Living in a third world country has it's advantages (well, it is cheap ! ) and disadvantages ( well, like living in a third world country). When my management company fails to pay the water bill, or the gas bill, or their electric (which controls the pump for water) all I can do is scream and yell. When there is a problem with my own utilities, I also scream and yell, but think I have more control ( I don't).
A new tenant moved into our building. I caught up with his Realtor and told him that he was doing his client no favor, for all of us were leaving. He claimed to have no knowledge of the problems with this building and of course his client moved in anyway. The first thing he did was to install a "Dish Network". For some unexplained reason, it eliminated all my English speaking channels. I either had a black screen or a notice from Dish to select "one or two". Since I did not have the Dish equipment, I could do nothing. There was also an "800" number to call. I did, but even though I was speaking with an American, they had a hard time understanding for I was not a "Dish" customer. They claim they had never heard of such a thing (just because something has never happened before, doesn't mean it won't happen to me). Finally they came to the conclusion that I would have to have the new tenant call under his contract for a repair man.
Even though he is next door (one floor above) His building has a separate entrance. I had no way to reach him other than standing in front of his door to wait for him to emerge. In the meanwhile I decided to call my own cable net work. Surprisingly, they offer a choice of "Spanish" or English". First they said, "We are having a problem, but we are working on it" This is a standard line just to put you off. I said, "No YOU are not having a problem, I am having a problem" After going through three people trying my best to understand their version of English, they agreed to send someone out. When??? Well, maybe this afternoon, maybe tomorrow. You will call? I asked. Yes, Yes she said. Miraculously the following day I had all my channels.
Except during an electric storm (which happens most nights now) when the channels just disappear. As usual, I will never know why.
My electric bill arrives every two months. I have made a mental note of when it is due for they only give you ten days to pay it. As I explained earlier, they do not use the post office, but send an employee to every household and hand deliver the bill. In my case this means it is slipped under the front door downstairs (we have no mail box). But they do not even bother to put it into an envelope. It is just a small green piece of paper. I never got my bill. Who knows, someone could have stepped on it during a rain storm and it would look like a piece of trash. After it was more than a week late, I knew I had to do something,.
I went to the office where I pay the bills and used the code from my previous bill. Sure enough, my name came up and it said I owed $3,262 pesos ( about $260.00) This would be a lot of money for two months, but it covered the month that I was gone, so it was really only a one month bill. I knew something was wrong and besides I did not have that much cash on me. For those of you who have followed my blog, you will know that this is not my first fight with the electric company. From my previous experience, I decided to do some investigation myself; a call to complain would do no good. I noticed that my meter was spinning out of control, while the other meters were barely moving. I went back to my apartment and unplugged everything. Sure enough it was still spinning out of control. It made me think that there may be another reason no one will connect to the underground wires that the City spent millions installing. If the wires were underground it would be almost impossible to steal someone's electricity.
Because of my previous calls to the electric company, there was no way I would have made myself understood, so I had Jose call. Finally they agreed to send someone out, but they had no idea when.
They never showed up at all. I decided to have Jose call again on Monday and this time get the number of the complaint order and with that I would go to the main office. I was afraid it would be cut off for lack of payment. Again Jose offered to break it with a rock.
The first girl spoke not a word of English and she didn't know anyone who did. Some how I got across that I had a huge electric bill that I would only pay, if I could speak to someone in English. They found another girl in the back. Even when they speak some English, it is very hard to understand. Anyway I explained that something was wrong with my meter. OH NO! she exclaimed, it is not the meter, it is the wiring in your building. I would never admit it to her, but considering that I live in the "Little House of Horrors" this was a possibility. I insisted someone come out and look at it. Reluctantly she gave me a number to call to set up an appointment. I thought I had won a round. I was wrong. Jose called and they said, they do not make appointments and would send someone out within 5 days, but they would call first. They did not call, whether they ever showed up or not I will never know.
The situation seemed hopeless until one day when I was talking to one of the guys who hangs out at my morning coffee shop. He gave me the telephone number of an electrician who would fix my problem. I could not see how, but set up an appointment and to my amazement he showed up on time. I did find out something I did not know. There is an air conditioning control panel on the wall. I ignore it other than to make sure it is turned on when I need air (it goes off during every electric storm). I thought that as long as I did not have one of my three units on that the air was off. It is not. As long as that little light is on the control box, the compressor is still working on the roof. That might explain the high electric bill.
His solution was to "hot wire" my meter. Really!! He proceed to dismantle my meter. I told him that the manager would be arriving in 30 minutes and to hurry up. He finished just as her little red car pulled up. He explained to her that he was just checking it for me. He tells me that I will now never have a bill of more than 200 to 300 pesos (maybe $20.00) but that I should never call the electric company again. I must always pay my bill on time and to be sure to call him before I move so that he can remove his wiring. HEY! Don't look at me like that. This is Mexico, it is the way things are done here. You gotta love a country where for a few hundred pesos you can fix almost anything.
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Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Thursday, July 12, 2012
NEVER BE LATE !!
Anyone who has ever spent any time at all in Mexico, must think that is a pretty stupid statement. Everyone is always late in Mexico (sometimes by hours, sometimes by days) I really don't think they even bother to teach kids how to tell time in school. Only Gringos wear a watch. No, what I am talking about is late for an official document. My FM3 card expired! (my permanent residency card)
I knew before I left for Japan that I had less than two weeks to renew it. But when I got back I was faced with that mountain of furniture that needed to be unpacked and placed. The apartment was filthy. To complicate matters my air conditioner did not work. It took me four days to get it repaired (at my expense) and then the water was off for two days. It just slipped my mind. A friend of mine reminded me the day after it had expired.
First I got the four pass port photos at Guadalaja Pharmacy that night, then got up early the following morning. So far, it has only rained at night, but this morning God decided to make an exception (just for me). My closest bus stop is four blocks away. Now I don't mind getting a little wet walking in the rain, but wading across rivers of mud is really unpleasant.
When I got to the former immigration office, I found it had moved. Fortunately it was now located in a very nice new large office just around the corner. The building has no signs of any kind indicating a governmental office or Immigration. No, on the door a hand painted sign read "Push" That is all. Because of the rain, I had no wait at all for the first girl (I remembered her from the last time) After scolding me about being late, she told me I would owe an additional fine (they love fines here) and I would have to write a letter explaining why I was late in renewing it (apparently just being stupid was not enough). She also handed me the application form which was not only in Spanish, but had to be filled out in Spanish. I don't know if it was the pained look on my face, or just my old age, but she took pity on me. She filled out the form and wrote the letter. But we are not done.
She also told me that I now needed to download a form from my computer and I needed some photos of my right profile as well (I guess so it will more resemble a mug shot) plus 3 months of bank statements and my electric bill. I told her I would be back the following day, but for some reason she did not like that idea. She said something about "10 days" but I do not know if that is how long the permit takes, or how long I wait before returning. The bus ride back was another experience. Again the bus stop was about four blocks away and now it is really pouring rain. When the bus screeched to a stop in front of me, it splashed muddy water up to my knees. When I got on I noticed that everyone was seated on one side of the bus. Then I noticed all the wet seats on the other side. The roof leaked (these buses would not pass inspection in Afghanistan).
