On one of many trips to La Paz to the bank, we also saw a doctor about my husband’s ear drum fiasco (a whole other story). El sol–the sun– shines hotter in La Paz. The humidity is higher in La Paz. We turn into big, slippery, balls of sweat. Happily La Paz is a mere 1.5 hours from here on a beautiful highway, but it always promises to be hot. It was so much fun the first day; we thought visiting our friends at the hospital and the bank would be fun the next day too.
Soon after the doctor visit regarding the holes in Greg’s eardrum, we stop (in a bus zone) in front of a pharmacy where I jump out to purchase a prescription while Greg stays in the car with the car running. Greg has lost 90% of his hearing in his left ear and doesn’t hear the horrendous noises coming from the idling car. After my success in getting the prescription, I hurry back to the car. OMG! I have never heard such racket coming from a vehicle. I can’t believe my ears. A man waiting for the bus looks at me and points to the spewing smoke and pinches his nose with one hand and points to the car with the other. Well, as if the weather isn’t enough to make us cranky, the VW has decided to blow up. In a bus stop zone. On a busy street.
The van is so great when it’s operational. This picture is from one of those good times
We call our friendly VW mechanic, Rogelio, who has patched up the Westfalia several times before, and his shop is conveniently located about a mile away. He kindly sends a nice young man, Rafael, aka Rafa, to our rescue. While waiting for Rafa, Greg investigates and suspects it is the alternator causing the ruckus.
Rafa arrives and after handshakes and introductions he comes to the same conclusion and he calls his friend who has a tow truck. Once our car is hooked up, Rafa invites us into his car and off the three of us go to Geraldo’s, the best VW repair shop in La Paz. At this point in the story, it is important for you to understand one tradition in the Mexican culture: start work early, take two-hour lunch breaks and come back to work till 7:00PM. We arrive right in time for their lunch break. We will wait for two hours in this stifling heat to find out our car’s fate.
By this time we are very hungry, so we head to the Chinese restaurant, called Comida China, down the street. La Paz is so international when it comes to food, and they love their Chinese restaurants. Oh sweet air conditioning. Ah, blissful air conditioning. It is 95 degrees in La Paz with a heat index of 107, so the air conditioning is blessed relief. After a long lunch of five different items that all look and taste the same, we stroll on the Malecón–a promenade or boardwalk along the seaside. Stroll makes it sound like fun, doesn’t it? The reality? Let’s just say that walking around La Paz in midday heat is something much less than fun.
The foot that I injured a year ago, doing Zumba in an exercise class, is killing me from all the walking. (I don’t realize at the time, but I find out later, that I have broken several little bones in my foot and it has not healed well). It is miserable in this heat, our van is broken down, and my foot is throbbing with pain.
We need to get out of the heat. Although it was great that we got towed, and that they would squeeze us into the car repair line-up, this is not my idea of a good time. After a long, grueling day of walking and waiting, we surprisingly get our alternator patched up and the capable guys at Geraldo’s get us back on the road at 7:45 PM. The mechanic’s parting words are a warning to us to replace the alternator belts sooner, rather than later. Greg says he has a new one in the van and will do it in the next week or so. We are on our way again.
………………………
We make it all of about three miles away. I hear a loud snapping noise. What’s that? You may have guessed it. The belt from the alternator has snapped and we must get off the road before the car blows an engine. We only run one red light and make one illegal U-Turn before pulling off the busy street. Well, well. We are in another bus stop zone…all I can think is thank God for bus stops. Being the bright and happy person that I am, I find this sort of funny in an ironic sort of way. We are driving a VW Bus and this is the second time today we are finding ourselves broken down in a bus zone.
Irony is a weird thing. It has the initial sense of being rather humorous, or at the very least coincidental, and then it hits you right between the eyes! It’s déjà vu. It’s The Twilight Zone. Oh, it’s irony all right, but it is not funny.
Greg drags himself from the car and finds that the water and coolant have spewed. These are signs of the real possibility of a blown engine. His reaction is one of fear and loathing for our bus. This just can’t be happening. It’s getting dark and traffic is horrendous. Dark does not mean cooler either.
Sweat is trickling down in places I’m too much of a prude to mention. This must be one of the more trying moments I can remember. My usual sunny disposition is being tested, and I’m failing the test. Greg never has a sunny disposition to start with, so it isn’t as big a pendulum swing for him.
We try calling Rafa’s friend, the tow truck guy, on his cell again and again, to no avail. Remember, we don’t speak Spanish. And it’s still really, really hot. Sunny Disposition Susie thinks, “This is such an adventure.”
What the hell are we going to do now? In a moment of desperation, Greg just takes off walking. He’s going to see if he can find someone who can help us. He doesn’t have much of a plan really. At least he’s doing something. I just can’t walk another step with my swollen, painful foot, and yell this to him as he’s dodging cars in the intersection on his way across this main street. “I’ll wait here!” I scream, but I know he doesn’t hear me because of that 90% hearing loss in his left ear, not to mention the horns honking as he runs in the street in search of whatever he is in search of.
Half an hour later he comes back to the car where I am all by myself on a busy street in the dark dripping with sweat. But my man has come back with more phone numbers for tow trucks. I don’t know how he did it, but he did.
