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The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

apartment

The mysteries of recycling in Mexico City

May 28, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Before we moved here, my husband and I recycled pretty much everything we could. Our Dallas apartment building didn’t have a recycling bin, so we bought one on the Internet and stuck it on our sun porch. A few times a month we hauled everything off, in our car, to a special city dumpster.

Mexico City has no such dumpsters, at least none that I’ve heard of. Two recycling “businesses” operate a few neighborhoods away — they take paper and cans — but they require a cab ride.

I decided the Earth was worth it, and had a few bags of paper products collecting in my kitchen. My cleaning lady saw them and asked if they were trash.

“To recycle?” I said, hoping I was using the right word in Spanish.

She looked at me strangely.

“Doesn’t your trash man sort them?”

I didn’t know. Unlike lots of other neighborhoods in Mexico City, where residents place their trash directly on the truck, our building has bins in the basement. We toss our stuff there, and once every few days, the portero — Pablo! — drags the bins out to the curb for the trashmen to unload. I have no idea who our trashmen are, or how often them come.

So Lola explained that the trashmen will sort through your glass and cans, and basically keep what they can sell.

This was interesting to me. Was it technically recycling? Maybe not. But it did put money in someone’s pocket, and no doubt they needed it. I guess that was good enough for me.

Now — I’m kind of ashamed to admit — we just throw everything away, hoping a clever trashman will find our used goods a home. (Or a clever portero… but we know that’s not going to happen.) We do return our 1-liter Victoria bottles to the convenience store for a small fee. But we don’t recycle anything else.

Because of that, I’ve now found it easier to use fabric softener, which I used to spurn in Dallas. (My justification: “My washer is so tiny! I can only wash like five things at a time! At least they can smell good.”) I gave into buying Lola’s preferred cleaning products, instead of making our own, like we used to. On the upside, I do wash and re-use all my Ziploc bags, and we have a healthy collection of cloth rags that we use — or try to use — instead of paper towels.

But I’m not the green girl I used to be.

HEALTH UPDATE: I’m feeling much better this morning. My doctor loaded me up with antibiotics, and says I should feel normal within a few days. Unfortunately I’m on a bland diet for a week — no chocolate, no alcohol, no chile, no coffee, no sweet bread, no dairy products. I’ve been surviving lately on caldo, cornflakes, maria cookies and bananas.

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment

Why I ended up giving 70 pesos to two strangers who knocked on my door

May 19, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

So, this morning, my doorbell buzzed. I looked through the peephole and saw two guys, maybe in their mid-twenties. Normally I wouldn’t answer, but I thought: Maybe they’re doing work on the building and they need to ask me something. Our cistern wasn’t working last week, and the elevators were out once. I’ve directed maintenance men before.

So I answered. They immediately started talking in rapid Spanish.
…

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Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment

Montezuma’s mosquito revenge

May 11, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

When I first moved to Mexico, I bragged to family members about how perfect the weather was here. “You can leave the windows open all night!” I’d said.

By comparison, in Dallas, you can leave the windows open for exactly one week, and then the heat gets so oppressive that you start googling “How to fry an egg on sidewalk.”

The Mexico City weather tricked me, though. Everything was breezy and fine until a few weeks ago, when suddenly I started waking up with mosquito bites.
…

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Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment, wifely musings

The return of Pablo the doorman

May 8, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

My blog entry about the weirdness of Pablo, our portero, must have telepathically spooked him — after I wrote it, I didn’t hear from him for awhile. He didn’t buzz me. I never even saw him at his post.

Then this week arrived. A few days ago: BZZZZZ!

“Can I come in to water the plants?”
…

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Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment, portero

The strange world of Mexican doormen

April 23, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

“Portero” means doorman in Spanish. A lot of middle-class apartment buildings here have one, or they’re supposed to. (Sometimes apartment owners are too busy squabbling amongst themselves to hire anyone.)