Now to the other form that must be downloaded from the internet. No, it is not available anywhere else, she told me. I don't know how many of you have tried to navigate any governmental web site, but try it in Spanish. Well, armed with my Spanish dictionary I began. There were some areas that even with the dictionary I had no clue what they wanted, so I just left them blank and then printed out the form (how one exists here without a computer and printer, I do not know). A few days later (with my profile photos) I went back to the office. The same girl told me that I had printed out the wrong form. She pointed to something on the form about "Adobe Reader". I figured that I would have to download it, and then print out the form. But back at home, I discovered that my printer already had the latest version of Adobe Reader, so I tried it again. The same form came up. I printed it out and headed back to immigration. Again she refused the form and suggested I go to an internet shop down the street (a 15 minute walk).
There the nice man set me up at a computer and brought up the correct web site, but I got the same page. He insisted it would be all right and asked me to fill out the form (for the third time) Well, of course my reading glasses were left next to my computer at home. I did the best I could and the nice man showed me that at the bottom of the page there are two little icons. One said "limpiar" ( knew that meant clean or erase) the other said, "guardar" I had ignored it, but all he had to do was to click there and up pops the correct form.
I went back again to the girl at the desk and presented her with the correct form. She then went through all my documents and discovered that I only had 3 passport photos from the front side. I gave her my pained expression again and explained that I had 4 photos, but in shuffling back and forth three times, I must have lost one. She said that the 3 would do (why, if 3 would do, did they ask for 4?) Then she gave me a new number. I had been number 4 in the morning, now I was number 33 with 6 people ahead of me.
Finally my number came up and I handed him all my stuff. He carefully went over every line of every page. He was particularly fascinated with my bank statement, carefully reading every debit charge (I have no idea why). Then he discovered that while filling out the last form without my glasses, I had missed the expiration date on my passport by one day. He said I would need a new form! The pained expression on my face was real this time. I told him that I had already filled out the form three times and made three trips there. He did something on the computer and left the room. A few minutes later he came out with the form correctly printed with the right date. If they had the form there all along, then WHY...??? Oh well, it is Mexico. He told me to come back on Monday at 11:00 and they would have printed out an explanation of why I was late. I would have to sign that, take it to a bank (another 15 minute walk) and get a receipt for paying the fine. Then I would have to wait 10 days, download another form off the computer and come back and pay the real fee.
That morning it rained (the first morning since the last time I went to immigration). By the time I left the rain had stopped. I explained that I had an appointment at 11:00, but NO ! I had to sign in and get a number. When I was called up, I got the same man I had last week. He looked over the paper he had given me on Friday, pulled out my file and had me sign a paper that I had already signed. Then he handed me back the same paper I gave him and told me to wait 10 days and then go into the computer and download another document and then I could come in and pay the fine. I told him that he said I could pay the fine today. NO! You must wait 10 days, pay the fine, then wait another 10 days to pick up the card.
When I went back, I got a different girl that did give me the paper work for my fine. It was 1,558 pesos (more than the permit costs), but I could not pay the fine for two more days. "NO" she said, you cannot pay the fine until Thursday and the receipt (in duplicate) must be presented to the office on the same day. I play bridge on Thursday, so I was at the bank when it opened. I got the receipt duplicated at the internet office I visited before and when to Immigration. I had to take a number and wait. The same lady took the paper work and disappeared behind the wall again. Maybe they have coffee breaks there, but they are always disappearing behind that wall. She reappeared and told me to come back in a week (but not before) At that time I would be given the bill for the permit, go back to the bank to get a receipt, duplicate it and return to the office and the FM3 card would be issued.
I am going to assume that everything will go smoothly and this sage will be over (always the optimist!). Besides I am tired of writing about it so I am going to post this anyway. I have to get back to my problems with the cable company, the electric company, and finding a new apartment. There is always something to occupy my old mind.
I know what you are thinking "Why would anyone want to live in Mexico" Well, there are compensations (like the 48 hours of no booze) and the people are basically really nice. Dealing with anything to do with a governmental agency is very, very difficult. But, as I have said before, these "little problems" keeps my mind active (this is important at my age). My life here is never dull, sometimes very frustrating, but never boring.
********************************************
I knew before I left for Japan that I had less than two weeks to renew it. But when I got back I was faced with that mountain of furniture that needed to be unpacked and placed. The apartment was filthy. To complicate matters my air conditioner did not work. It took me four days to get it repaired (at my expense) and then the water was off for two days. It just slipped my mind. A friend of mine reminded me the day after it had expired.
First I got the four pass port photos at Guadalaja Pharmacy that night, then got up early the following morning. So far, it has only rained at night, but this morning God decided to make an exception (just for me). My closest bus stop is four blocks away. Now I don't mind getting a little wet walking in the rain, but wading across rivers of mud is really unpleasant.
When I got to the former immigration office, I found it had moved. Fortunately it was now located in a very nice new large office just around the corner. The building has no signs of any kind indicating a governmental office or Immigration. No, on the door a hand painted sign read "Push" That is all. Because of the rain, I had no wait at all for the first girl (I remembered her from the last time) After scolding me about being late, she told me I would owe an additional fine (they love fines here) and I would have to write a letter explaining why I was late in renewing it (apparently just being stupid was not enough). She also handed me the application form which was not only in Spanish, but had to be filled out in Spanish. I don't know if it was the pained look on my face, or just my old age, but she took pity on me. She filled out the form and wrote the letter. But we are not done.
She also told me that I now needed to download a form from my computer and I needed some photos of my right profile as well (I guess so it will more resemble a mug shot) plus 3 months of bank statements and my electric bill. I told her I would be back the following day, but for some reason she did not like that idea. She said something about "10 days" but I do not know if that is how long the permit takes, or how long I wait before returning. The bus ride back was another experience. Again the bus stop was about four blocks away and now it is really pouring rain. When the bus screeched to a stop in front of me, it splashed muddy water up to my knees. When I got on I noticed that everyone was seated on one side of the bus. Then I noticed all the wet seats on the other side. The roof leaked (these buses would not pass inspection in Afghanistan).
Now to the other form that must be downloaded from the internet. No, it is not available anywhere else, she told me. I don't know how many of you have tried to navigate any governmental web site, but try it in Spanish. Well, armed with my Spanish dictionary I began. There were some areas that even with the dictionary I had no clue what they wanted, so I just left them blank and then printed out the form (how one exists here without a computer and printer, I do not know). A few days later (with my profile photos) I went back to the office. The same girl told me that I had printed out the wrong form. She pointed to something on the form about "Adobe Reader". I figured that I would have to download it, and then print out the form. But back at home, I discovered that my printer already had the latest version of Adobe Reader, so I tried it again. The same form came up. I printed it out and headed back to immigration. Again she refused the form and suggested I go to an internet shop down the street (a 15 minute walk).
