Trámite – May 31, 2006
The Mexican term for paperwork is trámite. It is a word that I find easy to remember because, to me, it sounds like it falls somewhere in between the English words trauma and tragedy. And, in my experience, this is exactly what one feels when dealing with paperwork in Mexico; traumatized and tragic. This week has been the week of trámite.
As some of you know and some of you don’t, I’m deep in permit hell. When sending our application to dig this year off, Harold called the people who review them and asked if they wanted the images in digital format. “Digital format? Why would we want that! We can’t do anything with that! No, just send paper copies, please.” So we did as asked. And, of course, you guessed it, our permit was rejected based on the absence of digital images. So, we have to gather everything together, get the digital images put together, and resubmit the proposal. Then, we twiddle our thumbs until these people next meet (could be next week, or maybe next month…), and review the resubmission. Keep your fingers crossed!
In the midst of these negotiations, I decided that the unexpected time off afforded me the perfect opportunity to go to the TELMEX office and attempt to get a phone line put in so I could attempt to get internet service at my house. What is TELMEX? Those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of making their acquaintance may need some context. TELMEX is the telephone monopoly in Mexico. It is the best example of why monopolies are a bad idea that I have ever encountered. You are about to see why…
Just an aside, you are going to read the story below and think I’m exaggerating for the sake of the story. But trust me. I’m not. I was in the TELMEX office for SEVEN HOURS!!! Yes, that is seven. I offer the cliff notes of the day below. Those of you who have had your own dealings with TELMEX, feel free to support my assertion of their awfulness in the comments…
In my experience, the earlier you get in line, the shorter the line will be. I expected that the lines at TELMEX might be epic by midday, so I very intelligently went first thing in the morning. I took a number (like at the deli counter). I took a seat. They were on number 59. I had drawn number 63. What luck! Thank goodness I got up early! And there were five people at five desks helping people! This wouldn’t be too bad….
Another aside. I now suspect the 59 represented the number of people they had assisted during the month of May. When I left the office seven hours later, they had made it to number 73. Yes, five people had managed to help 14 people over the course of seven hours.
A mere 45 minutes after I took my number (yes, I brought two books), they made it to number 63. I went up to the open desk, and Mr. Bureaucracy kindly offered me an empty seat.
“How can I help you?” says Mr. Bureaucracy kindly and smoothly.
“Well,” say I, “I would like to have high speed internet in my house, but I do not have a phone. So I think I need to have a phone installed and then get internet.”
“Yes, yes,” agrees Mr. B., “You do need a phone. So where do you live?”
O.K., so here is the thing. My house is in a pretty rural location. As a result, I don’t have an address. The dirt road in front of my house has a name, and the house is in a town, but I have no house number. I asked Zee about this the night before I went to TELMEX. She said, “Oh, most people in Tonancintla don’t have house numbers. And since you are the only house on this side of the street it especially doesn’t matter! I have a house number, but to do that, I had to go to the Presidencia [the mayor’s office] and hire surveyors to come out and measure and assign my house a number.”
So I hand Mr. B. a form that I’d filled out for a new telephone line that listed my address as Calle Alvaro Obregon S.N. (the S.N. standing for “without number”), Tonancintla. This is the appropriate way of listing an address without a number.
Mr. B. squints at the form. I know I’m in trouble from the look on his face.
“Without a number! I’ve never heard of such a thing! All houses have numbers, you silly girl!”
“Uhm, well, yes,” say I, “That is what I thought, too. But my house doesn’t have a number!”
“Ridiculous! Your house must have a number.”
We go back and forth about this for approximately 30 minutes. He says, “Well, I’ll just have to get the plan of Tonancintla and we will have to find the number.”
This sounds like a fine idea to me, and I say so, applauding him on his excellent problem solving.
But wait. No. This would require him to get up from his desk and walk 15 feet to where the plans are kept. On second thought…
He smiles nicely and tells me that someone on my street must have an address. I admit that yes, my neighbor has a number on her house across the street.
