As I wrote to Milly: "You know my maxim: if you've got a choice between eating and working, always choose the former. For this reason, I have decided to get a job."
Really, I was just being dramatic and my arse is still a very healthy size, but I have discovered that without the disincentive of a boss looking over my shoulder, the lure of itunes can be a bit much.
(My tip: John Mayer, Dreaming With a Broken Heart. Surely, one of the best songs ever written. "Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hand? Would you get them if I did? No, you won't. Cause you're gone gone gone gone gone.
The only, and I say only problem with this line is that he switches from subjunctive tense 'would', to present tense 'won't' in a most disconcerting manner)
When Alberto, the International Man of Indecipherable Spanish, hit me with the information about a PR job that was up for grabs, I was ambivalent. That was more to do with the fact that I hadn't understood what he'd said, than any views I have on PR as a line of work.
But when I had ascertained the nature of his message, I began to warm to the idea. It's not that I have been looking for something, but sometimes when a wave rises under you, you have to ride it.
As Pam says, my main strengths are in being charming and pumping out well-written emails. These weighty skills are lost in journalism because the only benefactors of the emails are the people I'm sending stories to - and I'm not sure they care how well-crafted my emails are.
What's more, it's a seriously good job. I think. At this point I am still a little vague on what exactly is involved, but I know the girl who's vacating the position, so I decide to go down and find out a bit more.
The harrowing process of presenting oneself at a location of potential employment was exacerbated by the pure Spanish nature of conversation. This is a double-whammy because my level of Spanish drops in pressured situations, and my level of stress rises when I struggle to express myself in situations where it's important to make a good impression.
The climax came when I met her female boss. Not realising who she was, I walked into the office and kissed her. This is a normal Mexican greeting, but it was followed by a moment of extruciation when I discovered who she was. The conversation continues puttering along, while the internal dialogue in my head goes into overdrive,
"Did you just kiss the boss? Is it ok to kiss the boss? What if it's a sign of disrespect? Oh surely not, it's normal. But did you see the expression on her face? Yes, but maybe that's because you had to bend down to do it and you made her feel short. Oh no! Was it a mistake to wear heels?"
And so on and so forth. Meanwhile, the conversation has moved on to Australia's beaches. I tell her of course she should send her son for surfing lessons and she replies that perhaps I haven't realised just how dangerous surfing is. Waves, rocks, water, accidents.
I stop myself before telling her that we're all still alive and she should be more worried about sharks.
The final outcome is that the very charming director, Bruno, asks me back for an interview. A proper one. I still have no idea what the job entails.
It seems this wave has picked me up and I will ride it. Look out for rocks though.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
GUNS FOR... CYBER GUNS
Today I filed on this story:
INTRO:
One of the world's most crime-ridden cities is trying a novel approach to curbing violence, offering computers and Xboxes in exchange for guns.
Michelle Crowther reports from Mexico City.
VOICER:
Police kicked off the gun exchange program in one of Mexico City's most notorious neighbourhoods, Tepito, where last year alone there were 32 murders. High calibre weapons can be exchanged for computers, while owners can swap smaller guns for Xboxes or food and cash packages. The new push in Mexico's capital falls alongside President Felipe Calderon's national crackdown on crime – since taking office last December he has sent 24 thousand police and troops to drug cartel hotspots.
Michelle Crowther, Mexico City
I can just imagine the policy meeting. Everyone is sitting around scratching their heads:
"So, what should we give the potential murderers of the future to curb their violent tendencies?"
"I know, what about some mortal combat warfare games."
Oh good, training devices for the uninitiated. Kind of shooting themselves in the foot, aren't they?
INTRO:
One of the world's most crime-ridden cities is trying a novel approach to curbing violence, offering computers and Xboxes in exchange for guns.
Michelle Crowther reports from Mexico City.