There the nice man set me up at a computer and brought up the correct web site, but I got the same page. He insisted it would be all right and asked me to fill out the form (for the third time) Well, of course my reading glasses were left next to my computer at home. I did the best I could and the nice man showed me that at the bottom of the page there are two little icons. One said "limpiar" ( knew that meant clean or erase) the other said, "guardar" I had ignored it, but all he had to do was to click there and up pops the correct form.
I went back again to the girl at the desk and presented her with the correct form. She then went through all my documents and discovered that I only had 3 passport photos from the front side. I gave her my pained expression again and explained that I had 4 photos, but in shuffling back and forth three times, I must have lost one. She said that the 3 would do (why, if 3 would do, did they ask for 4?) Then she gave me a new number. I had been number 4 in the morning, now I was number 33 with 6 people ahead of me.
Finally my number came up and I handed him all my stuff. He carefully went over every line of every page. He was particularly fascinated with my bank statement, carefully reading every debit charge (I have no idea why). Then he discovered that while filling out the last form without my glasses, I had missed the expiration date on my passport by one day. He said I would need a new form! The pained expression on my face was real this time. I told him that I had already filled out the form three times and made three trips there. He did something on the computer and left the room. A few minutes later he came out with the form correctly printed with the right date. If they had the form there all along, then WHY...??? Oh well, it is Mexico. He told me to come back on Monday at 11:00 and they would have printed out an explanation of why I was late. I would have to sign that, take it to a bank (another 15 minute walk) and get a receipt for paying the fine. Then I would have to wait 10 days, download another form off the computer and come back and pay the real fee.
That morning it rained (the first morning since the last time I went to immigration). By the time I left the rain had stopped. I explained that I had an appointment at 11:00, but NO ! I had to sign in and get a number. When I was called up, I got the same man I had last week. He looked over the paper he had given me on Friday, pulled out my file and had me sign a paper that I had already signed. Then he handed me back the same paper I gave him and told me to wait 10 days and then go into the computer and download another document and then I could come in and pay the fine. I told him that he said I could pay the fine today. NO! You must wait 10 days, pay the fine, then wait another 10 days to pick up the card.
When I went back, I got a different girl that did give me the paper work for my fine. It was 1,558 pesos (more than the permit costs), but I could not pay the fine for two more days. "NO" she said, you cannot pay the fine until Thursday and the receipt (in duplicate) must be presented to the office on the same day. I play bridge on Thursday, so I was at the bank when it opened. I got the receipt duplicated at the internet office I visited before and when to Immigration. I had to take a number and wait. The same lady took the paper work and disappeared behind the wall again. Maybe they have coffee breaks there, but they are always disappearing behind that wall. She reappeared and told me to come back in a week (but not before) At that time I would be given the bill for the permit, go back to the bank to get a receipt, duplicate it and return to the office and the FM3 card would be issued.
I am going to assume that everything will go smoothly and this sage will be over (always the optimist!). Besides I am tired of writing about it so I am going to post this anyway. I have to get back to my problems with the cable company, the electric company, and finding a new apartment. There is always something to occupy my old mind.
I know what you are thinking "Why would anyone want to live in Mexico" Well, there are compensations (like the 48 hours of no booze) and the people are basically really nice. Dealing with anything to do with a governmental agency is very, very difficult. But, as I have said before, these "little problems" keeps my mind active (this is important at my age). My life here is never dull, sometimes very frustrating, but never boring.
********************************************
Monday, July 2, 2012
THE WORST 48 HOURS IN MEXICO
Luckily it only happens only once every six years. People had been talking about it for six months, as if it was the real Dooms Day. Everyone was worried about it. Election day was approaching ! They close all the bars, and all sales of alcohol are prohibited from Friday at midnight until midnight Sunday. Why do they close on Friday, when the election isn't until Sunday? Well ... because it is Mexico.
I had bought plenty of beer and checked to make sure I still had a few wine bottles left, so I was prepared. Or, so I thought. Saturday Jose (with the stand below my balcony) stopped and asked if he could borrow six beers to get him through the week end. I said, "Sure! for I stocked up" He answered that he had too, but his brother-in-law had drank it all that morning.
It was nice not to have the drunk that sleeps on the stairs to my building. I don't know why he decided to live under my balcony, maybe because he can panhandle the tourists getting off the buses. When he isn't talking to himself he sings. He has the loudest booming voice I have ever heard. He could have been a tenor at the opera (if he knew what that was). He just disappeared. I have no idea if he stayed home (assuming he actually has a home) or they locked him up. Anyway it was much quieter with out him.
Sunday morning after watering my plants, hosing the patio and moping the floors I took off for my morning latte. Of course all the bars and liquor stores were closed, but also a lot of restaurants decided not to open. It was like a ghost town. They have to return to their home states to vote, so I lot of the people who work here went home for the week end. I was happy to find my coffee house still open. There were almost no cars on the streets. Then I noticed that the pick ups packed with kids and boom boxes weren't going up and down the streets blasting away.
On the way back, Jose stopped me with a pleading look on his face. Could he have more beer? His brother in law had ..... Yeah, Yeah! Mexicans never plan ahead for anything, even 48 hours with no booze. I told him I would have to count what was left and he followed me to my apartment. Then, I remembered that my neighbor upstairs had invited me for Sunday dinner the night before. I had eagerly
accepted as I normally spent every night in a bar and had nothing to do. Checking my stock, I decided that since I wasn't going to be home anyway, he could have another six pack. It was around 7:00 (just before I was invited for dinner) that my neighbor came down to ask if I had any wine. Did she really forget about the elections, or was this dinner just a ruse for booze.
The dinner turned out to be quite nice. She had barbequed and set up a table on her terrace. Because her terrace has no cover, I was afraid it would rain any moment, but it did not. After we finished my bottle of wine, it turned out she did have some wine. Well sort of ... it was in a little carton container about the size of a small box of crackers. I was tired anyway and excused myself. When I got home I found I still had two bottles of beer left and one bottle of wine, so I survived the 48 hours.
All in all, I would say that I rather enjoyed it. The town was extremely quiet. The people getting on and off the buses made no noise. Mexicans really have no idea what to do or how to behave when they are sober. So mark down the date of the first Sunday in July, in 2018. But if you bring your own booze, it is really not that bad.
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I had bought plenty of beer and checked to make sure I still had a few wine bottles left, so I was prepared. Or, so I thought. Saturday Jose (with the stand below my balcony) stopped and asked if he could borrow six beers to get him through the week end. I said, "Sure! for I stocked up" He answered that he had too, but his brother-in-law had drank it all that morning.
It was nice not to have the drunk that sleeps on the stairs to my building. I don't know why he decided to live under my balcony, maybe because he can panhandle the tourists getting off the buses. When he isn't talking to himself he sings. He has the loudest booming voice I have ever heard. He could have been a tenor at the opera (if he knew what that was). He just disappeared. I have no idea if he stayed home (assuming he actually has a home) or they locked him up. Anyway it was much quieter with out him.