“Well,” says Mr. B., “What is that?”
Stupidly, I didn’t have it. But I did have her name. And I had her phone number. And this is the phone company… So I suggest that maybe we could look in the phone book?
Mr. B. laughs at the stupid Gringa and patiently explains that in Mexico, many people have the same name. I admit this may be true, but explain that my neighbor is an American, and that on my street of five houses in the small village of Tonancintla, there may not be too many people of the same name.
He laughs again. Stupid American! “There are many Americans living here, senorita, this is not at all practical.”
“Oh, of course, how stupid of me. Then perhaps we could look at the plan?” I say hopefully.
“No,” says Mr. B., “What you need to do is drive back to Tonancintla and get the number of your neighbor off the front of her house and come back here.”
I sigh, realizing this is not a battle I am going to win and agree to drive back to Tonancintla.
He takes pity and says, “When you come back, just come straight to me, do not start in line again.”
“Oh thanks,” say I, ever so gratefully.
I get in the truck. I drive back to Tonancintla. I write down Zee’s address. I write down the number on the telephone pole. I write down the number on the street sign.
I go back and wait for Mr. B. to finish with his current victim (the same woman who he started helping when he left) for another hour.
I retake my seat.
He says, “So, you have the number?”
“Yep, here it is!” I hand it over.
He looks at it, laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, but senorita, this couldn’t possibly be the number!”
“Uhm, well, uhm, it is. It is the number that was assigned to my neighbor by the Presidencia.”
“No, no, senorita. Tonancintla is a small town. This number is much too high. It should be much lower.”
I agree that Tonancintla is indeed a small town, and that there may indeed be fewer houses in the entire town then this number seems to indicate, but insist that it is the number on the front of her house.
Mr. B. spends 20 minutes speculating on what the number might actually be, ignoring my insistence that it actually is that number.
Then we go back to the discussion of what my house number is. We spend another 20 minutes discussing the fact I don’t have a number when of course all houses have numbers.
And then we go back to the fact that Zee’s number is much too high.
I again suggest we check the phone book. Somehow it seems to me that we have enough information here to make the search possible. Of course I am ridiculously wrong.
“I think we need the plan…” suggests Mr. B.
“O.K.” I agree hopefully.
He wanders off to the front of the office. He stands there and chats with a pretty woman for 30 minutes or so. When he sees me pulling out my book, he comes back, smiles at me, sits down at the computer, and stares at the screen for five minutes. No, he doesn’t have the plan. He looks at the screen. He looks at the form I filled out. He looks at the screen… After five minutes of this, he, with one finger, types in my first name. Then he says, “Is this your name?”
I nod.
He nods in satisfaction. With one finger, he types in my last name. Repeat above.
He sighs. He stares at the screen. He sighs again. He goes off in a completely different direction from last time and reappears, miraculously, with the plan of Tonancintla. He opens it out. I locate my street for him. He stares at it for a long while and then looks at me and says, “But senorita, these houses have no numbers!”
I want to cry.
I´ll spare you the rest of the exchange, which ultimately resulted in him looking up Zee’s address using her telephone number (as I had suggested five hours earlier…). After much going around, and two more lines, I finally end up back at his desk ready to have everything signed off on.
“So when do they come to install the telephone lines?” I ask hopefully. I’ve already been told that this will just get me a phone. Then I come back and stand in line to get the internet part of it worked out.
Mr. Bureaucracy looks at me kindly and says, “In thirty days, someone will call you to arrange a time…”
Yes, I spent seven hours getting put on a list to receive a phone call in thirty days….
So the saga continues… I am currently exploring other methods of bringing internet to my house! What the hell. Until the permit comes in, I have plenty of time to stand in line!
Hope this finds you all with less paperwork then I am facing.
