what the paint on the inside walls of our house is called?

Mexican sand.

Try that on for irony.

Universe talks to me personally and acknowledges the hubby as an appendage.

Warning: this here post will be more somber than usual, since I am sober and right at this minute feel like never drinking again. Except for coffee, lots and lots of coffee. 

So, I've been missing Mexico a lot lately. And, this is only partly tequila and tacos al pastor related. However, I have now started to think that perhaps the universe (Odin? Zeus?) is trying to tell me something. Yup. I do think I am that important.

About six months ago a plane crashed down, about 100 meters from where we lived in Mexico City, right outside of Finland's embassy actually, right where I used to walk, a lot. The plane crashed about the time I would have normally been getting home. Horribly, one of my pals got caught in the fire and is still not okay. Well, she is updating her Facebook, but not her blog, which says oodles to all of you people of the blog-o-sphere. Again, I will wish her a speedy recovery and count my blessings (Do Odin or Zeus do those? Or are they more in the I-will- curse-your-descendants-to-the-tenth-generation business? Or maybe that's just voodoo? But I digress). 

There is an outbreak of swine flu in Mexico City. 60 people are dead and more than 900 affected. Schools are closed. People are recommended to stay out of grocery stores, restaurants, and movie theaters (How my amigos at Starbucks must be hurting!). I am glad my BFF is out of Mexico City, but I'm really afraid for all of my other friends still in the city as well as their families and the family of my BFF's husband. Everyone seems to be freaking out on Facebook, but that could also just be cabin fever from the lockdown. On the plus side I've never gotten as many comments even on the very feeble status updates as in the past couple of days. And I do love it when people acknowledge, or like the fact that I am '@ hotel'.

This past Easter was the first time ever that Mexico City officials decided to cut off the water supply for a couple of days. Now, I have been hearing (too hangover-y to google it) for years that it is estimated that in 2012 there will be no more water in Mexico City, but this year was apparently an all time low. Perhaps now, all the people who happily water their lawns and wash their cars (read: have their maid/ driver/ gardener/ house boy/ guard / other person scared of them water the lawn and wash the car) every single day, will think twice if going smelly and greasy-haired for a long weekend, and not being able to flush away neither #1 nor #2 is on the other end of the scale. After experiencing me in the last two days without deodorant and perhaps rather unwisely appropriating perfume for the purpose, the hubby is definitely counting his blessings for not needing to face the unshowered me for days on end. Sauvignon Blanc does NOT smell good when it is exiting through your armpits. Just so you know, and since I know you were wondering. Who wouldn't be? Such important issues. 

So now I am left wondering whether Mexico is starting to look just a tad unattractive, or my subconscious (who is much smarter than the real me) is simply reminding me that you can never go home again? 

Now. Coffee.       

Edit: Apparently forgot all about the escalated drug wars earlier, and now they've just had an earthquake. 

Universe, I get it.  

Sun in Soweto and Giraffes in Groenkloof

I'm finally coming out of my sun and wine induced stupor. I am no longer suffering from headache, but still sporting a pair of practically burnt-raw shoulders. And that's after applying the spf 100 sun block both Saturday and Sunday mornings. Hmm, perhaps my skin color is not genetically suited for this part of the world. Hmm, perhaps there is another skin color that is more suited for this environment. Hmm, I must ponder this question further at some point... 

Yesterday, we shipped our visitor to the wonderful Cape Town, where she is happily convening with the cape penguins after our jam packed weekend. And what a weekend it was!

Since she only arrived on Friday, late morning, we decided to take it easy that day. She had, after all, spent the previous 30 hours traveling a distance that should not take more than 20 hours, all in exchange for some seriously cheap flights. For a moment there, especially since she did not emerge from the plane á la moi with puffy eyes, perma-slobber on the chin, a spotted menu on the front of the shirt, and severely swollen extremities, I truly envied her flight-travel stamina, as well as her more airplane-suitable size (both in my case to be found in the 'remembrances of things past' file) but then I remembered my philosophy is not about wanting to be more patient or smaller but wanting to travel in first class instead. Take that you envy monster! 