Sunday morning after watering my plants, hosing the patio and moping the floors I took off for my morning latte. Of course all the bars and liquor stores were closed, but also a lot of restaurants decided not to open. It was like a ghost town. They have to return to their home states to vote, so I lot of the people who work here went home for the week end. I was happy to find my coffee house still open. There were almost no cars on the streets. Then I noticed that the pick ups packed with kids and boom boxes weren't going up and down the streets blasting away.
On the way back, Jose stopped me with a pleading look on his face. Could he have more beer? His brother in law had ..... Yeah, Yeah! Mexicans never plan ahead for anything, even 48 hours with no booze. I told him I would have to count what was left and he followed me to my apartment. Then, I remembered that my neighbor upstairs had invited me for Sunday dinner the night before. I had eagerly
accepted as I normally spent every night in a bar and had nothing to do. Checking my stock, I decided that since I wasn't going to be home anyway, he could have another six pack. It was around 7:00 (just before I was invited for dinner) that my neighbor came down to ask if I had any wine. Did she really forget about the elections, or was this dinner just a ruse for booze.
The dinner turned out to be quite nice. She had barbequed and set up a table on her terrace. Because her terrace has no cover, I was afraid it would rain any moment, but it did not. After we finished my bottle of wine, it turned out she did have some wine. Well sort of ... it was in a little carton container about the size of a small box of crackers. I was tired anyway and excused myself. When I got home I found I still had two bottles of beer left and one bottle of wine, so I survived the 48 hours.
All in all, I would say that I rather enjoyed it. The town was extremely quiet. The people getting on and off the buses made no noise. Mexicans really have no idea what to do or how to behave when they are sober. So mark down the date of the first Sunday in July, in 2018. But if you bring your own booze, it is really not that bad.
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Wednesday, June 20, 2012
JAPAN
How does one describe, let alone explain Japan in one short posting? One can't; but of course I will try by giving you some of my observations. First the flight over is endless. You are in the air for 11 hours, plus getting to the airport, the wait at the airport (4 hours as the plane was late in leaving). Once I got to Narita Airport, I had to find the desk that sells the bus tickets to the city where my friends live. By the time I found it, they said I had less than 30 minutes before the bus left. Enough time to get a beer and have a few cigarettes.
First observation about Japan. They sell beer out of vending machines. How do they control the use by minors? They don't have to for the Japanese are trained from birth to do what they are told. They never question authority. Japan enjoys one of the lowest crime rates in the world. Of course they have their share of kooks, like the ones who spread serin gas in a subway 14 years ago. Some of the perpetrators have been jailed, but others remained uncaught. Amazingly the leader's photo was shown almost daily in the newspapers where he was shown on video tapes, shopping. They just caught him (only 14 years later).
Back to my trip: the bus ride was almost 3 hours long. Your first impression of Japan is how green it is. The airport appears to have been built on a peninsula of what had been rice fields. Although there are many tall mountains on the island nation, near the coast they have low rolling hills of mostly pine trees. Every inch of flat land is dedicated to rice farming. Small plots of land are divided up and flooded, then the tiny rice plants are neatly placed in rows. The vibrant green of the new rice plants is matched by the dense green growth along the highway (amazing since the rainy reason had yet to begin). The flooded rice fields mirror the small hills surrounding them. Amazingly rice (the staple of Japan) is priced like gourmet food. In order to protect the poor rice farmers, Japan allows almost no rice to be imported (even though it would be much cheaper)
We move on passing by Tokyo, dominated by the new SkyTower. It is the tallest building in the world (they added a few feet to it in order to best the one in Dubai). Nestled among the many high rises, you will see Disney World with the Sleeping Beauty Castle and the Matterhorn ride peaking up. Next you pass the many small cities on the outskirts of Tokyo. They resemble the small industrial cities that surround downtown L.A. with funny looking signs.
My friend's wife and a neighbor met me at the bus/train station in Ashikaga. She had the neighbor drive for she knew I would arrive with a huge suitcase and the neighbor drove a large SUV. Fortunately I did not arrive until it was almost dark. After catching up on things, I went to bed (after almost 24 hours awake). Mostly we just visited, went to lunch and watched old movies. My friend has an enormous collection of movies (we watched all 6 episodes of Harry Potter). Noriko, (Kyl's wife) works at least 16 hours a day. She not only cleans the house, cooks, does the dishes, laundry, iron etc. She also spends a couple of hours every day in their garden. The house was built on a Western plan with a few exceptions. There is a Gencon entry and the main bathroom is downstairs. Due to the frequent earthquakes, they don't put tubs on showers on the second floor. Yes, we had a couple of really good shakes while I was there.
You may be surprised to hear that most of the meals we had were either French, Italian, or Chinese. Of course we had to go to a sushi restaurant. The group of men seating that look like they are playing video games or at slot machines are actually eating sushi. Out of the kitchen comes a conveyer belt that wraps around three or four seating sections. When you see what you want, you simple pick it up off the belt. The color of the plates will tell the waitress what to charge. Most restaurants in Japan have a button that rings a bell for the waitress and this one also had a tap for hot water for tea. The Japanese are so cleanly minded that many restaurants also have a basin in the entry to watch your hands. You also always get a hot towel to clean your hands.
My favorite chef was Yoshio who studied under a French chef. He can prepare anything and always beautifully presented. I am including a picture of my lamb chops with mustard sauce and a typical dessert dish. My favorite Japanese food is tempura, but it is not as popular in Japan as you might think. We had to drive for about 30 or 40 minutes for the best tempura restaurant. The koi pond was in front of this restaurant. Don't expect to see a lot of Japanese gardens. Although my friends have a lovely garden carefully tended by Noriko, the house across the street is surrounded by gravel; not one tree or shrub. This is more typical than you would think. Many large homes have no landscaping at all. If there is a garden it is more reminiscent of an English garden with lots and lots of roses.
My friend Kyl has lived in Japan for over 40 years and teaches English. Sometimes in a class room and sometimes in his home. I sat in on several of his classes. Since I was introduced as an American living in Mexico, I expected questions on Mexico. No, they were only interested in what I thought about Japan. In spite of all the Japanese tourists you see everywhere, they mainly only think of Japan. It is a very closed, closeted society. It is the purest race in the world as immigration is almost impossible and they rarely intermarry. They have an enormous growing aging population. The birth rate is 1.2 children per family so it is a shrinking population.
At one class I expressed an interest in Zen Buddhism, so one his students (that I knew from other visits) gave me a book called "The Zen Way" I find it fascinating, but it is a very slow read. It is difficult for the Western mind to comprehend and understand the ways of Buddha (let alone a mind as old as mine). Ever try to hear the sound of one hand clapping, or smell the scent of blue? Like I said, it will take a long time to get through the book if I ever do. Sometimes I think that I push my mind and body too far for my advanced age. On the other hand I believe that if I did not, I would die (If not in body in spirit). And so I push on.
