The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

apartment

Post-move exhaustion, euphoria, no sé que

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The movers have come and gone. Nothing broke except a chip-n-dip plate I bought at the Crate & Barrel outlet like four years ago and didn’t use much. I miss Crate & Barrel outlet.

I got really stressed when they arrived yesterday morning, because I was positive nothing would fit, we’d have an ugly cluttered house, etc. But then I told myself to take three deep breaths and deal with it.

And it was fine. Luckily we have a storage space on the roof. Used it to put the extra stemware, my bags of extra fabric (will get around to sewing pillows someday), ugly post-modern CD racks from 1999, etc. I’ve already unpacked the kitchen — my pantry AND my half-eaten chocolate bar arrived intact! — and put the plates and bowls away. It’s all going to be fine. I’m not too worried anymore. (Well, kind of worried…. where in the hell am I going to put that rolling kitchen cart?) But we’ll figure it out. If I have a cluttered kitchen, so what. Everyone has a cluttered kitchen in Mexico. Kitchens are freaking tiny here.

It’s just nice to have our stuff again. I have a proper paring knife, people. A PARING KNIFE. It sliced my apples in such perfect, smooth slices, I almost cried out in ecstasy.

My refrigerator magnets were one of the first things I put up, along with what used to cover our fridge in Dallas: the program from our wedding, last year’s Christmas card from Crayton’s mom, photos of our friends. After drinking a beer and feeling kinda sentimental, I added a new photo — one of me and two of my best girlfriends, giggling at Cosmo’s, holding beers. (Or were they Blasters?)

I miss them, but it’s good. My twenties are over. Now the new journey starts.

Pics of the box-filled apartment to come!

We moved. Time to adjust my American consumption habits.

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We officially moved into our new apartment on Saturday, yippee! Our furniture arrives from the States tomorrow.

Our new place so far has been… interesting. For the following reasons:

1. The day before we moved, our landlady called to tell us they’d shut off water and electricity in the whole building. The neighbors alternate paying the bill each month, and someone paid in the wrong place. (Long story.) Luckily, everything appears to be fine now. Although the faucets sputter a bit if you try to wash laundry at the same time.

2. The very-cute-but-tiny washer/dryer combination sometimes moans and gurgles like it’s alive. It also takes 55 minutes to wash maybe 13 articles of clothing. I’m considering a laundry service. Or dragging out the period of time that I wear a blouse or T-shirt. Oh god, I didn’t even think of towels. I think you can fit maybe two towels in there. (Ok, I’ll stop.)

3. We tried to cook a frozen pizza last night (oh how I miss Amy’s), only to discover that when we turned the oven knob, nothing happened. Only a strong odor of gas. I frantically called my dad, who has spent his life working for the Southern California Gas Company, and asked him what to do. Because, you know, he could fix the problem sight unseen. He promised to look up the stove’s model on the Internet.

Then I called my landlady, who said– DUH — you have to light the pilot manually. (And then she probably hung up the phone muttering, “What have I got myself into?”) But I didn’t know where the pilot was and I didn’t want to burn the house down. Crayton finally just leaned into the oven with a match, and the pilot ignited, and everything was fine. The pizza, unfortunately, was kind of mediocre.

I think things should feel normal sometime around April.

On the upside, we went to the tianguis on Sunday and bought fresh spinach and fruit. Also, there appears to be a cantina around the corner from our house. And a shop that makes “artisanal sweets.” Mmm.

We got an apartment, maybe

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It’s the one I posted pictures of most recently — the modern one. We haven’t signed the lease yet so I’m not considering it ours until then. If we do end up getting it, though, we are SOOO getting a grill for the outside terrace. (I’m obsessed.) Seriously though: Can’t you just see me going to the local tianguis and picking up some chicken and carne asada, and tossing it on there with onions and veggies and maybe a tortilla or two? Or better yet: FISH. (Because that’s better for you.)

In other news, we discovered a taco place we liked last night — El Farolito. It’s a chain, but they have all kinds of tacos and salads and sopes. Plus they sell Victoria in cute little bottles called “cuartitos.”

They called us “jóvenes” there. As in, “Algo más jóvenes?”

A few more thoughts on the house hunt

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Real estate brokers here are really nice. I’ve met four so far, and all of them have urged me to tell them exactly what I want in an apartment. Lots of windows? Kitchen in great condition? No crazy wallpaper and thick lacy curtains? Ok, bueno, good to know.

What I’m most proud of, though, is getting over my fear of calling landlords. I’d been pretty scared to cold-call anyone, convincing myself that they wouldn’t understand me, I’d seem like a dumb American, there’d be horrible gaps of silence where neither of us would know what the other was saying, etc.

Finally I was like: YOU HAVE TO DO THIS. And after two solid days of calling, I have perfected my spiel. I set up appointments and have freaking met brokers, people.

My spiel: “Hola, buenas tardes, estoy llamando sobre el departamento en la Calle X… todavía está disponible?”

Our new (temporary) apartment

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Crayton’s company put us up in Polanco, which just happens to be the Beverly Hills of Mexico City. It’s leafy and green and full of cafes and shops and men walking around in suits. (Or at least, they were this morning.)

Our new apartment — where we’ll be staying for the next month or so, while our stuff travels down to Mexico — is in a mango-colored building on Eugenio Sue, a pretty street right off Presidente Masaryk. Masaryk is one of Polanco’s main drags and home to of a lot of the city’s high-end shops. Last night while walking to dinner, we passed Diesel, Ecko, a place with evening gowns in the window.

Our place is a studio, so it’s small. Interestingly, the TV is suspended near the ceiling in the bedroom. (Maybe that’s a Mexican thing?) I spent part of yesterday watching a novela on TV about two teenage girls who didn’t take their virginity seriously enough. Of course, right before doing something they’d regret, they told their mothers, and everyone cried, and the girls were sweet and young again.

My next step is to find a place. (But not in Polanco, because it’s way out of our price range.) I’m going to start in earnest on Monday. On the agenda today: Find a supermarket and maybe stop at a yoga studio. I brought a DVD from the States, but there’s not enough space to do it at home. If I spread my arms I hit the dining table and the couch at the same time.