VOICER:
Police kicked off the gun exchange program in one of Mexico City's most notorious neighbourhoods, Tepito, where last year alone there were 32 murders. High calibre weapons can be exchanged for computers, while owners can swap smaller guns for Xboxes or food and cash packages. The new push in Mexico's capital falls alongside President Felipe Calderon's national crackdown on crime – since taking office last December he has sent 24 thousand police and troops to drug cartel hotspots.
Michelle Crowther, Mexico City
I can just imagine the policy meeting. Everyone is sitting around scratching their heads:
"So, what should we give the potential murderers of the future to curb their violent tendencies?"
"I know, what about some mortal combat warfare games."
Oh good, training devices for the uninitiated. Kind of shooting themselves in the foot, aren't they?
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
EVE'S BAD APPLE: iTunes
Responsible for all the evil in the world.
One of the downsides of being stuck on the other side of the world, is that I don't have access to techs. I HATE technical stuff, so much so that I have never downloaded a song from iTunes until today.
Finally I did, in order to mix in a package on Cuban poetry. We buy the copyright, but do you think that makes a difference to whether it's a protected file or not?
No.
So iTunes has locked everything so that you can only play it on Apple devices.
What next?
The advice from my favourite tech on the other side of the world was "that's why using iTunes is a bad idea."
Oh. Good.
Well, Rhapsody (copyright free music) is not available in Mexico. The other copyright-free websites didn't have my particular ditty - Ruben Gonzalez, Campestre.
After going to all the trouble of finding and downloading JHymn (a conversion program) it can't seem to find my library. Changing my input channel to stereo mix (so as to record into Audacity - editing program - from within my computer) resulted in massive feedback and white noise.
So eventually I had to walk down to the camera shop, buy a CD, export to CD, rip it into Window Media Player, and then import it to Audacity.
Most notable quote from the famous poet I was editing was, "Cuba is amazing. What other country in the world has a population where every person can read?"
Apart from being wildly untrue.. ummm, what's the point of being able to read if you can't choose what you pour into those literate eyes of yours?
One of the downsides of being stuck on the other side of the world, is that I don't have access to techs. I HATE technical stuff, so much so that I have never downloaded a song from iTunes until today.
Finally I did, in order to mix in a package on Cuban poetry. We buy the copyright, but do you think that makes a difference to whether it's a protected file or not?
No.
So iTunes has locked everything so that you can only play it on Apple devices.
What next?
The advice from my favourite tech on the other side of the world was "that's why using iTunes is a bad idea."
Oh. Good.
Well, Rhapsody (copyright free music) is not available in Mexico. The other copyright-free websites didn't have my particular ditty - Ruben Gonzalez, Campestre.
After going to all the trouble of finding and downloading JHymn (a conversion program) it can't seem to find my library. Changing my input channel to stereo mix (so as to record into Audacity - editing program - from within my computer) resulted in massive feedback and white noise.
So eventually I had to walk down to the camera shop, buy a CD, export to CD, rip it into Window Media Player, and then import it to Audacity.
Most notable quote from the famous poet I was editing was, "Cuba is amazing. What other country in the world has a population where every person can read?"
Apart from being wildly untrue.. ummm, what's the point of being able to read if you can't choose what you pour into those literate eyes of yours?
Monday, March 26, 2007
WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE
Another week, another great weekend. To my chagrin, Gaby's party was situated in Santa Fe. It's one of DF's most cash-flushed suburbs, meaning that by implication everyone at the party would be bankers.
They were. It was really fun. We drank strange cocktails of cucumber, vodka, lemonade and ginger until I forgot that I was the most under-dressed person in the room (note to self: always ask location of party) and danced to Spanish pop songs.
The next day we drove back to Santa Fe for some pool time with Francine and Cachai.
M: Hey Gaby, check out that unrestrained child between his mum's legs in the front seat. (not noticing that the seat is located in a Porche)
G: Oh yeah, that's the owner of Televisa (main TV network here). Check out the envoy of cars behind them.
Three cars full of bodyguards. I mean, what would the bodyguards in the third car even DO if there was a problem? They'd still be arriving by the time Televisa's owner was dead, or the unrestrained kid had been plucked from the car by kidnappers.