First observation about Japan. They sell beer out of vending machines. How do they control the use by minors? They don't have to for the Japanese are trained from birth to do what they are told. They never question authority. Japan enjoys one of the lowest crime rates in the world. Of course they have their share of kooks, like the ones who spread serin gas in a subway 14 years ago. Some of the perpetrators have been jailed, but others remained uncaught. Amazingly the leader's photo was shown almost daily in the newspapers where he was shown on video tapes, shopping. They just caught him (only 14 years later).
Back to my trip: the bus ride was almost 3 hours long. Your first impression of Japan is how green it is. The airport appears to have been built on a peninsula of what had been rice fields. Although there are many tall mountains on the island nation, near the coast they have low rolling hills of mostly pine trees. Every inch of flat land is dedicated to rice farming. Small plots of land are divided up and flooded, then the tiny rice plants are neatly placed in rows. The vibrant green of the new rice plants is matched by the dense green growth along the highway (amazing since the rainy reason had yet to begin). The flooded rice fields mirror the small hills surrounding them. Amazingly rice (the staple of Japan) is priced like gourmet food. In order to protect the poor rice farmers, Japan allows almost no rice to be imported (even though it would be much cheaper)
We move on passing by Tokyo, dominated by the new SkyTower. It is the tallest building in the world (they added a few feet to it in order to best the one in Dubai). Nestled among the many high rises, you will see Disney World with the Sleeping Beauty Castle and the Matterhorn ride peaking up. Next you pass the many small cities on the outskirts of Tokyo. They resemble the small industrial cities that surround downtown L.A. with funny looking signs.
My friend's wife and a neighbor met me at the bus/train station in Ashikaga. She had the neighbor drive for she knew I would arrive with a huge suitcase and the neighbor drove a large SUV. Fortunately I did not arrive until it was almost dark. After catching up on things, I went to bed (after almost 24 hours awake). Mostly we just visited, went to lunch and watched old movies. My friend has an enormous collection of movies (we watched all 6 episodes of Harry Potter). Noriko, (Kyl's wife) works at least 16 hours a day. She not only cleans the house, cooks, does the dishes, laundry, iron etc. She also spends a couple of hours every day in their garden. The house was built on a Western plan with a few exceptions. There is a Gencon entry and the main bathroom is downstairs. Due to the frequent earthquakes, they don't put tubs on showers on the second floor. Yes, we had a couple of really good shakes while I was there.
You may be surprised to hear that most of the meals we had were either French, Italian, or Chinese. Of course we had to go to a sushi restaurant. The group of men seating that look like they are playing video games or at slot machines are actually eating sushi. Out of the kitchen comes a conveyer belt that wraps around three or four seating sections. When you see what you want, you simple pick it up off the belt. The color of the plates will tell the waitress what to charge. Most restaurants in Japan have a button that rings a bell for the waitress and this one also had a tap for hot water for tea. The Japanese are so cleanly minded that many restaurants also have a basin in the entry to watch your hands. You also always get a hot towel to clean your hands.
My friend Kyl has lived in Japan for over 40 years and teaches English. Sometimes in a class room and sometimes in his home. I sat in on several of his classes. Since I was introduced as an American living in Mexico, I expected questions on Mexico. No, they were only interested in what I thought about Japan. In spite of all the Japanese tourists you see everywhere, they mainly only think of Japan. It is a very closed, closeted society. It is the purest race in the world as immigration is almost impossible and they rarely intermarry. They have an enormous growing aging population. The birth rate is 1.2 children per family so it is a shrinking population.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
MY LAST TRIP
It was over six weeks ago and may have been my last trip to what I used to call "home". Not because I am about to die, but because there isn't much left there to go back to. Before I moved to Mexico many of my close friends had died or moved. There are maybe a half dozen people that I do enjoy seeing (they can visit me). Oh well yes, I will go back one day, but not any time soon.
When I moved out of my house, I rented a storage area and moved in what I thought I could not live without (how wrong I was). I think the rent was $120.00 a month at first. Each six months, they raised it to the point that it was now $200.00 a month (a lot of money here in Mexico). For over one year I had tried to find someone who would drive some of the stuff down to Puerto Vallarta. On this trip my former gardener said he had someone who would do it, but could not give me a price without seeing how much I wanted to move.
One early morning I met my gardener and the man I assumed was the truck driver. He explained (or rather my gardener explained for him) that he was taking a trunk to Tepic and could put my furniture in the back of the truck. It would pass with do duty. He did not care about weight, but measured everything to assess the volume it would create. He could deliver it to an address in Tepic for me to move, or rent another truck to bring it all the way to Purerto Vallarta (about a 5 or 6 hour drive). for a higher price. I asked "how much more" and he said another $125.00! The entire move would cost $850,00. I was thrilled and told him it's a deal! Knowing that weight was not a problem I began packing more stuff into the Mexican trunk and breakfront.
With the idea of the furniture going, I decided it was time to clear out the rest of my "stuff" and empty the storage unit. Once I began to open boxes I found that a lot of it consisted of paper products, spices, and general kitchen stuff. What my friend couldn't use I threw away. Another friend who ran a consignment shop said that he would try to "get rid" of some of it. Besides 30 or 40 paintings I had boxes of Lalique, Baccarat, and Waterford crystal. He told me that he knew someone who handled more "high end" things and had him call me. I took him to the unit and started opening box after box. Much of it I had forgotten I owned. At first I was a little reluctant to part with some of the pieces that I had lived with for 40 years or more. Some were fairly expensive. I had a baccarat horse that cost $1,250.00 and I knew one Lalique bowl went for $750.00. I also gave him my grandfathers gold watch, several ivory pieces, and two painting that were by "know" artists, plus a sterling silver candelabra. I told him to just take it all and make of a list and tell me how much he thought it was worth.
At retail, we are talking about $7 to $10,000, but I figured he would only offer maybe 25 cents on the dollar. When I was told that the six boxes of crystal, a sterling silver candelabra, ivory, and paintings came to $500.00 (about 5 cents on the dollar) I was shocked. Then I thought, it was stuff I had enjoyed for many, many years, I now had a new life and I would be saving $200.00 a month. I had already sold a couple hundred dollars worth and my friend with the consignment store could send me what ever he made later.
At 6:00am I met the "supposed" driver at my storage unit. He was standing out side the gate and when I opened the gate he motioned for someone else to pull in a small pick up truck. Many of the larger items I wanted to bring down would not fit (including the life sized portrait of me!!) As it was they had to stack everything so the legs of the chairs were poking into the leather. One table was inlaid wood and it was raining. The truck had no top or tarp. Some how they managed with ropes to secure it which was now about an eight foot high pile of furniture and "stuff". I handed the man I had originally met the $850.00. He gave $100.00 to the truck driver and he drove off. I wondered how long it would be, or even "if" I would ever see the stuff again.
