CXXIII. No Tenemos Mucha Gasolina

We Don't Have Much Gasoline 

Jalisco is abuzz this week with talk of a gasoline shortage. Day before yesterday a line of cars stretched from our town’s—closed and empty—Pemex station out of sight along the highway’s curb lane. Juan Mateo, the guy who sells frutas y verduras from a table in front of the supermercado, told me that the last car in line was several kilometers east in San Antonio. All on the off chance gas would be delivered sometime before dark.

Yesterday the local gringo web board published accounts of five hour waits for a fill-up, and many stations still closed.

Shortages began when the new federal government shut down gas pipelines from refineries to storage facilities. Hijacked gasoline was being loaded from the pipelines into huge tanker trucks and sold in staggering quantities on the black market. Relying solely on federally protected trucked deliveries, the predictable shortages at the pump hit some states harder than others.

The government responded by hiring private trucking companies to facilitate distribution. It will be interesting to see how this plays out in national politics. AMLO— acronym for the new president—promised an end to corruption. Will the people have enough trust and patience to support his effort, however ill thought-out it may be?

A few hours ago I heard that most local stations had gas (and long lines). And--just in--AMLO is opening and protecting a pipeline to our populous state where the second largest city in Mexico--Guadalajara--is located.

Fortunately we’re able to easily walk about everywhere we need to go.

CXXII. Café Alma

Soul Cafe

The newest addition to tiny businesses open on our block is Alma Cafe. It joins about a dozen other tiendas operated by families who live behind, above, or next to their shop. All open up to a narrow sidewalk on either side of Calle Encarnación Rosas between Guadalupe Victoria and Constitución. They do not include the more or less ad hoc card table of used clothing or posole sold by the Ibarra clan just a few doors up from our casa.

The cafe is in the space that used to house the papelería and zapatería--office supply store and shoe store--overseen by Vicente's daughter, María. Vicente is the recently deceased great-grandfather who was the nearly constant occupant of a stool set up just outside the store's opening. His presence and greetings seemed to bless our block.

In the same spot where he used to sit, on the wall next to the cafe's opening, is a just completed drawing of Vicente wearing his sombrero and holding his cane. I think that the alma, or soul, in the little coffee bar's name refers to this kind man.

The Alma Cafe has only been open a week. It is being run by Vicente's grand-daughter, visible behind the counter. A great-grandson, seen standing center, takes orders. The dibujo of Vicente is on the wall below the cafe's address, 15A. This is exactly where he used to sit and exchange greetings with me most mornings for over a year. I imagine he'd been doing that with everyone on the block for a long time. 

CXXI. ¡Que Tenga un Próspero Año Nuevo!

Wishing You a Prosperous New Year!

There's a fellow on the next corner, halfway to the farmacia, who deep fries pork fat and entrails in a big stainless steel cauldron over a curbside fire fed from one of those long skinny propane tanks that look like WWII bombs. He attracts walk-by customers throughout the morning, almost every morning. I often see him taking a break with his compañeros around noon--leaning against the wall or sitting on one of those plastic Corona chairs--the crispy rinds and intestines laid out for sale on brown butcher paper. He's got a brown face himself with friendly wrinkles and a white soup-strainer moustache. 

Yesterday morning I greeted him with a traditional, "¡Que Tenga un Próspero Año Nuevo!" He grinned and growled, "Igual" which basically translates as "Back at ya".