We had a portero named Vicente when we first moved in. He had bleached blond hair and a surly expression. Sometimes he wouldn’t show up for work. Or he’d leave for the day and forget to turn off his radio, so we’d come home to find cumbia and merengue blaring in the empty vestibule. The weird thing was, even though he obviously didn’t care about the job, no one wanted to fire him. I’d tell my landlady, “Vicente didn’t show up today,” and she’d sigh and grouse about how they needed to get rid of him.

Finally, a few weeks ago Vicente got canned. And we got a new portero: Pablo.

Pablo shows up to work. He cleans the floors — a portero prerequisite — and he’s usually downstairs at his post. But he’s… odd. He rings my bell for weird reasons. Once he rang to tell me I had a visitor, but it ended up being for another apartment. He rang my buzzer a few minutes later to tell me sorry, he got mixed up.

A few days ago, I’d just gotten out of the shower and — BZZZ! — there he was, standing on the other side of the peephole. I grabbed my robe and answered the door.

“Can I come in?” he said.

I should mention here that Pablo is a short guy, probably just over five feet. He has huge brown eyes and a quizzical expression that always make him look like either a deer in headlights, or like he’s not quite sure what he’s looking at, like maybe you’re an alien with green gunk spewing out of your nose.

I asked him, “Why do you need to come in?” and he gave me the alien-gunk expression.

“I need to clean the glass,” he said.

“What glass?”

“The glass above the entrance to the building.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand, why do you need to come in?” Me still in my robe.

“To clean the glass.”

I finally figured out that he needed to access the glass through my apartment, but I said sorry, I’m in my robe and about to leave anyway. He looked confused and then disappeared.

The next morning, while I was having coffee: BZZZ!

“Did I leave una franela around here somewhere?” He was referring to the striped cleaning cloths that overrun Mexico City.

“Umm…. no….” He gave me the deer-in-headlights look so I rambled on. “Maybe on the terraza? Dejame checar.”

Sure enough, the little cloth lay on our porch. No idea how it got there. I returned it to him and he smiled, and then disappeared again.

If I was a more cynical woman, I might be a little worried. Why in the hell is this guy ringing my buzzer so much? How did a random flannel cloth end up on my porch? What’s wrong with him? Actually, I think he’s just a little slow. He is trying really hard and I’m sure being a portero doesn’t pay very well. Our first portero in Polanco slept in a tiny stucco box on the other side of the front gate, barely containing a twin bed and a TV.

Just to be sure, though, I’m gonna keep an eye on this Pablo guy.

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment, portero

Nevermind about all that Zen stuff

April 4, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Of course, after declaring to the world that I’m calm, the universe starts poking at my Zen-ness like a woodpecker.

I came home after writing the previous blog post to discover that we had no water pressure. This confused me. Didn’t the pipa arrive at 6 a.m.? Didn’t that mean we should now have water? I asked our new portero, Pablo — or maybe it’s Pedro — whether or not anyone else in the building had pressure. He said he didn’t know. He seemed surprised that I cared so much.

I knocked on a neighbor’s door to see if he had water pressure. He said he didn’t, and he acted bored with the whole conversation, like he wanted to get back to watching TV or whatever. I was like: Does no one CARE that we have no water? Is wanting water an American ideal? How can the Mexicans, and my Argentinean neighbor, be more Zen than I am? Where in the hell are they showering? Are they not showering? I felt tears coming on again, but I pushed them back.

I decided to go to the grocery store. Maybe I was just hungry and that’s what was making me so upset. I would buy the fixings for a fabulous salad — mixed greens, turkey, panela cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, and maybe fresh sliced mango for dessert — and just wait this whole thing out.

Sure enough, I did feel better on my way back. I ate my salad and read the new Chilango magazine and devoured my mango sprinkled with coconut. A little while later, a neighbor knocked on my door. He said the whole building didn’t have water pressure because of a blockage in the pipes. Folks were coming to clean the cistern early Saturday morning and hopefully that would solve the problem. But that would mean we’d have absolutely no water — not even to wash our hands — starting at 9 a.m. and continuing until at least 1 p.m., he said.