Kind of ironic, that the kid's got six big burly men watching him but is probably more likely to die from flying through the windscreen on Mexico's crazy roads.
From then on we did a bodyguard-spotting exercise. Gaby - who went to school with lots of girls whose bodyguards had to accompany them to the movies - would point out a bodyguard-type car, and sure enough ... a big man would step out and help the little darling alight from the vehicle in front.
Lunch was fun, apart from a freak accident involving red wine and the sofa - AGAIN. I haven't even been eating that much beef lately, so I'm not sure where the karma is coming from this time.
Francine had just finished complimenting me on my jeans and shirt, I'd just finished admiring Cachai's couch, and Francine's red wine choice (Argentina) and then, bang, all the worlds collided. There was the tiniest patch of water on the kitchen floor as I was carrying two full glasses into the living room.. and well, you can guess the rest. Jeans. Shirt. Sofa.
Hooray for soda water. Consider that my handy household cleaning tip.
Ignaki drove me back to ... yes, Santa Fe for dinner. Absolutely stunning, and yes, he cooked.
And then the next day, back to Santa Fe to watch movies. Kind of starting to wish I either had a car, or fewer friends living in Santa Fe.
They were. It was really fun. We drank strange cocktails of cucumber, vodka, lemonade and ginger until I forgot that I was the most under-dressed person in the room (note to self: always ask location of party) and danced to Spanish pop songs.
The next day we drove back to Santa Fe for some pool time with Francine and Cachai.
M: Hey Gaby, check out that unrestrained child between his mum's legs in the front seat. (not noticing that the seat is located in a Porche)
G: Oh yeah, that's the owner of Televisa (main TV network here). Check out the envoy of cars behind them.
Three cars full of bodyguards. I mean, what would the bodyguards in the third car even DO if there was a problem? They'd still be arriving by the time Televisa's owner was dead, or the unrestrained kid had been plucked from the car by kidnappers.
Kind of ironic, that the kid's got six big burly men watching him but is probably more likely to die from flying through the windscreen on Mexico's crazy roads.
From then on we did a bodyguard-spotting exercise. Gaby - who went to school with lots of girls whose bodyguards had to accompany them to the movies - would point out a bodyguard-type car, and sure enough ... a big man would step out and help the little darling alight from the vehicle in front.
Lunch was fun, apart from a freak accident involving red wine and the sofa - AGAIN. I haven't even been eating that much beef lately, so I'm not sure where the karma is coming from this time.
Francine had just finished complimenting me on my jeans and shirt, I'd just finished admiring Cachai's couch, and Francine's red wine choice (Argentina) and then, bang, all the worlds collided. There was the tiniest patch of water on the kitchen floor as I was carrying two full glasses into the living room.. and well, you can guess the rest. Jeans. Shirt. Sofa.
Hooray for soda water. Consider that my handy household cleaning tip.
Ignaki drove me back to ... yes, Santa Fe for dinner. Absolutely stunning, and yes, he cooked.
And then the next day, back to Santa Fe to watch movies. Kind of starting to wish I either had a car, or fewer friends living in Santa Fe.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
YOU SHOULD BE DAN-CING-YEAH
Wow, first time I've been salsa dancing in Mexico. The bar is called MamaRhumba and I went with Julia and two of her american friends. Who knew 23 year olds could be so fun?
For the second time here, I had a night-time arse-grabbing incident. It is so weird.
The first time it happened was a ride-by assault a couple of months ago. He rode up, grabbed my arse and kept riding. Of course, I yelled 'F@#$ off', which was fairly ineffective because he kept stalking me for blocks until he could do it again. I yelled 'F@#$ off' again and that was that.
This time, I was walking along my street to Julia's when I heard rapid footsteps behind me. Your first thought at that point, is that you're about to get mugged. I was relieved to see that it was just a guy in a white business shirt passing me. He kept walking, then stopped ten metres in front of me, turned around and started running at me. On the way past he just swung out and slammed me in the derrier.
