Mis vecinos

Well, I have two days left here, which really is one (tomorrow) since today is almost over and I leave Saturday early in the morning. I thought it'd be a good time to mention my neighbors, who have provided a source of entertainment and interest throughout my year here.

Let's start on the first floor. These are the neighbors, by the way, who were going to "call the fatherland/national heritage" when I almost tripped over a passed out drunk man at the bottom of the stairs a few weeks ago.

Let's start with their son, who I can never understand. I am hoping, actually, that this is a speech impediment of some sort because it's better to have a documented problem than to just be strange, it would seem. In addition to lacking articulation, he lacks coverage for his upper body! The guy is somewhere in his late teens, and for the first few months I lived here, I was convinced that he didn't so much as own a shirt, as every day he lacked one. Finally, once winter set in (the time when the temperature dips to the 70s and people here whip out their scarves and jackets), I finally saw him in a shirt. About three times. All year. He also parks his motorcycle IN their apartment. Mom, that's a lot worse than a backpack, no?

Sometime during this year, these neighbors put up a sign and opened an internet cafe-slash-copy and scanning center. It's part of their front room partitioned off with a couple of computers. This isn't unusual, though; the neighbors in the building across from me run a small grocery store out of their living room. Things got a little stranger, though, when I started coming home and hearing bad Mexican songs being sung in what seemed like... karaoke?? Yes, the neighbors were doing karaoke shamelessly with the door open, on more than one occasion, but it hasn't happened lately, or I might think it was part of the family business.

All in all, the first floor inhabitants are friendly entrepreneurs with a semi-nudist son. And a really ugly dog; did I mention the dog?

I don't know the second floor vecinos, so our tour moves to my next-door neighbors. It sort of seems like a clown car, except an apartment; the amount of people I see there in what would be a two-bedroom apartment exceeds my North American comfort levels, but living with one's extended family also is not uncommon here. Aside from getting mad at us for setting our supposedly fly-attracting trash outside the door once (for about five minutes!), the patriarch of the group is a nice guy who's always ready with a "Buenas tardes". They have at least two children. Their son, about high school age, is always looking directly into our door when he walks by. "What do Americans do at home?" I can only guess that this is what he's thinking. There is also a little girl whose growth has been marked during my time here! She was a little shy at first, but now she always comes to the door (often accompanied by the curious adolescent) and says "Hola!" with a wave.

Well, that's my neighborhood! Just add lots of noise and a peanut vendor, and you've got the complete picture.