Because I’m the so-called Spanish speaker in the family, it is my turn to be of use. I dial the first number. I’m muddling along with these people on the phone trying to explain our dilemma and working equally hard just to understand whatever they are saying at the speed of light, and holy crap! I am so hot!!!! My foot is swollen and throbbing and the lunch I ate (Comida China) is gurgling in my belly causing excruciating pain. What the hell? We’re broken down for the second time in one day, in a bus zone, calling for a tow truck!
Finally I get hold of Jesus. In Mexico many men are named Jesus. It’s pronounced Hay soos. But I think of it more as Jesus, as in the Son of God. I think, but am not sure, that Jesus understands me, what we need, and where we are. It’s a lot like praying.
We wait and we wait. Now we break into hysterical laughter. We’re going insane! It’s all like a bad movie and we are the stars of the show. After about ten minutes that seem like three days, Greg gets out of the car and decides to throw the remnants of our lunch in the trash. Thank goodness he does too, because lo and behold, there is Jesus in his tow truck! He’s been waiting around the other side of the building looking for us.
This particular Jesus is about 300 pounds, dripping with sweat, and has several missing teeth, but I swear to God I have never been so happy to see someone in my life. I jump out of the car and run to greet him. I stop short of hugging him and exclaim, “Oh, Jesus! Muchas gracias!!!” He is equally excited to see me, or maybe it’s just because I am so excited to see him. We all begin laughing for some reason, and I tell him, “Cinturon roto!” I’m pretty sure I just told him our belt was broken. At least I hope that is what I said.
He hooks the VW up and we squeeze into the front of his truck with him. I can’t be certain, but I could swear he has no headlights in his truck. We are going five miles per hour, listening to authentic Mexican music on his radio (the kind with accordions), and we get about a mile before the hydraulics begin to slip and the front end of our car is no longer riding high. Jesus applies his brakes, and in one swift motion which is impressive for such a big guy, he’s out and adjusting the hydraulics.
As we continue on our merry way, Jesus and I are doing our best to carry on a conversation in Spanish. I understand enough to know he asks me where we live and after I tell him vivimos en El Pescadero–we live in El Pescadero–, he wants to know where I was born. I only know he is asking this because we have recently practiced asking, “When were you born?” in our Spanish class last week. At this point I am getting pretty excited about being able to actually communicate with Jesus and I elbow Greg, as a way to point out to him how absolutely fantastic it is that Jesus and I are actually speaking in Spanish with each other, but Greg is so focused on the task at hand and he fails to feel the thrill.
Once we arrive at Geraldo’s (again) and Jesus disconnects the car, he seems concerned about what we are going to do next. Jesus wants to take us home. We live 1.5 hours away, so we decline his generous offer and we tell him we’ll be fine. The three of us heartily shake hands and Greg gives him 500 pesos for his trouble. Mucho gusto and hasta luego, Jesus! This means that we enjoyed meeting him, and we’ll see him soon. Why am I saying I’ll see a tow truck driver again soon?
It’s about 9:30PM. Now what? We go for beers (Greg) and limonada–limeade–(me). Back to the Malecón. More déjà vu. After a few drinks and some belly laughs, we are soon trudging to the VW that is sitting across from the repair shop. Now it’s 10:30PM, still in the 90s and still humid. Greg says, “You aren’t going to like sleeping in the van.” I know what he means. There is no breeze. The humidity is off the charts.
As fate or luck or God would have it, a great guy, Omar, that Greg met at Los Cerritos last week, has an identical VW van as ours, and he has also been at Geraldo’s, getting his oil changed or something. Omar told us earlier in the day that he and his traveling companion were spending the night in the hotel across the street from the VW repair shop. In fact his Mexican friend, Lalo, owns this hotel.
As we approach our broken down VW, we see them all standing a mere fifteen feet away on the sidewalk out front of the hotel chatting. Oh thank God (again) Lalo says he has a room for us! And it’s got air conditioning and an internet connection. It also has three barking dogs and two crying cats, but it has a shower and a toilet and it is so clean it’s almost sanitary enough for surgery. Seriously clean. What a relief to have such a clean and comfortable room with a bathroom when you’re sick all night ridding yourself of the Chinese food you had for lunch.
I awoke next morning with a sty in my left eye and a big red spot on my face from an insect bite. I have bags under my eyes and I have no deodorant or clean clothes to put on. Before checking out of the hotel, we each take a shower and I even wash my hair. The hotel coffee is more than passable. We have to put on our stinky clothes from yesterday, but somehow we can’t wipe the smiles from our faces. The car gets its new belts and new coolant, and the mechanic tells Greg our engine is not ruined.
It has rained really hard in the night as we slept, and it continues raining all morning. Our world takes on the incredibly sweet smell of rain in the desert; trust me, there’s nothing quite like this sensory experience. We are driving through standing water on the roadways feeling genuinely blessed and marveling at the kindness of the people of La Paz. The total cost of two tows, repair, new belts and hotel stay is about $100.00 USD. We are more determined than ever to learn to speak Spanish, and to do whatever it takes to build our dream home in the Baja!
It will be a long time before I eat Chinese food again.