Hugs,
E.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Mangoes and Pineapples – May 28th, 2006
As promised… I’m all rested up (well, sort of…) and ready to write properly! The rest of the drive was uneventful. I made the journey from Tampico to Veracruz in just under eight hours (eight hours non-stop to go only 300 miles!!!). It is an awful stretch of highway! It was bad last year. This year, the hard working road crews have improved probably a grand total of 300 feet of it. The rest was just a year’s worth of wear and tear worse! They don’t seem to grade the roads in Veracruz so much as pat them down. Add in the heavy traffic of double tractor trailers, and, well, I think even my truck bottomed out on a few of those pot holes.
It is a truly horrible drive, but waiting at the end of it was an evening of people watching in the Zocalo of Veracruz. THAT part of the day was lovely! I was going to take a picture, but I suspect the image doesn’t translate without the rest of the sensory experience. I couldn’t figure out a way to pack in the heat, humidity, smells, flavors, and sounds of a Friday night in Veracruz. I’m afraid those of you who haven’t been are just going to have to take my word for it. (Or better yet, try it for yourself!!!)
The drive up from Veracruz to Tonancintla was easy (except for that ascent of 7000 feet in under two hours bit…). The road between the two cities is a two lane (in each direction) “super highway”, and you pay through the nose in tolls ($30+ for the four hour drive!) for its maintenance. That said, it makes for pleasant, smooth driving, something I was grateful for by yesterday afternoon.
The only stop I made, other than for gas and tolls, was to buy mangoes. It is harvest season for those wonderful, small, yellow, extra flavorful mangoes, and the breakdown lane was packed with people hawking crates of them for 50 pesos/crate. For those of you who don’t speak peso, that is just under $5 US. I figured I could peel, slice, and freeze them for months of smoothies to come. It seemed like such a good idea at the time…
So, uhm, anybody who has tasty recipes involving mangoes, please send them!!! I’m desperate!!!
I arrived in Tonancintla at about four in the afternoon. Zee did an amazing job getting the house ready. She got the family who works for her in, and they cleaned from top to bottom, painted furniture, brought in new furniture, hung pictures, and filled the house with plants and flowers for me to gradually kill over the course of the next few months. It looks great! And it was nice to arrive and be greeted by something that actually looked like a home (rather than a place to camp out while doing fieldwork…).
Since then, I’ve been settling in, unpacking, etc. Today I went to the grocery store to buy all the start up necessities along with regular groceries. I was wandering through the aisles aimlessly, cart full to the brim, trying to think of what I couldn’t live without, when a middle-aged woman dressed for her day at the market (and I mean DRESSED - coordinating outfit, perfect coiffure and makeup, big rocks on fingers, neck, and ears, spiked heels) comes up to me, and launches into this long saga:
“Excuse me, Senora, but I hope you can help me. You see, usually my maid comes shopping with me, but she didn’t show up today [imagine the gall, on a Sunday no less!!!]. Usually she is here to help with things, but she isn’t here, and I must have a pineapple for tonight. Without her, I have no idea how to tell if it is ripe. I noticed you have one in your cart, and I was wondering if you could look at mine and tell me if it is ready?”
There was a long pause, as I, with furrowed brow, wondered what was getting lost in translation, because surely this grown woman didn’t need me to look at her pineapple…
Tired of waiting for me to respon, she grabbed my arm and dragged me down the aisle to her cart where she presented me with a decidedly unripe pineapple. I gave the top a wiggle and said, “Well, if you leave this out, it’ll probably be ready by Tuesday night, but it won’t be good to eat tonight.”
She looked desperate, apparently, I was dressed enough like her maid to inspire confidence, “But how do you know?!?!?!”
“Oh dear,” thought I, “my Spanish is not up to this task!”
Somehow, though, with lots of sign language, two pineapples, and what were probably appalling constructions on my part, I communicated just how to tell if your pineapple will be ready tonight or not. She beamed at me gratefully and went dashing off to the fruit and vegetable section, clutching her “unready” pineapple, to wiggle the top of every spiny thing in sight.