I stood there, stunned, my phone started ringing so I answered it. I was standing, talking, just watching him run away thinking, "You freak", when he turned around to look at me.
I hope he saw the disdain in my eyes, although from 50 metres it would have required him to be very long-sighted to do so.
I can't quite get my head around what a man gets out of grabbing a woman's bottom and then running away.
Honestly, if you were going to grab anything... wouldn't it be more lucrative to go for the handbag?
From there, I had a couple of medicinal tequilas and we headed to the salsa bar. I quickly discovered that both Julia's friends are terrible dancers, so I asked her how we were going to find people to dance with.
"You just stand near the dancefloor for about a minute,' she said, 'That's it.'
Julia's never had problems with confidence.
So, it's kind of like fishing. But, how do you know if you're going to catch a big fish, or a dud? Just luck?
"Generally only guys who dance well ask foreign girls to dance," she announces with authority.
We do the stand for a minute thing, and nothing happens. Uh oh. Is it me?
"This has never happened to me before," Julia says, "It must be you."
Julia's never had problems with confidence.
At that precise moment someone in black sails by and grabs my ... hand! So, we start dancing and as it happens, Miguel is like a latino John Travolta so I stick with him for the night. We do that group thing with his cousin + partner, where you weave around each other and it is fun-on-legs.
Must have got carried away in the moment, because I got a text on my phone today that said:
"Hey Australian girl, ready for the weekend?"
It seems that in my salsa-fuelled delight, I overlooked the fact that I:
a) had a date on Sat night
b) had two deadlines on Sunday and
c) don't like wakeboarding
when I agreed to go away with my new pals to a lake somewhere for the weekend.
Woops.
Well, Gabriela is taking me to a party tonight. That's literally all I know about it: it's a party and she's taking me. Not sure how I'll go after last night's 4am effort, but let's give it a red-hot shot.
Back on the horse. Which, I have to admit, I really like riding.
For the second time here, I had a night-time arse-grabbing incident. It is so weird.
The first time it happened was a ride-by assault a couple of months ago. He rode up, grabbed my arse and kept riding. Of course, I yelled 'F@#$ off', which was fairly ineffective because he kept stalking me for blocks until he could do it again. I yelled 'F@#$ off' again and that was that.
This time, I was walking along my street to Julia's when I heard rapid footsteps behind me. Your first thought at that point, is that you're about to get mugged. I was relieved to see that it was just a guy in a white business shirt passing me. He kept walking, then stopped ten metres in front of me, turned around and started running at me. On the way past he just swung out and slammed me in the derrier.
I stood there, stunned, my phone started ringing so I answered it. I was standing, talking, just watching him run away thinking, "You freak", when he turned around to look at me.
I hope he saw the disdain in my eyes, although from 50 metres it would have required him to be very long-sighted to do so.
I can't quite get my head around what a man gets out of grabbing a woman's bottom and then running away.
Honestly, if you were going to grab anything... wouldn't it be more lucrative to go for the handbag?
From there, I had a couple of medicinal tequilas and we headed to the salsa bar. I quickly discovered that both Julia's friends are terrible dancers, so I asked her how we were going to find people to dance with.
"You just stand near the dancefloor for about a minute,' she said, 'That's it.'
Julia's never had problems with confidence.
So, it's kind of like fishing. But, how do you know if you're going to catch a big fish, or a dud? Just luck?
"Generally only guys who dance well ask foreign girls to dance," she announces with authority.
We do the stand for a minute thing, and nothing happens. Uh oh. Is it me?
"This has never happened to me before," Julia says, "It must be you."
Julia's never had problems with confidence.
At that precise moment someone in black sails by and grabs my ... hand! So, we start dancing and as it happens, Miguel is like a latino John Travolta so I stick with him for the night. We do that group thing with his cousin + partner, where you weave around each other and it is fun-on-legs.
Must have got carried away in the moment, because I got a text on my phone today that said:
"Hey Australian girl, ready for the weekend?"