That brings us to today. This morning, before the cleaners arrived, we filled up the toilets and our water bucket, and washed all the dishes. We’ll shower later at the gym. A friend graciously offered to let me do laundry at her house tomorrow, if our water still doesn’t work.

What else can a person do?

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment

The Zen state of mind (or: I will no longer shed tears over Telmex and water)

April 3, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

The beach in Progreso, Yucatan

I’m back from the Yucatan and I feel calmer already. The beach and the poolside views at our hacienda hotel helped. And so did (I’m semi-embarrassed to admit) certain chapters of Eat Pray Love, which I swore I would never read (over 7 million copies are now in print!), but now I’m so glad I did, because if a formerly divorced and depressed woman can find inner peace, then dammit, so can I.

Telmex says we’re not going to have a phone line for at least 15 more days. That’s fine, if that’s what the universe wants….

We still don’t have water, but pipa truck guys arrived this morning at 6 a.m. and rang our buzzer. (We had no idea they were coming and no one else did either.) The water is supposed to come back soon. The fact that we can even afford a pipa is a blessing.

And I am living in Mexico City, which is a blessing, too. Oh, and I met a really cool cab driver yesterday afternoon who said he’s known in Tepito as “Bruce Lee’s Cousin,” because he puts the smackdown on any dudes who try to mess with him. (Tepito is known as the toughest neighborhood in the city.) I got his number and he’s taking me to the airport next week.

Your faithful Zen Princess,
Lesley

Filed Under: Expat Life, Reflections Tagged With: apartment, Telmex, Water problems

Telmex made me cry

March 28, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

A few days ago I had my hopes up. Sergio, the Telmex guy, suggested that a line in Apt. 5.1 appeared to be available. I could use it, if I had sufficient evidence that it wasn’t being used. I spoke to the doorman, who said the apartment was actually an office. Then I spoke to the office secretary, who said sorry, they were definitely using their phone lines.

I felt like I was living in 1962. (The outdated, frustrating 1962, not the glamorous Doris-Day-PIllow-Talk 1962.) Why do I have to ask these people if they’re using their phone line? Why does an office get to have three phones lines, while I have none? As soon as I got back to my apartment, I started crying. But only because I’m emotional right now.

Sergio called me several minutes later. “Well,” he said, “I think we’re going to have to make the network larger.”

“But what does that mean?” I asked. “When will they start?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. But here’s a number for my supervisor…”

I’ve already tried to call said supervisor. He never answers his phone.

UPDATE: After 20 phone calls, Crayton finally got ahold of the supervisor. They are supposedly installing our line “next Thursday or Friday.”

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment, Telmex

A few pics of the new place

February 27, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

The sala/comedor

The sala/comedor


The new pantry area.

The new pantry area.


The newly adorned fridge.

The newly adorned fridge.

I’ll try to remember to take more later. We’re on vacation in California starting tomorrow, so hopefully I’ll post some when we come back.

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment

Livin’ la vida fría

February 25, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

The other day, while the apartment was still empty, I asked my landlady where the thermostat was. It was noon and my extremities felt like ice blocks — this even though I was wearing two sweatshirts, a T-shirt, jeans and socks.

I didn’t know how to say thermostat, so I asked, “Where is that thing on the wall that has the temperature?”

She said in Spanish, “Oh, the heater? There isn’t one.”

Whaa?

“Oh, yeah, it’s that way in any Mexican home. It’s because they make the houses out of cement, which makes things colder inside. I bought a space heater, which works pretty well… ”

Note to self: Buy a space heater and try not to burn the house down.

Guess I won’t be giving away my wool socks after all.

Filed Under: Expat Life Tagged With: apartment, weather

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Who is Mija?


Mija is Lesley Téllez, a writer, mom, and culinary entrepreneur in New York City. I lived in Mexico City for four years, which cemented my deep love for Mexican food and culture. I'm currently the owner/operator of the top-rated tourism company Eat Mexico. I also wrote the cookbook Eat Mexico: Recipes from Mexico City's Streets, Markets & Fondas.

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