And as I watched her go, I thought, “I’m definitely not in New Haven any more!” (and when I paid for my pineapple, which cost me about 65 cents, US, I knew it for sure!)
That’s it for tonight! So send me your mango recipes, along with your news!
Hugs to all,
Elizabeth
PS And to those master gardeners out there… If anybody has any suggestions for raising basil in the tropics, send them along too!
PPS For those of you following this story closely, the new water heater totally rocks! I have HOT water! Not lukewarm water, not tepid water, but actually will-burn-you-unless-moderated-by-cold-water hot water! I’m so happy!!!
As promised… I’m all rested up (well, sort of…) and ready to write properly! The rest of the drive was uneventful. I made the journey from Tampico to Veracruz in just under eight hours (eight hours non-stop to go only 300 miles!!!). It is an awful stretch of highway! It was bad last year. This year, the hard working road crews have improved probably a grand total of 300 feet of it. The rest was just a year’s worth of wear and tear worse! They don’t seem to grade the roads in Veracruz so much as pat them down. Add in the heavy traffic of double tractor trailers, and, well, I think even my truck bottomed out on a few of those pot holes.
It is a truly horrible drive, but waiting at the end of it was an evening of people watching in the Zocalo of Veracruz. THAT part of the day was lovely! I was going to take a picture, but I suspect the image doesn’t translate without the rest of the sensory experience. I couldn’t figure out a way to pack in the heat, humidity, smells, flavors, and sounds of a Friday night in Veracruz. I’m afraid those of you who haven’t been are just going to have to take my word for it. (Or better yet, try it for yourself!!!)
The drive up from Veracruz to Tonancintla was easy (except for that ascent of 7000 feet in under two hours bit…). The road between the two cities is a two lane (in each direction) “super highway”, and you pay through the nose in tolls ($30+ for the four hour drive!) for its maintenance. That said, it makes for pleasant, smooth driving, something I was grateful for by yesterday afternoon.
The only stop I made, other than for gas and tolls, was to buy mangoes. It is harvest season for those wonderful, small, yellow, extra flavorful mangoes, and the breakdown lane was packed with people hawking crates of them for 50 pesos/crate. For those of you who don’t speak peso, that is just under $5 US. I figured I could peel, slice, and freeze them for months of smoothies to come. It seemed like such a good idea at the time…
So, uhm, anybody who has tasty recipes involving mangoes, please send them!!! I’m desperate!!!
I arrived in Tonancintla at about four in the afternoon. Zee did an amazing job getting the house ready. She got the family who works for her in, and they cleaned from top to bottom, painted furniture, brought in new furniture, hung pictures, and filled the house with plants and flowers for me to gradually kill over the course of the next few months. It looks great! And it was nice to arrive and be greeted by something that actually looked like a home (rather than a place to camp out while doing fieldwork…).
Since then, I’ve been settling in, unpacking, etc. Today I went to the grocery store to buy all the start up necessities along with regular groceries. I was wandering through the aisles aimlessly, cart full to the brim, trying to think of what I couldn’t live without, when a middle-aged woman dressed for her day at the market (and I mean DRESSED - coordinating outfit, perfect coiffure and makeup, big rocks on fingers, neck, and ears, spiked heels) comes up to me, and launches into this long saga:
“Excuse me, Senora, but I hope you can help me. You see, usually my maid comes shopping with me, but she didn’t show up today [imagine the gall, on a Sunday no less!!!]. Usually she is here to help with things, but she isn’t here, and I must have a pineapple for tonight. Without her, I have no idea how to tell if it is ripe. I noticed you have one in your cart, and I was wondering if you could look at mine and tell me if it is ready?”