It seems that in my salsa-fuelled delight, I overlooked the fact that I:
a) had a date on Sat night
b) had two deadlines on Sunday and
c) don't like wakeboarding
when I agreed to go away with my new pals to a lake somewhere for the weekend.
Woops.
Well, Gabriela is taking me to a party tonight. That's literally all I know about it: it's a party and she's taking me. Not sure how I'll go after last night's 4am effort, but let's give it a red-hot shot.
Back on the horse. Which, I have to admit, I really like riding.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
..OUT ON ACAPULCO BAY
Ignaki, who is actually Mexican, drove me to Acapulco where a gang of his friends had decided to hole up for the long weekend.
He has an ipod with 4000 songs on it (including the Animal Song by Savage Garden ... whaaat?).So, he was in charge of driving 200kms an hour (how fast you drive depends on the bribe you're willing to pay for gettin gcaught) and I was in charge of the music.
I figured that going to Acapulco, we should probably consider playing Come Fly With Me, because of that great line about 'if you could use some exotic booze out on Acapulco Bay'.
Of course, it was on his ipod. Well, you can imagine the rude shock when I discovered that all these years, the exotic booze has actually been in a bar in far Bombay. How did that happen??
Well, I've always thought my Spanish was fine, until three days of five DF locals speakng chilango in all its rapid-fire, more-slang-than-real-words, double meaning glory.
I don't even understand the first meaning, let alone that pithy little play on words.
One guy, Alberto, could have been speaking another language for all I knew.
By the end of the weekend, I was mute. All my 'mojo' that Ignaki was so taken with, had drained out with the energy that it took to even know the basics of what we were doing and where we were going.
Highlights:
- finding Enrique Iglesias (sp?) "Escape" on the ipod AND discovering that I am not the only person in the world capable of playing it seven times in a row. Wooooo hooooo! I know know the Spanish lyrics, although the equivalent of 'soon you will find' is open to question.
- Baby O. The fresa club where guys pay $100 to get in. Of course, I didn't realise, so on Saturday when we returned, I said to Ignaki, "Come on, you've been paying for everything. Let me just pay us in."
He indicates the board, showing 800 peso cover charge. I nearly died. And proceeded to amend my offer to just paying myself in.
Of course, inside the place is a shithole, filled with people who have spent far too much time and money on their appearance (to be allowed into heaven, no matter what cover they were willing to pay).
More fake boobs in there than at a Playboy shoot... not to mention the high heels that were floating around. Everyone stands on the dancefloor, but noone dances. They all move imperceptibly and sneak glances around to see who's watching. The girls preen their perfectly curled hair. The boys... watch the girls preening their perfectly curled hair.
I was particularly taken with one guy: he was the only person 'dancing like noone was watching'. He was tall with a big nose, great moves and knew the words to the songs, but didn't look Mexican. Maybe he was from Spain.
Half an hour later I look over, and he's being hauled out by security. You know, I will always wonder what for. Ara reckons that lots of the rich girls take their body guards so if he accidentally knocked one of them with an over-enthusiastic dance move, she could have had him thrown out.
What kind of a place is this??
By the end of the night, the poor old woman whose job is to stand in the toilet mopping the floor and handing out toilet paper was getting hugged by all the little fresa girls. The senora earns less in a year than what one of them would spend on an earring, how dare they? One of them had drunk too much and was crouching in the corner, still managing to balance in her heels.
And it made me glad I'm not 23 any more. Or 24. Actually, any of the ages that I've been up to now because let's face it, even 28 had its moments. (Byron Bay, La La Land - literally - toilets. Yes yes)
He has an ipod with 4000 songs on it (including the Animal Song by Savage Garden ... whaaat?).So, he was in charge of driving 200kms an hour (how fast you drive depends on the bribe you're willing to pay for gettin gcaught) and I was in charge of the music.
I figured that going to Acapulco, we should probably consider playing Come Fly With Me, because of that great line about 'if you could use some exotic booze out on Acapulco Bay'.
Of course, it was on his ipod. Well, you can imagine the rude shock when I discovered that all these years, the exotic booze has actually been in a bar in far Bombay. How did that happen??