Anyhow, on Friday we lunched in one of my favorite restaurants, Cape Town Fish Market, before touring the local sights per her request - Woolworths food market and Pick n Pay. I always thought I was alone in my wish to soak up the local 'atmosphere' in the form of visiting grocery stores, post offices, train stations, doctor's practices, or the dentist's for that matter. I have an aversion to visiting any kind of doctor's if the visit entails more than just your general ogling and pointing (by me), but one of my coolest experiences from Mexico is my trip to a Mexican dentist who told me to ignore the burning smell as it was only the generator for the drill. That's hardcore, and the tooth still holds! I also now have breast-ultrasound experiences from three different continents and have to admit, also based on my talks with other women here and abroad, that in such issues Mexico (and paid for health insurance) rocks. Still, I much prefer visiting grocery stores. 

After getting completely sidetracked there, a couple of words on the night's entertainment: Braai and wine. Good, solid, thoroughly South African choices and fun had by all (we hope) combined with a new taste experience for our visitor - pork rashers on the braai. Didn't go down as well as the wine, but I still feel that scorched fat is an under-appreciated pleasure. However, that could just be me.

Early Saturday morning (far too early was the guest's opinion) we headed out towards Soweto and one very cool backpacker lodge and one even cooler shebeen (this link explains so much better than I ever could). Lebo's Soweto backpacker lodge is always our starting point in Soweto and if I was a tourist in Jozi Lebo's is definitely where I would stay. As on our previous visit we got to meet some cool Sowetans, discuss the upcoming election and the quite frightening possibility of the Zuma presidency, drink the local brew, sorghum beer (turns out we Finns have something similar explaining my not minding this stuff perhaps) from a shared mug, eat burn-your-finger hot vetkoeks, and walk the busy streets of a couple of Soweto neighborhoods while listening to kwaito blaring from all directions, and just enjoy and soak up the atmosphere. Cool stuff and severely burnt shoulders! 

As a fitting contrast to Soweto's wonders we headed out to lunch to Montecasino. After cringing at the fake sunset meets sunrise that is the ceiling of Montecasino, the fake pigeons and cats on the as fake windowsills, the suspicious looking 'laundry' hanging over the wannabe alleys, the painted cracks and ware on the walls, the plastic ducks in the moat/stream, and taking our visitor's or our photo with said details, we decided to lunch outside, in the actual real sunshine, in a place called Metropolis. The food wasn't anything special and some of our guest's health chicken (whatever that is) was actually undercooked, to which the waiter responded with a shrug and weird gestures that could have either meant 'we can cook it more for you' or 'up yours stupid tourist'. We'll never know for sure. However, we tried a wine I'd never had before - chosen purely on being not too cheap and not too expensive - Rijk's Sauvignon Blanc. A lovely new acquaintance. Almost sweet with a pleasant acidic aftertaste (how snooty do I sound). I'll definitely be having more of it in the near future. 

After a much needed nap for our guest, four cups of coffee for the hostess (how old are we), and no rest for the chauffeur a.k.a. the hubby, we headed out to dinner at tried and tested excellent Karoo Cattle and Land. Food was excellent, regardless of some of it being pap, which should not be classified as food but rather as edible wall paper glue. Excellent red was also had from the excellence that is the excellent Karoo wine list. The name of this particular excellence escapes me though, but I can tell you it was excellent. Excellent. And in case you were wondering the experience was excellent. However, before I had a chance to devour half of our guest's excellent malva pudding (thus hopping on the sugar train headed for crazy), the hubby steered us into the direction of Fashion Cafe, as we had promised this type of distraction to our single friend. Not so excellent. This bar is somehow in cahoots with Fashion tv channel, but since the music on their website annoys me too much to look further into this connection, I'll just give you my personal impression of the place. I don't think I'll ever be going back to this particular bar, seeing as I'm at least 10 years too old, don't like my drinks all fruity and pink, my shoes are far too flat and last year, my hair is too short, my hubby too bearded, and my ears too sensitive. Either I'm old and boring, or Fashion Cafe sucks. No need to comment on this specific point, especially if you know me. Excellent, thanks. 

