ATM Ate My Card… But Kind Mexicans Got Our Car Going

We had our challenges yesterday. Some days are like that.

I used the HSBC ATM at Soriana in Chapala, which is a big box store kind of like a small Walmart. For some ornery reason of its own, the ATM gobbled up my debit card. No money, no card. Nada. I did get a printed receipt that told me the machine had kept the card.

I knew I would never see that card again, but just in case – since the laws of reality operate a bit differently south of the border – I asked the guard who was standing nearby, interrupting a tender moment he was having with a pretty young woman. She flounced off, and he got a card from the nearby customer service desk and tried inserting it. The machine took it and gave  it back. Good, at least my card was far enough into the guts of the machine that the next customer wasn’t going to receive it.

Next I called the Mexican 800 number that was on the ATM for such occasions. Speaking Spanish on my cell phone in the echoing space of the store, I talked to two different young men, both very nice but both speaking very rapidly. The gist of it was that I should call my bank in Colorado and void that card.

I did that once we got home, and this is another case of the “good bad luck” that Kelly and I seem to have. Next week we’re flying to San Francisco for a quick trip, Kelly to a professional conference on natural building, me to make a circuit of family members and old friends in the bay area. There will be time for my replacement card to catch up with me in the US. 

Anyway, back at Soriana, Kelly turned up from doing other errands and he got money out with his card from a different ATM machine there. We did our shopping, loaded up the car, and paid the guy who had washed it.

Kelly turned the key. Nothing happened. We had gas. Our young friend Peter was due at our house pretty soon, and I hoped he wouldn’t have to wait on the street for us. (Peter’s blog on roaming around Mexico and other places just keeps getting better. Check it out if you haven’t. His recent post "Slowly, Mexico becomes a horror movie with a touch of farce" will curl your hair, guaranteed.)

The car washing guy and his buddy came over to trouble shoot with Kelly. They offered to give us a push and Kelly decided it was worth a try. They pushed us out of our spot and then forward towards a sloping exit. Cough, cough, and the car started. We were on our way.

What a relief! We were not going to spend hours in the hot Soriana parking lot.

We stopped in at a gas station to ask about buying batteries, as Kelly was pretty sure that was the problem. The guy there waved at an auto parts store across the street. The man at the store had the right battery and he and Kelly got it installed in no time, with pleasant chatting at no extra charge.

It worked. We got home before Peter.

Just that morning, a Mexican friend had commented that Americans are more community-minded than Mexicans. I do think there is some truth to that, but something about an emergency – small or large – seems to bring out the best in Mexicans!

My Own Sense of Community Grows from the San Juan Cosala Disaster

When Kelly and I bought our house here in San Juan Cosala, by Lake Chapala, a year and a half ago, I wasn't at all sure I wanted to be in Mexico. We had been living for close to ten years in an unusual small town in Colorado -- Crestone -- and I loved being so deeply a part of the community there. I'm such a people person, once I turn off my computer anyway!

We've talked and talked about what to do... bi-locational lifestyle? Not so hot if you want to live a reasonably tranquil and ecological lifestyle, let alone all the logistics involved in living with dogs and cats and in loving to garden. Add a Rottweiler puppy to the mix, as we did recently, and two homes are suddenly much more problematic.

So we decided a while back not to decide anything till we had lived here for at least two years. We still own land in Crestone, we get back there regularly, and we stay in touch. But when we got back here in July from a long trip to the US, I realized that if I was going to give the Lake Chapala area a fair trial, I needed to work at connecting more here.

So I've been doing that, making new friends amongst both foreigners and Mexicans. There's a great monthly brunch gathering of mostly foreign women who live along the west end of Lake Chapala, at a restaurant or coffee house, where we have a chance to share. I'm online with other friends, and get to potlucks sometimes.

When the big storm hit San Juan Cosala the other day, with all the damage I've been blogging about, our phone started buzzing. Lupita, who had lived in our house when we were away, wanted to check and be sure we were okay. Sally, who will be living above us when her family's new house is finished, called to touch base. Linda, a close friend in another Lakeside town, checked on us. Maria from El Limon called. I called my neighbor Rosie, my friend Paula who could also give me news of Brenda, Brian and Anne Marie, and others.

One day recently, as we were walking around San Juan Cosala, we ran into several of the above. When we stopped by the Cultural Center on the Plaza, there were Leticia and Verena, Mexican and German respectively, involved with the aid efforts going on:

It's beginning to feel more like home to me, disaster and all.