After about three weeks I called my gardener to find out where the truck was. He said he would call me back. He did not, so I called him. He said that he had tried to reach me to say that it should be there very soon. A month passed and finally six weeks after the truck left my storage unit, I reached my gardener again. He insisted that Arturo (the truck driver) had sent me several messages and so had he. I never got them, so what is the bottom line? I was leaving for Japan in a week. Then I found out that he and Arturo had been texting my "magic jack" line. It is a computer phone that takes messages, but not text messages. At least I felt somewhat relieved to know that "maybe" I might see the "stuff' again. He said it should arrive in a week, but that "someone" would call me a few days before.
Three days before I was to fly to Japan, I called my gardener again, for I still had heard from no one. He said that "who ever" had my furniture had a storage area in Tepic and could put it there until I returned. I don't even know who has the furniture and not sure that my gardener did either, but told him that I would call him when I got back and either arrange for them to get it to me, or my young Mexican friend (whose mother lives in Tepic) would pick it up for me.
After finishing packing and watering all the plants I decided that rather than clean the apartment one more time I would go off to the beach. On my way back home, one of the men who sell tours below me said that someone came with some chairs. He wasn't sure if I was still here, or in Japan, but the guy said he would try again. WHEN!!! I was leaving for Japan in a matter of hours and had no way to contact the man.
Why no one every calls you ahead of time, I do not know. But they don't. I waited around about 3 hours and did manage to shower. I had already missed "happy hour" and had nothing in the refrigerator to eat, so I decided to tape a note to the door telling "who ever" showed up that I was around the corner at the local bar. Just then my buzzer rang. One guy in a truck big enough to have hauled several households was parked around the corner. I had to bribe one of the bus drivers to move out of the way and finally he started to unload. My stuff was definately not the only stuff on it. There was a car toward the back. Any way it is here piled in my living room. It was all there, one French chair had a broken leg, but what really surprised me was that everything was wrapped. Cardboard had been wrapped around and then it was all sealed in plastic. When or where this occurred I have no idea. Now I just have to remember what I did with the key I used to lock the cabinet. I will sort it out when I get back from Japan.
Oh by the way, I will be in Japan for almost a month, so don't expect anything too soon.
******************************************
When I moved out of my house, I rented a storage area and moved in what I thought I could not live without (how wrong I was). I think the rent was $120.00 a month at first. Each six months, they raised it to the point that it was now $200.00 a month (a lot of money here in Mexico). For over one year I had tried to find someone who would drive some of the stuff down to Puerto Vallarta. On this trip my former gardener said he had someone who would do it, but could not give me a price without seeing how much I wanted to move.
One early morning I met my gardener and the man I assumed was the truck driver. He explained (or rather my gardener explained for him) that he was taking a trunk to Tepic and could put my furniture in the back of the truck. It would pass with do duty. He did not care about weight, but measured everything to assess the volume it would create. He could deliver it to an address in Tepic for me to move, or rent another truck to bring it all the way to Purerto Vallarta (about a 5 or 6 hour drive). for a higher price. I asked "how much more" and he said another $125.00! The entire move would cost $850,00. I was thrilled and told him it's a deal! Knowing that weight was not a problem I began packing more stuff into the Mexican trunk and breakfront.
With the idea of the furniture going, I decided it was time to clear out the rest of my "stuff" and empty the storage unit. Once I began to open boxes I found that a lot of it consisted of paper products, spices, and general kitchen stuff. What my friend couldn't use I threw away. Another friend who ran a consignment shop said that he would try to "get rid" of some of it. Besides 30 or 40 paintings I had boxes of Lalique, Baccarat, and Waterford crystal. He told me that he knew someone who handled more "high end" things and had him call me. I took him to the unit and started opening box after box. Much of it I had forgotten I owned. At first I was a little reluctant to part with some of the pieces that I had lived with for 40 years or more. Some were fairly expensive. I had a baccarat horse that cost $1,250.00 and I knew one Lalique bowl went for $750.00. I also gave him my grandfathers gold watch, several ivory pieces, and two painting that were by "know" artists, plus a sterling silver candelabra. I told him to just take it all and make of a list and tell me how much he thought it was worth.
At retail, we are talking about $7 to $10,000, but I figured he would only offer maybe 25 cents on the dollar. When I was told that the six boxes of crystal, a sterling silver candelabra, ivory, and paintings came to $500.00 (about 5 cents on the dollar) I was shocked. Then I thought, it was stuff I had enjoyed for many, many years, I now had a new life and I would be saving $200.00 a month. I had already sold a couple hundred dollars worth and my friend with the consignment store could send me what ever he made later.
At 6:00am I met the "supposed" driver at my storage unit. He was standing out side the gate and when I opened the gate he motioned for someone else to pull in a small pick up truck. Many of the larger items I wanted to bring down would not fit (including the life sized portrait of me!!) As it was they had to stack everything so the legs of the chairs were poking into the leather. One table was inlaid wood and it was raining. The truck had no top or tarp. Some how they managed with ropes to secure it which was now about an eight foot high pile of furniture and "stuff". I handed the man I had originally met the $850.00. He gave $100.00 to the truck driver and he drove off. I wondered how long it would be, or even "if" I would ever see the stuff again.
After about three weeks I called my gardener to find out where the truck was. He said he would call me back. He did not, so I called him. He said that he had tried to reach me to say that it should be there very soon. A month passed and finally six weeks after the truck left my storage unit, I reached my gardener again. He insisted that Arturo (the truck driver) had sent me several messages and so had he. I never got them, so what is the bottom line? I was leaving for Japan in a week. Then I found out that he and Arturo had been texting my "magic jack" line. It is a computer phone that takes messages, but not text messages. At least I felt somewhat relieved to know that "maybe" I might see the "stuff' again. He said it should arrive in a week, but that "someone" would call me a few days before.
Three days before I was to fly to Japan, I called my gardener again, for I still had heard from no one. He said that "who ever" had my furniture had a storage area in Tepic and could put it there until I returned. I don't even know who has the furniture and not sure that my gardener did either, but told him that I would call him when I got back and either arrange for them to get it to me, or my young Mexican friend (whose mother lives in Tepic) would pick it up for me.
After finishing packing and watering all the plants I decided that rather than clean the apartment one more time I would go off to the beach. On my way back home, one of the men who sell tours below me said that someone came with some chairs. He wasn't sure if I was still here, or in Japan, but the guy said he would try again. WHEN!!! I was leaving for Japan in a matter of hours and had no way to contact the man.
Oh by the way, I will be in Japan for almost a month, so don't expect anything too soon.
******************************************
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
A BANK ACCOUNT IN MEXICO
Doing anything financial in Mexico is always a problem, so I was prepared (I thought) for spending some time to open an account. I had thought about it since I moved here and I was told that with my FM3 card I could open one. One, if I ever needed a large sum of money, it would be difficult (if not impossible) to get it from an ATM machine. With an open account here, I could have my bank transfer money when (and if) I needed it.
I have also been talking about visiting Cuba. I really did not want to use a charge or debit card in Cuba that could access what little money have left in the U.S, and I was told they do not like American currency. Why, I am not sure since the exchange rate is 1000 Cuban pesos per dollar. I thought with a small account here and carrying some Mexican pesos, I would be fine, since my friend assured me that it would be quite cheap..