Well, I've always thought my Spanish was fine, until three days of five DF locals speakng chilango in all its rapid-fire, more-slang-than-real-words, double meaning glory.
I don't even understand the first meaning, let alone that pithy little play on words.
One guy, Alberto, could have been speaking another language for all I knew.
By the end of the weekend, I was mute. All my 'mojo' that Ignaki was so taken with, had drained out with the energy that it took to even know the basics of what we were doing and where we were going.
Highlights:
- finding Enrique Iglesias (sp?) "Escape" on the ipod AND discovering that I am not the only person in the world capable of playing it seven times in a row. Wooooo hooooo! I know know the Spanish lyrics, although the equivalent of 'soon you will find' is open to question.
- Baby O. The fresa club where guys pay $100 to get in. Of course, I didn't realise, so on Saturday when we returned, I said to Ignaki, "Come on, you've been paying for everything. Let me just pay us in."
He indicates the board, showing 800 peso cover charge. I nearly died. And proceeded to amend my offer to just paying myself in.
Of course, inside the place is a shithole, filled with people who have spent far too much time and money on their appearance (to be allowed into heaven, no matter what cover they were willing to pay).
More fake boobs in there than at a Playboy shoot... not to mention the high heels that were floating around. Everyone stands on the dancefloor, but noone dances. They all move imperceptibly and sneak glances around to see who's watching. The girls preen their perfectly curled hair. The boys... watch the girls preening their perfectly curled hair.
I was particularly taken with one guy: he was the only person 'dancing like noone was watching'. He was tall with a big nose, great moves and knew the words to the songs, but didn't look Mexican. Maybe he was from Spain.
Half an hour later I look over, and he's being hauled out by security. You know, I will always wonder what for. Ara reckons that lots of the rich girls take their body guards so if he accidentally knocked one of them with an over-enthusiastic dance move, she could have had him thrown out.
What kind of a place is this??
By the end of the night, the poor old woman whose job is to stand in the toilet mopping the floor and handing out toilet paper was getting hugged by all the little fresa girls. The senora earns less in a year than what one of them would spend on an earring, how dare they? One of them had drunk too much and was crouching in the corner, still managing to balance in her heels.
And it made me glad I'm not 23 any more. Or 24. Actually, any of the ages that I've been up to now because let's face it, even 28 had its moments. (Byron Bay, La La Land - literally - toilets. Yes yes)
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
FEVER
It could have been the drugs.
I got the flu yesterday and went to the pharmacy to see what I could lay my hands on. Forget your hands, your mouth.. they said. What about your arse? I'd been sick for all of six hours and they were drawing up the penicilan shots. Something about my upbringing tells me I should suffer for a while first, so I said no thanks, I'll go the traditional way.
I could hardly stand. So there I was bent over, waiting for one of the six thousand staff members to finish staring at their calculator/space and come and help me. Finally, an old bloke presented me with a smorgasboard, one for the throat, one for the flu and an anti-biotic.
Anti-biotics? Already? ....Forget the upbringing, I'll take it.
All the drugs here have active ingredients I've never heard of, which is mildly exciting.
The guy starts handwriting a receipt, for me to take five metres down the counter to the 'cashier' who will take my money, so I can take the receipt back to the original guy and get my goods.
Realised I didn't have any cash so headed off to Superama so I could take a whole lot out at once and make the mandatory $7 fee for overseas withdrawals worthwhile. That block seemed like an eternity.
Figured I'd get some bread while I was at it. Went to the bakery area, where you have to get a tray, put the bread on it, take it to a woman who asks if you want it in plastic or paper .. and then you can take it to the cashier.
Go through the cashier, who passes everything to the other guy whose job is to put it in a bag for you (for a tip) and set off back to the pharmacy, where I waited for the cashier, and then waited from someone to finish a very long conversation so they could hand me my plastic bag of assorted pills.
This redundant-job aspect of Mexico, which actually ADDS time to the transaction normally amuses me, but today I was visualising myself yelling,
"Helll-oooo? Is this a pharmacy or a mortuary??? There are SICK people here, I'm SICK. I just need DRUGS."
