Wednesday, June 26, 2013
holes in the table
The primary sign that summer has arrived here on the beach is the rain.
We may not get Bangladeshi monsoons, but we come close. Sunday, we had a heavy rain. Tuesday, we experienced our own private Iguazu.
Ed and I drove over to La Manzanilla for dinner last evening at Cafe de Flores. On the drive over, the sky was clear. But just as we were finishing off two of Alex's prize meals, the sky may as well have literally opened up.
It has been a year since I have seen rain that heavy and constant. But it was a good reminder of what summer can be in Melaque.
The photograph at the top of this post is the street in front of my house Tuesday evening. If you look closely, you can see that it is flowing. Just like a stream. Which it was.
That little lake will sit there (varying slightly in size) for the next three or four months. At least, I will get clean sandals every time I open the gate.
I started this essay by writing that rain is the primary sign that summer has arrived. But there is a secondary sign. And it is like unto the first.
Most of our streets are sand and dirt. I suspect you already concluded that based on the photograph. In winter, they are relatively easy to maintain.
The local grader fills any holes with sand, and then levels the whole shebang. Smoother than a billiard table. (Or pool table, if you can avoid the ever-officious Harold Hill.)
But that type of construction is not exactly Aztec monumental. You will find a warning about this type of construction in Matthew 7:26. There is a good reason why you do not find many pyramids made of sand by Indians here in Melaque.
And it does not take much to undo the grader's work. The only major road leading into Villa Obregon from the highway is Reforma. Most of it is paved with cobblestones. But the top of the road is sand and dirt.
Up until Sunday, it had retained most of its pool hall smoothness. After one rain on Sunday, this is the result.
The cars, trucks, buses, motorcycles, bicycles, horses, and other various forms of transportation, which make our roads look like a John Ford western, have turned about 100 feet of street into an effective tank trap. The rain combined with the sand in the repaired potholes to create a slurry. And wheels and hooves splashed the fill to the side of the road.
There is no need to lower the speed limit on our roads in the summer. But the road is undoubtedly putting the children of several mechanics through primary school.
There is another sign of summer. But I will leave that for tomorrow. I promise: it is not another rain tale.