Three doors away from us, the print above the door says Rosa’s. The name is written in bright red letters above a sign that indicates they also house a mobile tire shop and radiator repairs, managed by Victor. On a plaque to the left of the door is the notice of the novena, a service being conducted for the deceased “Chepe,” at St. Rafael Church. Inside this little doorway hides a funeral parlor, when needed, and a tire shop, which I presume one may utilize daily, given the rough streets. When there is a death, the inside instantly becomes another type of neighborhood shop, transformed to carry the departed away with dignity and the attention of friends.
We walk on the sidewalk to pass the door, and navigate a couple of chairs, set against the building wall. Two tall planters in the street indicate saved parking and gathering space. When a service is happening, outside, street chairs are placed in small rows, and the area becomes a place of mourning and prayer, with traffic weaving past the last row. The traffic is loud, as I’ve said before, since this street is arterial for sports, buses, concrete trucks, and all manner of local businesses that hawk their wares from loudspeakers. The service goes on.
Life has never been less boring. One more fascinating ways ordinary people live. Our batteries – two small batteries, cost us a third as much as a cleaning that took several hours. Labor prices being of lesser value, I presume, than consumables. We often wonder how it is that people live.
We have a friend in ICE detention. He is single, and so no particular help is available to him. He was detained while going to a detox to help someone there get their life together. How do people live?
We also have beautiful sunny days in this, the 5th largest bay in the world, I am told, a crescent of land kissed by a radiant blue sea; dramatic, with mountains as backdrop, although only moments away. Days are warm, now, and evenings are cool, although the hot, wet season is fast approaching. We will not be here for it, as we leave early in April.
Yesterday, we went to a fabulous Botanic Garden, chock full of blooming everything. One can’t help but feel happy surrounded by a sense of Eden in miniature – orchids, bromeliads, arthuriums, palms, trees, and plants of all sorts, providing homes to all sorts of birds, and presumably, a few animals, although we saw no four-footeds. I was hoping for Cheetahs, but settled for elaborate peacock posturing.
But picture this- we ate lunch on a high veranda, surrounded by trees, jungle, and hummingbirds, with the background sounds of a violin playing Viennese waltzes and the occasional theme from ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ or show tunes performed by a strolling live violinist. Could it get any better, or stranger, than this incongruity?
We embraced serious changes in style, Saturday on the malecon (seafront gathering place everyone’s place to be, and tourist center too). On Saturday they host a street market. Instead of table-piles of used clothes at “real” markets, along with anything necessary, this one could have been in Boulder, Colorado, aimed at the upscale skin-tending, pet-loving, souvenir and art-loving, foodies among us, complete with live bands. Very clean. We seldom got to hear the bands, as each time we approached the raised amphitheatre, they suddenly quit for a break. We ate instead. Yummy. Such difference from that other, the local market – and I like each for different reasons.
I have also learned that I cannot barter at all. A total failure! I feel ike I am taking money away from somebody who needs it for their family. Then I want to pay them what they ask, instead of being a chisling sort of tourist who can spend a lot on my lodgings and food, but nothing for someone whose livelihood is at subsistance level. I receive no joy from this traditional cultural practice, and then feel like a fool for overpaying.
We get everywhere by bus service, frequent and cheap. I have, every time, been offered a seat if one was not available. Every time. Often, Lew too, although he feels like people think he is old. Yep – check that out – me too. So yesterday, we got on, people got up, and a girl in front of us sat, contentedly rolling on her mascara — which is an amazing feat on a rocking, lumbering, bouncing bus at all. A 40-ish woman came up to her and roundly excoriated the girl for her bad manners. Those must have been some eyelashes, because she continued to apply mascara for maybe 5 minutes straight. The woman continued with her heaping criticisms until she got off the bus, while the girl remained in her bubble, never responding, never acknowledging, never meeting her eyes. There is some kind of very old-style courtesy at work here and is obvious in the routine of daily lives, that feels comforting.
As I have said, I am pulled in two directions, both valid, but totally different in style and content. Could be I am a schizophrenic at heart.