Armed with my passport and FM3 card and my check book from the United States I entered the bank where I use the ATM machine. That bank is associated with Bank of American so I pay no ATM fee, nor do I pay a conversion fee. There were at least 5 windows, but everyone was seated in the middle of the room. There was one young man seated at the only desk in the lobby, but he was on the phone. I stood in front of him for at least ten minutes and when he refused to acknowledge my presence, I sat at the chair in front of him. At this point he put the person on hold, so I told him that I wanted to open an account. He motioned to the group of chairs in the middle of the room and said, ":Sit down".
I sat there for a while then realized that everyone was getting a numbers out of a machine by the door. Numbers were posted on a screen telling you which window to go to. I got a number and sat down again. Then I notice that the numbers on the screen were past the number I held in my hand and went back to the man at the desk. He said, "Sit down!" Finally my number came up (maybe they run them backwards here). I went to the window and told the girl I wanted to open an account. She told me to see the man in the cubicle around the corner. He too was on the phone. I sat down and waited while he remained on the phone for another 5 or 10 minutes, then I finally had the opportunity to tell him why I was there,. He spoke not one word of English, so he called the young man at the first desk. I was pleased to discover he spoke more that two words, ("Sit down!") I asked if I could open the account with a check. No! he said, We do not take checks. Now I am familiar with paperless banking, but it did seem a little odd. I asked him how I could get money from a US bank to his bank. He handed me a paper with the routing number of Morgan Chase in New York. Well, that is nice I said, but I don't bank with Chase in New York and I would prefer to have an account open before having money transferred. He said, "Six thousand Pesos" and proper I.D". At that point I left went outside to their ATM and drew out 6,000 pesos. But when I returned someone else was sitting at the desk so I had to wait again.
Finally I got his attention and he took my passport and then he asked for a utility bill. I have my electric bill at home but not with me. "We cannot open an account without a utility bill" Why my passport and residency card (with my photo on it ) from the Mexican government is not enough, no on can explain. I left to get the electric bill and returned after lunch (I was hungry by then). Of course everyone was busy with other clients so I had to wait again. Not to be out maneuvered by someone else, so rather than sit, I stood by his cubicle. At last he was done, but unfortunately I had not brought the latest electric bill. After a deep sigh (and a little sobbing) he brought up my latest bill on his computer. Then he wanted two references: their name, telephone number, and addresses. Phone numbers are in my phone, addressed I do not have. No one here uses addresses as even cab drivers don't know addresses. Then he said, just put down your address. Does any of this make any sense to you??
Then he asked me to sign my name. Not once, not twice, but at least 20 times (sometimes twice on a page and then again on the back) At last I handed over the signatures and 6,000 pesos and shortly he handed me an ATM card, but said I could not use it for five days (is that 5 working days, or 5 Mexican days?). I could understand had I given them a check, but I gave them cash!! Oh, well it is Mexico.
But Wait!! There is more. The first young man suddenly rushed over and told me that my signatures did not look like the one in my passport. I would have to sign them all again. My hand had already begun to cramp and by this time I was shaking a little, As carefully as I could I repeated the 20 signatures and explained that the passport was 4 or 5 years old when I wasn't quite so old. In fact it said, "I was a young man when I first walked in here" He said he was satisfied and to come back in five days. Again I asked about transferring money from my U.S. account and he pointed to Morgan Chase.
Then I found out that my bank in the U.S, will not do international transfers on the internet. There is no way to initiate a transfer without returning to the U.S. Oh, well I thought at least I could use it in Cuba. I asked for the name of a bank I could use in Cuba, but he either did not understand or just decided to ignore me.
I waited for over a week to go back to the bank with several questions. One, I wanted to know how I could use the card in Cuba and I wanted a debit/charge card with my name on it. It took an equal amount of time to get someone's attention and he pretended not to understand a word I said. Finally I found someone who (I think) understood English and was told that the card was of no use in Cuba. I could not use it at an ATM nor could I book flights or charge with it. And NO! they do not give out charge cards or debit card with names on it. I decided that the account was of absolutely no benefit to me and told them I wanted to close the account. I was told to go outside and use the ATM machine. Would you believe it was OUT OF ORDER!! True, I swear I still don't have my money back. Ahhh Mexico!!
I have since found out that there is one bank here that does issue a charge/debit card that is usable in Cuba both for cash, booking flights to Cuba and for use as a charge card in Cuba. I have yet to muster up the necessary energy (and patience) to start all over again
************************
I have also been talking about visiting Cuba. I really did not want to use a charge or debit card in Cuba that could access what little money have left in the U.S, and I was told they do not like American currency. Why, I am not sure since the exchange rate is 1000 Cuban pesos per dollar. I thought with a small account here and carrying some Mexican pesos, I would be fine, since my friend assured me that it would be quite cheap..
Armed with my passport and FM3 card and my check book from the United States I entered the bank where I use the ATM machine. That bank is associated with Bank of American so I pay no ATM fee, nor do I pay a conversion fee. There were at least 5 windows, but everyone was seated in the middle of the room. There was one young man seated at the only desk in the lobby, but he was on the phone. I stood in front of him for at least ten minutes and when he refused to acknowledge my presence, I sat at the chair in front of him. At this point he put the person on hold, so I told him that I wanted to open an account. He motioned to the group of chairs in the middle of the room and said, ":Sit down".
I sat there for a while then realized that everyone was getting a numbers out of a machine by the door. Numbers were posted on a screen telling you which window to go to. I got a number and sat down again. Then I notice that the numbers on the screen were past the number I held in my hand and went back to the man at the desk. He said, "Sit down!" Finally my number came up (maybe they run them backwards here). I went to the window and told the girl I wanted to open an account. She told me to see the man in the cubicle around the corner. He too was on the phone. I sat down and waited while he remained on the phone for another 5 or 10 minutes, then I finally had the opportunity to tell him why I was there,. He spoke not one word of English, so he called the young man at the first desk. I was pleased to discover he spoke more that two words, ("Sit down!") I asked if I could open the account with a check. No! he said, We do not take checks. Now I am familiar with paperless banking, but it did seem a little odd. I asked him how I could get money from a US bank to his bank. He handed me a paper with the routing number of Morgan Chase in New York. Well, that is nice I said, but I don't bank with Chase in New York and I would prefer to have an account open before having money transferred. He said, "Six thousand Pesos" and proper I.D". At that point I left went outside to their ATM and drew out 6,000 pesos. But when I returned someone else was sitting at the desk so I had to wait again.
Finally I got his attention and he took my passport and then he asked for a utility bill. I have my electric bill at home but not with me. "We cannot open an account without a utility bill" Why my passport and residency card (with my photo on it ) from the Mexican government is not enough, no on can explain. I left to get the electric bill and returned after lunch (I was hungry by then). Of course everyone was busy with other clients so I had to wait again. Not to be out maneuvered by someone else, so rather than sit, I stood by his cubicle. At last he was done, but unfortunately I had not brought the latest electric bill. After a deep sigh (and a little sobbing) he brought up my latest bill on his computer. Then he wanted two references: their name, telephone number, and addresses. Phone numbers are in my phone, addressed I do not have. No one here uses addresses as even cab drivers don't know addresses. Then he said, just put down your address. Does any of this make any sense to you??
