I am finding that the whole process of meeting your neighbors is so much easier in Mexico than back home. I barely know any of my neighbors. I've only lived in my place for SIX YEARS! I do know the woman who lives below me, but I hope I don't ever need a cup of sugar. It just isn't so common to greet people on my block. So, with very few exceptions, I live among strangers.
My Spanish is not very bueno (good). I don't know the Spanish word for stranger. Maybe there isn't one? The very friendly Mexicans that I've met certainly don't have the concept of "strangers".
I tried something very new for me on this journey. Instead of staying in the usual impersonal hotel, I searched online for a room to rent in the home of a Mexican. I actually hoped to find a place with a Mexican family. I wanted to be surrounded by Spanish. I suppose that most families don't have extra rooms in their homes. I ended up finding an absolutely wonderful guest room in the home of Carlos, a young Mexican man who is a fellow world traveler. My friends in America all pretty much said the same thing. They would never want to rent a room from a stranger. They also agreed that it sounded exactly like something that I would do. Nobody was surprised.
My instructions to find the place were a little vague. The block was between 20th and 25th avenues. There was no house number. I was to look for a white Suzuki. Okay, I was certain I was on the right block, but there was no white Suzuki.
What's a gringo to do?
I walked up and down the block once, with all my luggage in tow. It was long enough for a young man to approach me to see if I needed help. Si, senior! (I know this would not happen where I live.) He didn't know my host but he was very willing to call him for me. However, when this construction worker saw in my notes to look for a white Suzuki, he knew exactly where to take me. He'd seen it from the rooftops. I was escorted to my new "home" where the neighbor lady, with keys in her hands, awaited my arrival.
I loved my home instantly. I'm easy to please with my own bathroom, hangers, storage and a copy of Van Gogh's Starry Night (my favorite painting) on the wall. There was a minor problem with no water the first day. But, hey, I lived in Africa for two years without running water. This was no big deal.
And, the plumber was nice.
After shopping and groceries, I settled down to make supper on my second night. That's when I had my first (and hopefully last) Mexican disaster. The faucet at the kitchen sink wouldn't turn off. I twisted to the left with lots of water. I twisted to the right. Still, lots of water. Left, right, more left, more right. Finally, the faucet knob just broke off and water sprayed around the room! This really is not a good way to make an impression on my first time alone in someone's home.
I jammed the faucet knob back over the fountain and thankfully the water spewed out of the tap where it was supposed to flow. I know enough to reach under the sink and turn off the water supply. That knob spun and spun and spun some more but never turned off the flow.
It was time for help.
I went out the front door and approached the first person I saw. "Do you speak English?" And, ever so gratefully, the answer was yes. My new best friend also had the telephone number for Carlos. It was a unique way to interrupt a date, and my very gracious host in turn called that very same plumber for the second time in one day.
All was eventually rescued, mopped, dried and restored. I wasn't even kicked out of my dwelling place. And, I am very sure, I met a neighbor that I probably never would have met otherwise.
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