There was a long pause, as I, with furrowed brow, wondered what was getting lost in translation, because surely this grown woman didn’t need me to look at her pineapple…
Tired of waiting for me to respon, she grabbed my arm and dragged me down the aisle to her cart where she presented me with a decidedly unripe pineapple. I gave the top a wiggle and said, “Well, if you leave this out, it’ll probably be ready by Tuesday night, but it won’t be good to eat tonight.”
She looked desperate, apparently, I was dressed enough like her maid to inspire confidence, “But how do you know?!?!?!”
“Oh dear,” thought I, “my Spanish is not up to this task!”
Somehow, though, with lots of sign language, two pineapples, and what were probably appalling constructions on my part, I communicated just how to tell if your pineapple will be ready tonight or not. She beamed at me gratefully and went dashing off to the fruit and vegetable section, clutching her “unready” pineapple, to wiggle the top of every spiny thing in sight.
And as I watched her go, I thought, “I’m definitely not in New Haven any more!” (and when I paid for my pineapple, which cost me about 65 cents, US, I knew it for sure!)
That’s it for tonight! So send me your mango recipes, along with your news!
Hugs to all,
Elizabeth
PS And to those master gardeners out there… If anybody has any suggestions for raising basil in the tropics, send them along too!
PPS For those of you following this story closely, the new water heater totally rocks! I have HOT water! Not lukewarm water, not tepid water, but actually will-burn-you-unless-moderated-by-cold-water hot water! I’m so happy!!!
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Just a quick note for those who are wondering... I arrived this afternoon safe and sound to be greated by snow on the volcano and a new water heater (party time!!!). The trip was incident free, believe it or not. I´m totally exhausted and typing on an awful keyboard, so I'm keeping this short, but I will try and find time and energy to write more tomorrow between unpacking and peeling, slicing, and freezing a crate of mangos (more on that tomorrow....). Hope this finds everyone equally as well!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
ROARING CAMP, MAY 25, 2005
When my sister and I were young, we used to go and visit our grandparents in northern California for two weeks every summer. Grandma and Grandpa were pros at entertaining us, taking us to all sorts of fun places like the San Francisco Zoo, Marine World Africa USA, and the Exploratorium. One summer, when I was perhaps eight or nine, the Grands decided to branch out and take us to a new spot. They picked the now infamous Roaring Camp ( http://www.roaringcamp.com/). I wish I could describe the horror that was that day at Roaring Camp, but somehow words fail me. (Cathey, if you feel up to the task, go for it in the comments!) In fact, I’m not sure the dictionary has words for it. The only attempt I can make is to explain that, for years after the trip, to this day, in fact, it is the favorite family threat.
"Behave yourselves or we'll take you back to Roaring Camp" said Grandpa on many an occasion.
And it worked! Cathey and I would turn pale and do what was expected because god forbid we should be forced to return to Roaring Camp!!! Anything, no matter how vile, was better then Roaring Camp!
If you want to know more then that about the family day at Roaring Camp, you will have to come to Mexico, share a beer with me in the Zocalo of some old city or other, and ask to hear more. But I imagine most of you are skimming this thinking, “Oh for goodness sake, Elizabeth, I’m not logged in to read about your not-so-traumatic childhood experiences! Get on with it…” So I will. Believe it or not, there is a reason I’m thinking of Roaring Camp today!
Few geographical locales have left me as reluctant to return as Roaring Camp. Most of the time, I can find some sort of redeeming feature to every place I visit, usually redeeming enough to make me want to return. My blind enthusiasm fails me when it comes to Tampico, Mexico, where I find myself tonight.
Tampico is like the Roaring Camp of my current reality. If ever you want me to shut up and do something unquestioningly, just say, “Elizabeth, if you don’t, I’m going to bundle you into the car, drive you to Tampico, and leave you there!” You will not hear a word of protest about whatever it is after that. I would probably do anything just to avoid a visit to this place.
