I got up early this morning to finish a few small jobs and then hopefully have the rest of the day off (yes, but I have a full queue for the weekend!). By the time I was done around 10:30, a torrential downpour had eased off, so I decided to go to INM to pick up my new residente temporal card. Since my truck was parked on the street and I was worried about getting caught in another downpour, I decided to drive.
That was a rather meh decision. The truck is so much hotter than is a bus and on the bus, I can do other things than avoid other drivers. Driving in Mérida isn’t hard/stressful, but it’s also not much fun. It was also surprisingly difficult to find parking (last time I parked in that area was to sign my lease and parking wasn’t an issue). I was finally able to ditch the truck just off of Reforma, one street north of INM (map below).
The waiting room was packed, but the queue moved quite quickly. I was finally funnelled to window 5, but told to wait in the main lobby. The second wait was barely worth mentioning. The person at window 5 was the same lady who had done my fingerprints last week and she asked how she could help me. She was surprised that my card was ready and I told her I got notice of that on the 23rd. That seemed to be the magic words because she went from doubtful to promising she’d be right back, which she was. I signed a ton of paperwork and finally was presented with my new card, good through April of 2021! Hard to believe that the next one will be for permanent resident status!
So now, I don’t need to go to INM again for nearly three years unless I need to file a change of address, want to add permission to work (ie. in my case start a business), or have a change in civil status (Prince Charming, you out there?!). What a relief this is! Now, to run up to Progreso to give Aduana a copy and possibly to SAT also for good measure. Although, I am coming up fast to the end of SAT’s “If you get through that period without news from us, your refund is imminent” period… Miracles could happen!
Going home from where I was parked wasn’t super obvious. I thought of turning right at Colón to go grab 60, but wasn’t sure I’d be able to make that left-hand turn. I ended up continuing to Cupules, going left, turn right (northish) on the first major street I crossed, and ended up at Circuito Colonias right in front of Bodega Aurrera and able to continue straight on a street that would, with a few turns, take me straight home. I’m really learning how to navigate here!
I got in and realised that Bonita is getting to very loud (yippy) when I arrive. I can’t imagine it bothers the neighbours, but it’s something to be aware of. I don’t think she makes noise when I’m not around — she starts when she hears me. It’s rather lovely to know that someone cares that I’m home. I love her so much. 🙂
I collapsed on the couch with Bonita when I got off work around four. It was much too late for a nap and too far to bedtime to stay there. I decided I had enough on my Bodega Aurrera list to make it worth trying to get there and back on the bus. What a success that was! I had no wait time worth mentioning at either end and it was practically door-to-door service — much less effort than wrestling the truck out of the parking bay!
On the way home, I remembered that it’s Monday and that La 21 would be closed, so there went my supper plans. I had a nice German sausage at home to convert into a hot dog, but nothing even remotely bread-like to use for that purpose and not even any flour on hand to whip up a flat bread. I dropped the groceries off at home, told Bonita I’d be right back, and headed into the growing darkness to get what I needed for dinner.
My destination was not a store. This is Mexico, after all, where the best treasures are rarely found in stores. Sometimes, they roam in the dark streets of your neighbourhood, ringing a bell to warn you they are coming. And sometimes like tonight, they are found under a lamp post and surrounded by a bunch of men chatting.
The cart they were leaning against was promising. I sized up the group and called out to the man at the head of the cart, “You selling bread?”
“Sorry, ma’am. All out of French. Got some pan dulce and a croissant left, though.”
“The croissant would be perfect, thanks!”
He bagged up the croissant, I passed over 5 pesos, and then I walked the few blocks home in inky darkness. Not the supper I’d planned, but a sweet bready Mexican reinvention of the croissant plus some wurst plus some mustard wound up being the quick and easy supper I needed after a long day.
“French” (frances) is what passes for a baguette around here and seems to be at least as if not more popular than tortillas! You can get them fresh at almost any little convenience store, race out into the night to catch a cart when you hear its bell in the distance, or you can sometimes stumble onto a scene that feels like a euphemism for a drug deal — as it should, because that carby goodness is addictive! 🙂