I’m listening to Astrid Hadad, astridhadad.calabashmusic.com the muse of my first week’s adventure, writing at the dining room table in apt. 105 at Suites del Sol. It’s rather comfy here, and only mildy disconcerting (e.g., yard dogs barking all night, the smoking child painting painting – you’ll see!,) but very like a summer cottage with well worn furniture and tiny appliances. Everyone here is completely sweet. And it’s a pleasant surprise every time we walk outside into Mexico.

Our neighborhood is lovely: clean, diverse, just one street over from the Paseo de Montejo, the wide, tamarind-tree lined street, layed out like the Champs-Elysses, with round abouts and obelisks at every intersection. Oh yeah, and there are iguanas there. just over there. And a quirky antique shop – something like Pier 1 meets Pearl River meets well, Mexico. We’ve walked this Avenue many times in the last two days; it takes us to Wal Mart and back again. Yesterday we got caught in a thunder shower between trips, today on the way we discovered a McDonalds near some fakey ruins.

There I had a fine conversation with an old man on a bench outside the bank. He said that I would find Spanish “facil” to learn, but for him it was more difficult, as a Mayan language was his first. I love this man.

It’s impossible to write a cogent entry. My thoughts are skimming and diving.

Yesterday we morninged as guests. Brunch! included jugo verde made with cactus, a champagne cocktail with jugo rojo, chocolate frosty drink, spicy hot chocolate drink, watermelon water, papaya, a honey drip, ham, cheese, chicken and pork, breakfast sauce and more. With distended bellies we went to the pool.

ha-cha.

We checked out Sunday in Santa Lucia square, where old couples dance and happy junk is sold. We waited for a bus which never came, but it’s Sunday, and some streets were closed for bicycles, and it’s Sunday, so who knows. We saw the American (?) couple we now see everywhere. Udpates about whether we become cool or they are totally jerky spies or something to follow.

ummmm

Did I mention drinks on the rooftop terrace at Fiesta Americana? It’s a view evocative of any other country in a year about half a century ago. It feels like Bogart and rose-hued murder mysteries. There’s a fountain, and a fellow in a fancy tuxedo. This is where the expats meet. We shall see about all that.

It’s 4 ish on Monday. We’re waiting to meet with the realtor/notory publico.

Malcolm’s on the couch enjoying a Modelo especial and a jamon/queso bread bite (delicious!). Maybe we’ll watch more bullfighting ( I may be revising my turn-ons) then take a stroll down Calle 60. Tomorrow I strike out on my own! Any suggestions?

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