Tampico is an industrial oil town about 8 hours drive south of the border. In addition to being hot and humid (which isn’t in itself disqualifying as far as revisits are concerned), it is dusty and gritty in that sand-in-your-teeth-at-the-beach kind of way. After about half an hour in Tampico, you feel like every pore is packed full of fine dirt. And then there is the smell… Tampico is an oil refining town and smells it! The traffic is a nightmare, the people are unpleasant, the streets guarantee that you will be lost, and since you’ve driven all day to get here, you are not just lost, but also hungry, tense, and exhausted. Basically, it is a miserable place with as yet undiscovered redeeming qualities! If only I could bring myself to look, but...
On the up side, I found a comfortable hotel which, while lacking air conditioning, has a restaurant and free wireless internet! The best part is that it is only two blocks from the highway to Veracruz, which means I don't have to go anywhere near the town proper when I leave tomorrow!
The last few days have passed quickly and, for the most part, pleasantly. After leaving Nashville (where last I posted...), I drove 11 hours or so to Lucy and Guido's in Dallas. I spent a couple of delightful days there with them (And Billy the dog, Fizz, Merle, Guerro, Izzy, and Darcy the cats, and the three tanks of fish whose names I never learned!). We went out to a sushi restaurant and had my farewell sushi/martinis the night before I left. Much merriment! But sorry, no pictures....
I left Dallas and made the relatively short (only nine hours!!!) drive to the Holiday Inn in Brownsville, spent the night last night, and crossed the border first thing this morning. I imagine the scenery is quite lovely between Matamoros and Brownsville, but I only caught glances of it. My full attention was, unfortunately, needed for the "highway" that runs along the gulf coast. I am happy to report that thus far the drive has been utterly uneventful!
Tomorrow, I leave Tampico for Veracruz, spend a night there (my favorite city in all of Mexico! But more on that in another post.....), and then do the last, short bit up into the mountains on Saturday. With any luck, next time you hear from me, I'll be writing from "home" in Tonancintla!
Hugs,
E.
PS - Matthew tells me that if you do something called RSS (I'm sure I'm mangling the construction of this sentence, but really I have no idea what I'm talking about....), you can subscribe to my blog. The address is http://feeds.feedburner.com/Mexico06-07 and apparently it will tell you when I've posted something new.... For those of you who just can't wait!
When my sister and I were young, we used to go and visit our grandparents in northern California for two weeks every summer. Grandma and Grandpa were pros at entertaining us, taking us to all sorts of fun places like the San Francisco Zoo, Marine World Africa USA, and the Exploratorium. One summer, when I was perhaps eight or nine, the Grands decided to branch out and take us to a new spot. They picked the now infamous Roaring Camp ( http://www.roaringcamp.com/). I wish I could describe the horror that was that day at Roaring Camp, but somehow words fail me. (Cathey, if you feel up to the task, go for it in the comments!) In fact, I’m not sure the dictionary has words for it. The only attempt I can make is to explain that, for years after the trip, to this day, in fact, it is the favorite family threat.
"Behave yourselves or we'll take you back to Roaring Camp" said Grandpa on many an occasion.
And it worked! Cathey and I would turn pale and do what was expected because god forbid we should be forced to return to Roaring Camp!!! Anything, no matter how vile, was better then Roaring Camp!
If you want to know more then that about the family day at Roaring Camp, you will have to come to Mexico, share a beer with me in the Zocalo of some old city or other, and ask to hear more. But I imagine most of you are skimming this thinking, “Oh for goodness sake, Elizabeth, I’m not logged in to read about your not-so-traumatic childhood experiences! Get on with it…” So I will. Believe it or not, there is a reason I’m thinking of Roaring Camp today!
Few geographical locales have left me as reluctant to return as Roaring Camp. Most of the time, I can find some sort of redeeming feature to every place I visit, usually redeeming enough to make me want to return. My blind enthusiasm fails me when it comes to Tampico, Mexico, where I find myself tonight.