Then he asked me to sign my name. Not once, not twice, but at least 20 times (sometimes twice on a page and then again on the back) At last I handed over the signatures and 6,000 pesos and shortly he handed me an ATM card, but said I could not use it for five days (is that 5 working days, or 5 Mexican days?). I could understand had I given them a check, but I gave them cash!! Oh, well it is Mexico.
But Wait!! There is more. The first young man suddenly rushed over and told me that my signatures did not look like the one in my passport. I would have to sign them all again. My hand had already begun to cramp and by this time I was shaking a little, As carefully as I could I repeated the 20 signatures and explained that the passport was 4 or 5 years old when I wasn't quite so old. In fact it said, "I was a young man when I first walked in here" He said he was satisfied and to come back in five days. Again I asked about transferring money from my U.S. account and he pointed to Morgan Chase.
Then I found out that my bank in the U.S, will not do international transfers on the internet. There is no way to initiate a transfer without returning to the U.S. Oh, well I thought at least I could use it in Cuba. I asked for the name of a bank I could use in Cuba, but he either did not understand or just decided to ignore me.
I waited for over a week to go back to the bank with several questions. One, I wanted to know how I could use the card in Cuba and I wanted a debit/charge card with my name on it. It took an equal amount of time to get someone's attention and he pretended not to understand a word I said. Finally I found someone who (I think) understood English and was told that the card was of no use in Cuba. I could not use it at an ATM nor could I book flights or charge with it. And NO! they do not give out charge cards or debit card with names on it. I decided that the account was of absolutely no benefit to me and told them I wanted to close the account. I was told to go outside and use the ATM machine. Would you believe it was OUT OF ORDER!! True, I swear I still don't have my money back. Ahhh Mexico!!
I have since found out that there is one bank here that does issue a charge/debit card that is usable in Cuba both for cash, booking flights to Cuba and for use as a charge card in Cuba. I have yet to muster up the necessary energy (and patience) to start all over again
************************
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A HOUSE IN BUCERIOS
A young Mexican friend of mine had told me he was building a house in Buscerios for his retirement. When he offered to show it to me, I eagerly agreed. I had never been to Buscerios, but had heard that it was a small quaint town half way around the bay from Puerto Vallarta.
Because he was currently living in Nayarite, I told him I would take the bus there to meet him. He told me to take the blue bus to the Walmart I knew, then change buses to the Nagarite Walmart. What he failed to tell me was that it was a different bus line and for too long I waited at the wrong bus stop. Finally I found someone who spoke English and he explained that I had to take the ATM bus to get to Nagarite and that bus stop was a block away. There is always something new to learn about buses here.
At the second bus stop, I still had trouble finding the right bus that would stop at the other Walmart. Finally I found a friendly bus driver who told me that he would stop there. There were the usual hand painted signs on the windshield, but none said "Walmart". Once I was seated I noticed that there was a printed board behind the driver listing all their stops (of course the sign could only be seen once you were seated).
Due to the confusion I was a little late, so he was already standing beside his shiny pick up truck. My first thought was that with such a big truck, he could help with my next move. It was only about a 15 minute drive to the little town of Bucerios, but his home was being built 10 kilometers out side the town (don't ask me how far that is, as I do not know). We traveled through farm land that reminded me more of Iowa than Mexico as there were acres of corn fields intermixed with cow pastures and some horses.
The new developement where he decided to build is accessable only over dirt roads (he said they would all be paved soon. I wonder by whom). Just outside the subdivision there are some very large buildings. I was informed that it was to be a new University, so he is sure the property value would jump in a few years. The house is quite nice and large, but is currently only a concrete shell. All the electricity and plumbing is all in place including ducts for air conditioning. His contractor was just beginning to lay the marble floors in one of the upper bedrooms. It has three bedrooms and two and one half baths. Most impressive to me was that he was building an adjacent structure for an apartment and commercial space (there is no zoning here). You can see the rebar rising on the right side of the house.
The house was quite impressive for any area, let alone Mexico. I was amazed that this young kid (well, young to me, he is 30 years old) was able to make enough money to build it. He does work two jobs (one in the afternoon, and one at night) and works 6 days a week. It has taken almost four years to get it this far, but still I was very impressed. He claimed to have designed the home including the high ceilings and arch shaped window in the staircase.
After viewing the home and listening to all his plans for it, we went back into town and had lunch at a tiny restaurant near the beach. I had a huge bowl of cheviche. It is a very charming town with the traditional zoacalo and gazebo. The main street leading down to the beach is lined with colorful stands selling everything. I enjoyed the day and seeing his home and Bucerios, but still don't want to live there. I like the Zona Romantica.
Because he was currently living in Nayarite, I told him I would take the bus there to meet him. He told me to take the blue bus to the Walmart I knew, then change buses to the Nagarite Walmart. What he failed to tell me was that it was a different bus line and for too long I waited at the wrong bus stop. Finally I found someone who spoke English and he explained that I had to take the ATM bus to get to Nagarite and that bus stop was a block away. There is always something new to learn about buses here.
At the second bus stop, I still had trouble finding the right bus that would stop at the other Walmart. Finally I found a friendly bus driver who told me that he would stop there. There were the usual hand painted signs on the windshield, but none said "Walmart". Once I was seated I noticed that there was a printed board behind the driver listing all their stops (of course the sign could only be seen once you were seated).
Due to the confusion I was a little late, so he was already standing beside his shiny pick up truck. My first thought was that with such a big truck, he could help with my next move. It was only about a 15 minute drive to the little town of Bucerios, but his home was being built 10 kilometers out side the town (don't ask me how far that is, as I do not know). We traveled through farm land that reminded me more of Iowa than Mexico as there were acres of corn fields intermixed with cow pastures and some horses.
The new developement where he decided to build is accessable only over dirt roads (he said they would all be paved soon. I wonder by whom). Just outside the subdivision there are some very large buildings. I was informed that it was to be a new University, so he is sure the property value would jump in a few years. The house is quite nice and large, but is currently only a concrete shell. All the electricity and plumbing is all in place including ducts for air conditioning. His contractor was just beginning to lay the marble floors in one of the upper bedrooms. It has three bedrooms and two and one half baths. Most impressive to me was that he was building an adjacent structure for an apartment and commercial space (there is no zoning here). You can see the rebar rising on the right side of the house.
The house was quite impressive for any area, let alone Mexico. I was amazed that this young kid (well, young to me, he is 30 years old) was able to make enough money to build it. He does work two jobs (one in the afternoon, and one at night) and works 6 days a week. It has taken almost four years to get it this far, but still I was very impressed. He claimed to have designed the home including the high ceilings and arch shaped window in the staircase.
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