Playa Caleta Pt. II

Lemme tellya a lil bit bout where I'm living now.

I moved south to delgacion Iztacalco, colonia Iztaccihuatl, about a month ago. It's kinda close to where I used to live in Coapa, but still central enough that I'm only 30-45 min from most of the places I visit and work at. I guess you could say that I live in what translates in Mexico City as the suburbs. They aren't planned communities like the suburbs in the States with curvy lanes weaving around cookie-cutter houses and postage stamp lawns, the streets are hashed out in grids and the gated entrances or the houses themselves come right out to the sidewalk so everything's walled in on both sides. Instead of front lawns most houses have patios, some with elaborate gardens of potted plants consuming every open space and bare wall until all you can see is the green of the leaves and the array of colorful blooms. Mexico City is truly the city of eternal Spring; here the flowers bloom year round. All the streets in my neighbrhood are named after (famous?) beaches, mine for example is Playa Caleta. It's almost like living near the ocean. It's customary for each colonia (neighborhood) to name all their streets with some sort of theme in mind, mountains, states of mexico, states of america, countries of europe, lakes, rivers, famous people leaders from history, artists, etc, etc, etc... (if you know of any of the other themes, leave a comment about it).

There aren't any bars and movie theatres and malls all over like in other parts of the city, things are pretty quiet here, but all the common businesses are no more than a few blocks away. Within a five minute's walk there's at least 7 corner stores, a barber shop, a park with a playground and running track, two taco restuarants, a papeleria (office supplies), the gym, and numerous bus stops. Within 10 minutes walking is an indoor market, a grocery store, several pastry and candy shops, and the subway station (El Metro). And, obviously, there's your standard camp of street vendors selling fresh squeezed and blended juices, fresh fruit, newspapers, tortas (grilled sandwiches served on a white bun with avocado and chipotle or raja chili peppers), seasoned and toasted nuts, fresh pastries, and pirated DVDs. All that's missing nearby is a bank, a movie theatre, and a discount pharmacy, but they're not too far away.

My house is a split level with us on the bottom and Marco, who's a message therapist, up top. I share the house with Francisco (the owner) and Cesar. Francisco is a theatre-actor/director/teacher and Cesar is an artist/dancer/activist. Francisco speaks a bit of english though we mostly speak in Spanish and they've both been very patient with my sometimes slow grasp of coversation. They're both laid back, openly smoke pot, and bang and boogie on their drums. At first I thought Francisco was gay... mostly because he walks around topless in cut-off jeans and there's a giant blue dildo sitting on one of the tables... but I've come to the conclusion that he's just flambuoyantly artsy. Francisco goes to his hometown of Pachuca pretty often and Cesar is out most of the day, so when I'm here I often have the house to myself.

The house has a pretty typical regional layout; outdoor car port, lots of windows, there's a washer outside on the patio by the kitchen with some clothes lines, and there's a "finished" rooftop with more plants and clothes lines. As you'll see the house is very artfully decorated and literally crawling with plants. Right out my bedroom window a garden is enclosed by the house; I often see birds and little lizards (salamanders?) scamping around in the early mornings and afternoons. It's one of the few gardens that I've seen planted right into the earth, blanketed with thick grass. Sometimes I go out there barefoot and read or sunbathe, it's really relaxing and quiet. Last week I noticed a very familiar green plant sprouting from the soil... do they attract me or do I attract them? Maybe I'm just throwing my seeds too far... :

There's no piped-in gas in the city, so large gas tanks have to be bought and replaced periodically... which is kind of a pain cuz the gas guy doesn't come everyday and sometimes we're left without hot water and stove fuel for days at a time. There's an assortment of bells, whistles, and chimes that denote the coming of the gas man, the water man, the garbage man, or the sweet potato man, so it's been tricky differentiating between the orchestra of noises (not to mention the three man band that comes on the weekends playing their beat-up sax, toy drum, and tin can half full with jangly change), but I'm getting the hang of it. Luckily, if I get hungry on one of those no-gas days, right out my doorstep is the 'McPigly' where I can get a cold bottle of Coke and a cheeseburger for under $2.

(BTW, Blogger sucks big asscrack when it comes to uploading pics... this took nearly an hour. See why I don't post pics more often?)