Tampico is like the Roaring Camp of my current reality. If ever you want me to shut up and do something unquestioningly, just say, “Elizabeth, if you don’t, I’m going to bundle you into the car, drive you to Tampico, and leave you there!” You will not hear a word of protest about whatever it is after that. I would probably do anything just to avoid a visit to this place.
Tampico is an industrial oil town about 8 hours drive south of the border. In addition to being hot and humid (which isn’t in itself disqualifying as far as revisits are concerned), it is dusty and gritty in that sand-in-your-teeth-at-the-beach kind of way. After about half an hour in Tampico, you feel like every pore is packed full of fine dirt. And then there is the smell… Tampico is an oil refining town and smells it! The traffic is a nightmare, the people are unpleasant, the streets guarantee that you will be lost, and since you’ve driven all day to get here, you are not just lost, but also hungry, tense, and exhausted. Basically, it is a miserable place with as yet undiscovered redeeming qualities! If only I could bring myself to look, but...
On the up side, I found a comfortable hotel which, while lacking air conditioning, has a restaurant and free wireless internet! The best part is that it is only two blocks from the highway to Veracruz, which means I don't have to go anywhere near the town proper when I leave tomorrow!
The last few days have passed quickly and, for the most part, pleasantly. After leaving Nashville (where last I posted...), I drove 11 hours or so to Lucy and Guido's in Dallas. I spent a couple of delightful days there with them (And Billy the dog, Fizz, Merle, Guerro, Izzy, and Darcy the cats, and the three tanks of fish whose names I never learned!). We went out to a sushi restaurant and had my farewell sushi/martinis the night before I left. Much merriment! But sorry, no pictures....
I left Dallas and made the relatively short (only nine hours!!!) drive to the Holiday Inn in Brownsville, spent the night last night, and crossed the border first thing this morning. I imagine the scenery is quite lovely between Matamoros and Brownsville, but I only caught glances of it. My full attention was, unfortunately, needed for the "highway" that runs along the gulf coast. I am happy to report that thus far the drive has been utterly uneventful!
Tomorrow, I leave Tampico for Veracruz, spend a night there (my favorite city in all of Mexico! But more on that in another post.....), and then do the last, short bit up into the mountains on Saturday. With any luck, next time you hear from me, I'll be writing from "home" in Tonancintla!
Hugs,
E.
PS - Matthew tells me that if you do something called RSS (I'm sure I'm mangling the construction of this sentence, but really I have no idea what I'm talking about....), you can subscribe to my blog. The address is http://feeds.feedburner.com/Mexico06-07 and apparently it will tell you when I've posted something new.... For those of you who just can't wait!
Sunday, May 21, 2006
THE BIBLE FACTORY OUTLET
MAY 21, 2006
I was driving through rural Tennessee, or maybe Virginia, on my way to Mexico today, and I saw a sign advertising the "Bible Factory Outlet" a mere three miles ahead. Now, maybe it was that I had been in the car for way too many hours by myself, or maybe it was that there was simply nothing else to think about while driving down highway 81, but it seems to me that this billboard explains a lot about the current state of our country. Intelligent Design, the War, the Current Administration. Maybe America is basing its religious, and thus political and social, decisions on factory seconds!
I can hear the salesman now.... "Well, ma'am, yes, it is missing a few pages somewhere around Exodus 20, but surely you have the important bits memorized!"
Or maybe the one with missing pages isn't for you..... Perhaps they have some with slight printing errors for only a few dollars more? Say, missing letters or words here and there? Imagine the confusion that could arise from "Thou Shalt Kill" or the even more embarrassing, if somewhat less prosecutable, "Thou Shalt Covet Thy Neighbor's Wife..." (this last bit may explain all the Vasectomy Reversal billboards along the same route.....).