Blah blah blah. Well, in the end, the four-block trip took an hour. Partly because I had to stop for rests every block.
I bailed on the evening's Girls Reunion Dinner (can you have a reunion if you haven't met half of them yet?) and lay in a delirium thinking I should make it over to the computer to send of a couple of apologetic emails.
Just couldn't do it.
But then the international desk emailed to say they wanted a story on Bush in Mexico (which I had pitched 8 hours earlier when I was in relatively good health) so from the comfort of my bed I wrote the story.
Unfortunately the only place to record your voice (noise reduction) is my cupboard. Crawling into the cupboard in good health is one thing. When you're running a high fever, it's completely another.
Back to bed where I cut, converted and sent the story... and then off into a restless sleep.
The strange thing, that I cannot explain, is that at 3am I woke (I had taken Ignacio's advice to 'drink water until you are peeing out of your ears') and went to the toilet.
Yes yes, another toilet, another epiphany.
I was sitting there, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of wellbeing. Of goodness. Like the self in me was welling up and getting bigger.
Either they put MDMA in the flu tablets over here, or I am in a good place.
I got the flu yesterday and went to the pharmacy to see what I could lay my hands on. Forget your hands, your mouth.. they said. What about your arse? I'd been sick for all of six hours and they were drawing up the penicilan shots. Something about my upbringing tells me I should suffer for a while first, so I said no thanks, I'll go the traditional way.
I could hardly stand. So there I was bent over, waiting for one of the six thousand staff members to finish staring at their calculator/space and come and help me. Finally, an old bloke presented me with a smorgasboard, one for the throat, one for the flu and an anti-biotic.
Anti-biotics? Already? ....Forget the upbringing, I'll take it.
All the drugs here have active ingredients I've never heard of, which is mildly exciting.
The guy starts handwriting a receipt, for me to take five metres down the counter to the 'cashier' who will take my money, so I can take the receipt back to the original guy and get my goods.
Realised I didn't have any cash so headed off to Superama so I could take a whole lot out at once and make the mandatory $7 fee for overseas withdrawals worthwhile. That block seemed like an eternity.
Figured I'd get some bread while I was at it. Went to the bakery area, where you have to get a tray, put the bread on it, take it to a woman who asks if you want it in plastic or paper .. and then you can take it to the cashier.
Go through the cashier, who passes everything to the other guy whose job is to put it in a bag for you (for a tip) and set off back to the pharmacy, where I waited for the cashier, and then waited from someone to finish a very long conversation so they could hand me my plastic bag of assorted pills.
This redundant-job aspect of Mexico, which actually ADDS time to the transaction normally amuses me, but today I was visualising myself yelling,
"Helll-oooo? Is this a pharmacy or a mortuary??? There are SICK people here, I'm SICK. I just need DRUGS."
Blah blah blah. Well, in the end, the four-block trip took an hour. Partly because I had to stop for rests every block.
I bailed on the evening's Girls Reunion Dinner (can you have a reunion if you haven't met half of them yet?) and lay in a delirium thinking I should make it over to the computer to send of a couple of apologetic emails.
Just couldn't do it.
But then the international desk emailed to say they wanted a story on Bush in Mexico (which I had pitched 8 hours earlier when I was in relatively good health) so from the comfort of my bed I wrote the story.
Unfortunately the only place to record your voice (noise reduction) is my cupboard. Crawling into the cupboard in good health is one thing. When you're running a high fever, it's completely another.
Back to bed where I cut, converted and sent the story... and then off into a restless sleep.
The strange thing, that I cannot explain, is that at 3am I woke (I had taken Ignacio's advice to 'drink water until you are peeing out of your ears') and went to the toilet.
Yes yes, another toilet, another epiphany.
I was sitting there, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of wellbeing. Of goodness. Like the self in me was welling up and getting bigger.
Either they put MDMA in the flu tablets over here, or I am in a good place.
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