On Sunday morning it was time for some wildlife. We headed out to Groenkloof Nature Reserve, a favorite destination, and this time around I was not left behind, but got within 15 meters of a real live giraffe. A giraffe is a beautiful being, and I only wish my eyelashes came anywhere close to the ones on these creatures. For almost half an hour we hung out with our new friend and his/her spouse or partner, who refused to face us but kept glancing at us over his/her shoulder very nonchalantly. To top off the experience, right before taking our leave we were introduced to a baby giraffe hiding behind a bush. Cool as ever. We also saw quite a few wildebeest and some zebras. The wildebeest were kind of aloof, but the zebras actually posed for us, making all the sweat and sunburns worthwhile. And I'm talking serious burns here. Permanent sun damage. Damn. Still points to SA.

After our hike and hangout with the local inhabitants we were ready for a braai. Many of our friends were there and as usual, whenever wine is drunk, the discussion turned to politics, race, and other such harmless small talk topics. I appreciate people's willingness to discuss, even if I cannot for the life of me understand where they are coming from or ever give any credit to some things they have said. I must admit some of it is taking quite a toll on me and on my love affair with this country. Perhaps I should just stick to easier topics for a while, and give my moral compass a break. Still, I could not have asked for a better immersion for our guest into the institution of the braai, or into the South African tradition of hospitality. Opinions aside, people are just really welcoming, friendly, and nice!     

Our visitor is due back on Thursday night and on Friday we are off to see some more wildlife, have awesome, non-draining discussions over good food and wine, lie by the pool but in the shade and hopefully not burn any more. This time around we are hoping to spot elephants, lions, rhinos, and cheetahs. And as I now sit around recharging my mental as well as physical batteries the snap-happy hubby is acquiring a lens the size of my thigh for his camera. Should make for better photo content on this blog. We'll see.

Homesick for Mexico

I thought that once our stuff finally arrived here in South Africa, I would start feeling properly at home here, I really did. That's how I remember it working when we moved from Denmark to Mexico. For expats, having your stuff often equals having your home with you. The place you put your stuff is just a canvas to paint your desired environment on, in our case a mishmash of streamlined Scandinavian design, quirky Mexican artifacts, odd pieces designed by yours truly, and Ikea. The house on the inside now looks like me. Still...  

I find myself feeling homesick for Mexico. And yes, by homesick I mean feeling like that is where my home is, where my real life is, and where I would like to return to. I don't just miss my friends, or Mexican food, or speaking Spanish, or being able to walk everywhere, or our apartment, or our flower guy, or the oh so juicy arrachera cuts of meat, or my local Starbucks (even though I do desperately miss all of these, especially Starbucks). I really feel homesick for Mexico.

Now WTF?!?! Why can't I feel at home in this awesome country?

Well, if I really take a proper look at my life I might just understand. Even looking back at my postings on this blog I can see that there are far too many complaints concerning boredom, not having deadlines, or not having stuff to do. The unfortunate truth is that no matter how hard I have tried to start up stuff - volunteering, a book club, sports, traveling, etc - things just don't seem to pan out for me. And to top it all, it seems that the hubby is going to be away pretty much every week at least for the next three months. 

Don't get me wrong, we have had  a bunch of good experiences, braais up the wazoo, different activities, and such things that are part of getting to know a new country. However, that does not a life make, and I guess that's what I'm missing. A life outside of this estate that is beginning to feel like a prison more and more every day. A life that I have chosen, filled with activities that are right for me, and with like-minded people.

Thankfully in my darkest hour I found this. Perhaps there is light (and life) at the end of the tunnel. I can't wait.