Beans and tortillas are alive and well, along with street food of infinite variety. Last week it was tacos de cabeza, lingua, y castilla. But truth be told, I’d sell my soul for a simple arugula salad and an heirloom tomato. What passes for a tomato here is more closely related to the pink plastic shells they bring out to fill with Easter candy than it is to a vegetable.
I dodged a Mexican bullet with the accident. Remind me to tell you how fucked up credit card damage collision waver coverage is, my default for many years. For one car, it might work, but when 4 cars are totaled, forget about it. Had it been my fault, I would have been wiring large sums of money from the local jail.
it is strange being in a land I don’t really belong – a language I don’t speak fluently, politics I don’t understand, a culture I don’t really know. The last time I lived abroad I was 21, and abroad was England, and I was with 90 other Stanford students. So in truth I had no idea what it really meant to live in a foreign culture until now. I kick myself for not doing it when I was younger. And I know Charlie, with Spanish well in hand and Italian fast coming, will look back on this time with amazement. At least I hope he will.
Interestingly, the Americans here are a different breed – fed up with the U.S., or escaping from something, or loners, or nomads that love to live on boats, or others that just kind of landed here. Lots of nice people but none that I really have gotten close to. Could be the place, the time, me, them, or shadows of the moon.
I suspect Rome will be easier. I already have a couple friends there, and even though I don’t speak the language it’s very cosmopolitan. And after all I am Italian. And Uncle Frank will visit, too, and quite a few others, if intentions become actions.
Counting the blessings for what we’ve had and what we have to look forward to.