One of the most difficult things about living abroad is seeing the friends you've made leave. This summer, we said goodbye to six friends, all of whom moved to far away places. I suppose it's in mental storage that this happens amongst the Mexico City expat community, but it never fails to bother me. I am a creature of routine and comfort, so if you leave me, be assured that you have ruffled my feathers. :)
We are also uprooting ourselves from the lovely boho Colonia Roma to move to a place closer to Nick's work. We decided against the apartment a block away (in hindsight, a very good thing since a new club has just opened across the street, and they play freakishly loud music from Wednesday to Saturday) and will be moving to a new neighborhood which, from many accounts, is also a very amiable place. All I ask for is good street food, ok? Preferably less than two blocks from my door. Thank you.
And, related to the move, I know it'll really feel like starting over when I have to make contact with the utilities, cable, and phone people. As happens every time I encounter these people, blood rushes to my face, the temperature in the room suddenly rises, and I become linguistically debilitated to the point of providing ridiculous answers to standard questions.
Examples of linguistic debilitation:
Census taker: How many bathrooms do you have in your house?
Husband : 95 (the number of meters in our apartment)
Census taker: Do you speak any indigenous languages?
Census taker: (mystified) Which ones?
Store clerk: ¿Con quien le atendió? (Who helped you?)
Me: Mi nombre es Alice
Store clerk: (annoyed) No, no, no. ¿Con quien le atendió?
Store clerk: Un segundo...
(only after post-phone reflection did I realize what he was saying)
In the next few weeks, I will be making quite a few "Why hasn't your service worker showed up the past three times he's made an appointment with me?" conversations, but, hopefully, all my insides won't come unraveled. But, if they do, I'll make a note of it so we can all have a good laugh.