The moral of the story? (Of course there is a moral! We are talking about bibles here!!!) Next time someone starts spouting off about "God speaking to him," or, "the word of God," you might want to make sure he isn't quoting from the discount copy....
For those who are less interested in my political ramblings and bad jokes and more interested in my progress in Road Trip '06, I've made it as far as Nashville, TN, as of 8:30 pm CST tonight. Progress has been slow due to my excessive enjoyment of the company of family and friends en route. Those of you who were there to toast my departure with WAY too many margaritas in New Haven last Monday night may rest assured that those who followed you met the high standard you set (pictures to follow.... Check back soon!). I got a couple of good days in with my sister in Annapolis, met some people, saw some friends, had some good food and drinks (though sadly no baseball... We didn't want to get caught in the rain so we entertained ourselves other ways...).
From there, I went for a couple of ostensibly restful days at Lee's five star B&B (a.k.a. her house...). If ever you want a minimum of 12 hours of sleep, preceded and followed by home-cooked meals, just look Lee up! She'll take care of you in high style (she even asks your pillow preferences and remembers them on all your future visits!!!! I'm so totally in awe! Most days, I can't even remember my own name!). Lee invited a friend of hers up from Williamsburg on Friday night, and there was much revelry and knitting until 3:30 in the morning. (Melanie, feel free to post the link to your blog in a comment here!)
Yes. Knitting. And yes. At 3:30 in the morning.... And it was FUN too!
It was finally time to buckle down this morning, and, at 9 am, I left for the 12 hour, nearly 700 mile drive to Nashville, TN. It was delightfully uneventful (this year I DIDN'T abandon my purse in Asheville, NC....), though 12 hours with nobody to talk to but Gertie (my truck) and gas station attendants does leave one feeling the tiniest bit crazy.
Gertie, incidentally, is a much better conversationalist then the gas station attendants. Not to stereotype, but really, I swear to god, every one of THOSE conversations went like this....
"I need $XXX in gas, please...."
"O.K.... Well, little lady, you aren't from around here, are you? Are you traveling all alone???"
By the end of the day, I desperately wanted to smile sweetly and say, "I'm not little, and my jealous, ax-toting boyfriend is hiding in the toolbox..."
But I didn't.
And so 8:30 pm found me in Nashville, TN, irritated, punchy, exhausted, and checking into a hotel. I got a room, got a key, parked the truck, gathered all my necessaries, and got up to my room to discover that it was completely unmade. I mean REALLY unmade. After 12 hours in the truck, I wasn't feeling fussy, but there weren't even sheets and pillows!!! While the sheets might have been negotiable, the pillows just weren't.
So I picked up all my bags and got back in the elevator, where I ran in to one of the hotel employees. He looked at all my crud, looked at my face, and said, "So, they give you a room that wasn't ready, too????"
I said, "Too?"
He said, "Uhm, yeah, you aren't the first today...."
So then I was in a really, REALLY good mood. I went to the front desk, and explained, maybe not so patiently, the situation to the guy working there. He managed to make himself look very flustered and upset while apologizing profusely and searched the computer for a room that was both available and fully outfitted. As he stuttered and stammered his way through his fourth apology, I said, "You know, last year, I was traveling across country. I checked into a hotel in Mississippi, got some dinner, and crawled into bed to get some sleep. Sometime after I fell asleep, the hotel went ahead and rented my room out to someone else who, in the middle of the night, attempted to join me!"
He looked at me, his face went white, his entire, dreamed-of career in hotel management flashed before his eyes....
And I grinned and said, "See, so it could be a hell of a lot worse!"
And we laughed while he found me an extra nice room and took $20 off the bill for the trouble.
And now the king size bed is calling me, so off to bed! Tomorrow, I drive another long bit to Lucy and Guido's in Dallas. I'll try and write more just before I cross the border, so look for me on Wednesday night or later! Maybe I'll get around to putting some pictures up, too!
Hugs to all,
Elizabeth
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