I hosted a pancake party at my house for Christmas last night. Yes, pancakes. With homemade strawberry sauce and peach sauce, frosting, nutella, whipped cream, milk, and mulled wine. I've got a good reason, too. Allow me to explain.
Ovens are not a high priority in Mexico. I've seen a few decent American-style ovens, but not too many. My oven certainly isn't one. I stuck to borrowing a friends' oven for my first three months in Mexico, but for Thanksgiving, I decided I needed to try my own.
Gas combined with flame should result in ignition. That's what I thought until I tried to light my oven. I could hear the gas flowing into the oven, I could smell it entering the rest of the house. Still, the oven refused to light. Eventually, I figured out how to do it. I had to turn the gas on and close the oven door. Once the whole oven had filled with gas, I could stick a flame in there and it would explode. The explosion left my eyes burning, but at least I had a hot oven.
With the oven lit, I had new troubles. The first one was the temperature. My oven nobs do not have numbers on them. Plus, if I turned the gas down, the flame would die and I'd have to light the oven again. I discovered that my oven really only had two temperatures -- all the way on, and off. After several times of lowering the temperature, killing the flame, and having to explode light the oven again, I figured this out.
The final problem was that my oven door wouldn't close. The slightest movement would send it slamming open. Even when I managed to close it, a two-inch crack let the heat out and the cold air in.
Somehow, I managed to bake sweet potato casserole and a pie for Thanksgiving. Both of them were soft in the middle and black on the outside. I yelled at the oven a lot. I had to keep the apartment door open all night to keep the apartment from filling with gas. I almost died. That is why I hosted a pancake party for Christmas. No Christmas cookies at this apartment. I'll save the baking for the U.S.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Time traveling
I've heard rumors that time machines do not exist. This weekend, though, I was fairly convinced those rumors were false.
My time traveling started on Sunday morning when I opened Firefox and saw that dreadful "unable to load page" message. In the living room our television had turned to snow. We called the cable company, and they said the entire neighborhood was down. It would be back in a few hours, they promised. Ha. Yeah, right.
I left for the day, and when I returned Sunday evening, my roommate said, "Did you notice? We're out of gas." No gas means no cooking and no warm showers, an unfortunate state of affairs in the winter. Puebla doesn't get too cold, but the temperatures do near freezing in the mornings and evenings. We called the gas company. They said they would refill our tank at seven the next morning. Ha. Yeah, right.
Yesterday I woke up to a cold shower. I sang songs about the snow. "I wanna wash my hands, my face and hair with snow" seemed particularly appropriate. I ate a cold breakfast, without the usual background of CNN. The gas truck never came. The internet and cable still weren't working. During the day, Ivan called for gas again. They'd be right over, they said. Ha. Yeah, right.
As I was leaving school, I tried texting a friend. The text wouldn't go through. Strange. I had enough credit on my phone, I thought. My roommate's phone (also Moviestar) was down, too. So was Ivan's.
That evening, Karen and I sat in our 18th century living room and wondered what to do. I couldn't finish making Christmas candy, because the gas tank was empty. We couldn't call the gas company (for the fourth time), because our phones were down. I didn't want to work out, because I didn't want to have to take another icey shower. So I took a nap. Then I took another.
At nine or so, Karen, Ivan, and I went next door to get some dinner. There, we asked around. Our neighbors' internet and cable was still working. Everyone offered advice for getting ours working again. They also said they filled their gas tanks far less often than we did. A neighbor brought a phone book, and we searched for a company that would actually show up and wouldn't rip us off.
Today we have returned to the 21st century. Our phones are working again. A new company filled our tank, and hopefully 500 pesos will last more than a month or two this time. The technician figured out that our cable had been disconnected across the street. He wouldn't give us our extra channels, though. Last time, we had to promise to go dancing with him for him to put up the 20 extra American channels. I guess he figured out we weren't going to make good our promise. Now we're stuck with the 40 Spanish channels we pay for. I have few complaints, though. Hot water and internet and phones are pretty great.
My time traveling started on Sunday morning when I opened Firefox and saw that dreadful "unable to load page" message. In the living room our television had turned to snow. We called the cable company, and they said the entire neighborhood was down. It would be back in a few hours, they promised. Ha. Yeah, right.
I left for the day, and when I returned Sunday evening, my roommate said, "Did you notice? We're out of gas." No gas means no cooking and no warm showers, an unfortunate state of affairs in the winter. Puebla doesn't get too cold, but the temperatures do near freezing in the mornings and evenings. We called the gas company. They said they would refill our tank at seven the next morning. Ha. Yeah, right.
Yesterday I woke up to a cold shower. I sang songs about the snow. "I wanna wash my hands, my face and hair with snow" seemed particularly appropriate. I ate a cold breakfast, without the usual background of CNN. The gas truck never came. The internet and cable still weren't working. During the day, Ivan called for gas again. They'd be right over, they said. Ha. Yeah, right.
As I was leaving school, I tried texting a friend. The text wouldn't go through. Strange. I had enough credit on my phone, I thought. My roommate's phone (also Moviestar) was down, too. So was Ivan's.
That evening, Karen and I sat in our 18th century living room and wondered what to do. I couldn't finish making Christmas candy, because the gas tank was empty. We couldn't call the gas company (for the fourth time), because our phones were down. I didn't want to work out, because I didn't want to have to take another icey shower. So I took a nap. Then I took another.
At nine or so, Karen, Ivan, and I went next door to get some dinner. There, we asked around. Our neighbors' internet and cable was still working. Everyone offered advice for getting ours working again. They also said they filled their gas tanks far less often than we did. A neighbor brought a phone book, and we searched for a company that would actually show up and wouldn't rip us off.
Today we have returned to the 21st century. Our phones are working again. A new company filled our tank, and hopefully 500 pesos will last more than a month or two this time. The technician figured out that our cable had been disconnected across the street. He wouldn't give us our extra channels, though. Last time, we had to promise to go dancing with him for him to put up the 20 extra American channels. I guess he figured out we weren't going to make good our promise. Now we're stuck with the 40 Spanish channels we pay for. I have few complaints, though. Hot water and internet and phones are pretty great.
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