Sin luz or How to deal without power for two days, part I

On Monday, the wall plugs in my house started exploding.  Sounds kinda cool, you know, except the part where the power strip your laptop is plugged into starts to BANG! POP! WHIZZZZZZ!, sparking and sending up plumes of electronic circuitry, which you then proceed to breathe in and cough up later, pretending to be a dragon, but I digress.

No sooner than I’d been able to unplug my laptop charger from the now-defunct power strip, I heard a BANG! POP! WHIZZZZ! from upstairs.  I freaked out.  No joke.  I was home alone, and things were beginning to EXPLODE.  It was frightening. 

De todos modos, I ran upstairs to check out what was exploding in the kitchen.  It took me a while to determine the source of the smell, así que the same burnt electric smell that was concentrated in my room was fairly well dispersed throughout the upper floor. Of course, by the time I realized that the microwave and the radio were the sources of the smell, they were goners.  I said a small prayer for them as I unplugged them, then continued my search for popped plugs.

This part of my search was complicated by the fact that while I kept hearing BANG! POP! WHIZZZZ!, I didn’t see any sparks or pulverized circuitry.  I eventually decided to see if the other power strips had been demolished.  I couldn’t think of any reason they could be – they were all turned off (mine was on, and I figured that was why it exploded).  I switched on the power strip for the TV and DVD player; both se aprendieron, so I figured they were okay and switched them off.  I returned to the kitchen to switch on the power strip for the toaster, blender, and small TV/radio and nearly electrocuted myself, srsly.  I flipped the switch and lightning jumped at me from one of the open plugs.  SO SCARY, pero everything worked, so I found a rubber pot-holder and switched it back off.

I went back and unplugged EVERYTHING.  When Dulce came back after the torrential rains, we went through and checked everything again, with no change.  We called up the electric company (right down the street), and we were told someone was already checking it out.  I, of course, had a presentation/paper in Spanish the next day, so I ran out to the printer’s.

Cuando volví, Dulce was outside, on the side of the house closer to la panoramica, talking with a couple of chavos.  The three of them were standing at the far end of the driveway, next to what turned out to be a downed power cable.  A large vehicle of some sort had knocked it down and the combination of almost-connected-but-not wires and the mixing of the 220 and 110 cable made the plugs in the house start exploding.

And, somehow, aunque everything (except the microondas y radio, of course) checked out before, the TV was somehow burned up as well.

We didn’t get power that night, so we spent the night at Dulce’s mother’s house.  So ended day one without power.

Food from Mexico

The other day for lunch Dulce made the most amazing food ever: potato-cakes.  They’re like pancakes, sort of, except made with mashed potatoes and fried, so maybe nothing like pancakes (excluding the DELICIOUS part, of course).

Well, this has inspired me to begin a series of entries about food.  More specifically, I will post a recipe that I’ve gotten Dulce to tell me.

...

This week in FOOD FROM MEXICO:

Cream of Bean Soup!

• cooked beans
• condensed milk
• salt
• pepper
• chicken broth
• onions
• non-crumbly cheese
• corn tortillas

Put some beans and approximately half a can of condensed milk into a blender.  Add salt, pepper, and a small amount of chicken broth, and blend until there are no more bean skins floating around.  Chop up a bit of onion and cook it in some oil in a pot until it becomes clear. Add the creamy bean goop, and heat until it boils.  Cut up the corn tortillas and lightly fry them in a separate saucepan (I suppose you could just use corn chips), then put some in the bowl you are going to eat from.  Cube, slice or grate your cheese and put some on top of the fried tortillas, then pour some of the piping hot soup into the bowl, and enjoy.  It’ll probably taste better if you dance the macarena while cooking, but results haven’t been confirmed.

Celebrating Two Months in Mexico

I have been here for two months.  In some ways this feels like forever; in others, I cannot hardly believe it.

I have a weekly routine now, with people I see on a regular basis.  There's the baker at the panadería that I visit on a nearly-daily basis.  His bread is always so fresh - "recién salido del horno," as Dulce likes to say. The lady who works in the tortillería is extremely friendly, even when she's sold so many tortillas she has to wait for them to leave the tortilla machine to be able to serve her customers.  The police officer who guards my street at night always offers a hello, followed quickly, of course, with a "where are you going?"

In the morning, if I leave the house before 9, there is a man who acts as parking attendant/car-washer in the side street that leads up to my house.  The tamale lady at the entrance of the callejón near the parque and the tamale man near Santo Café are regulars along my journey to and from el Centro each day.  The little old flower ladies in the Plaza Baratillo always seem to be having the most exciting conversations, and there always seems to be a church bell chiming somewhere in the city.  In la calle Sangre de Cristo, there is always this police officer chatting up one of the many ladies who work in one of the street's many zapaterías, tiendas, cafés, and restaurantes.

After class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Becky and I hit up one of cafés that are sprinkled heavily throughout the city (although, truth be told, it's safe to say we know which are our favorites).  Lunch is at 2, although when I'm late, it's closer to 2:30, but no matter the time, it's always the sopa followed by the main dish. We usually drink agua de jamaica, but refresco is sometimes our guilty pleasure.  Then I'm off to my descanso while Dulce relaxes with her newspaper or las noticias on the tele.

Weekends are a special little time.  Although filled with homework this time 'round, weekends are designated "Explore Mexico."  Last week it was lucha libre, which was even better than it sounds.  In a month, it will be Cervantino, which is three weeks of a veritable cultural vomit.  Three weeks of música, teatro, baile, and arte inspired Miguel de Cervantes' masterpiece Don Quijote.

... Which reminds me of why I can't believe it's already been two months.  Everyday I go out, every day has its own routine, same as before, and everyday I discover something else, everyday I put something on my To-Do-Before-I-Leave list. "Oh, I've never noticed that callejón before!" "They opened a new panadería on this street yesterday." "I walk past this restaurant everyday, I should go in one day." For everything I can cross off my list, I add one or two more.  "There is a church at the top of that hill, how do I get there?" "Those taquitos smell delicious..." "The colors of that cluster of houses are pretty cool."

And, sometimes, it's painfully obvious I've only been here two months.  Like when everyone gets off of the bus on some indiscernible signal that this particular stop is the bus' last stop, and I sit there, wondering "what's going on here that everyone wanted to get off here?," looking the fool.  Or when someone asks me a question and I have no idea what is being talked at me.  Or when the waitress says their special today is lasaña, and I ask, "what is lasaña?," only to realize I know exactly what lasagna is. (Side note: her response was priceless: ¡cómo que no sabes qué es lasaña?, how do you not know what lasagna is!?)

I guess it's all part of the study-abroad, cultural immersion experience.  I'm just here, trying to act and talk like a born-and-bred Mexican.  I have my good days, to boost my autoestima, and my lasagna days, in case I get too content. It's like one of my professors once told me: "If ignorance is bliss, then knowledge certainly can't be."  Here's to three more months of experience to help my knowledge.

Attentamente,
Jessi