Locksmith from around the corner

We had need of a locksmith for 2 issues. First, it was the back door with no key. This gave access to the service patio and the stairs to the rooftop patio. If a wind blew the door closed we would be locked out. Second issue was in the master bedroom. There are built-in wall closets and drawers and in the middle of these there is a locked cabinet with a mirror. What would be inside and how do I get to use that space?

Well, there is a locksmith just up the street and he happened to be open when we walked by. Great opportunity to have our locks looked after. The young man, maybe 25 years old, was happy to grab his tools and follow us home. First job was to bust the lock on the upstairs cabinet.

Back in Toronto a locksmith would drill out the centre cylinder to open the cabinet and then replace the lock with a new one. But our young locksmith took out his lock picking tools just like on TV and proceeded to pick the lock. When he opened the cabinet he then removed the lock and replaced it with a new one. Very simple and very clean work and all done for C$20. What a deal!.

I was expecting to find some very valuable stuff inside. Why else would it have been locked. The cache was 3 empty binders and a Samsumg video camera. Useless camera because there was no battery and no cables. And who uses video cameras anymore when the iPhones and iPads do such a lovely job. Maybe I'll research to find out how expensive a replacement battery would be. 

By the way, the cat in the cabinet was a recent addition after the cabinet was opened.

Okay, the next project-replace the back door lock.

Inside view of lock

Outside view of lock

Here is what I am expecting the young locksmith to do-Remove the lock and replace it with a new one which has keys.

Well surprise NO! First he takes off the cover and opens up the lock. He takes it all apart and pulls out the locking cylinder. Just a small cylinder. Next he opens up his tool kit and takes out a blank key and using a hand file he commences to shape the blank key to fit the cylinder. One by one he notches the key to fit. Within 20 minutes he had the lock apart, a new key shaped and the lock back together again. And yes, the key works beautifully.

And what do you expect the cost of this one to be, including a second key that he cut on the regular key duplicating machine at his shop? An astounding C$15.

So, 2 lock repairs for C$35 and maybe an hour's work. Fantastic! And good thing because I locked myself out in the service patio today and got to use the spare key we keep out there for just this purpose.

The Pilgrimage: A Play in 1 act, 2 characters and a Pick Up Truck

Scene opens on the patio of a Church just outside Puebla, Mexico.

Maria: Julia, have you done your Virgin or Guadalupe pilgrimage yet?

Julia: No, Maria, it seems really far from Puebla to Mexico City, like 130 kilometers or more, and most of it uphill!

Maria: That is no excuse, Julia, as a good Catholic, you should do this! Why don't you join us, we are riding our bikes this year! And consider yourself lucky, if you were from Oaxaca, you would have to do your pilgrimage to Juquila, far up in the Sierras across several mountain passes. Come to Mexico City, Julia, it will be fun!

Julia: OK, Maria, you convinced me. What is the route, how will we get to Mexico City?

Maria: Easy, Julia, the straightest road is the federal highway, where we will ride our bikes in the right lane, while all the high speed traffic goes whipping by at 120 kilometers (75 miles) per hour in the other two lanes.

Julia: Oh yes, that sounds wonderful, and a very good idea. Can my little brother join us?

Maria: Of course, anyone can walk or ride with us on the highway.

Julia: Great! I might need some help carrying the family Virgin statue all the way to Puebla considering this is my first time, so if my little brother came, it would help.

Maria: Yes, we recommend you tie the statue or the framed image high on your back or shoulders to be safe.

Julia: Great idea. Who will be carrying the virgin from the church?

Maria: Oh no, Julia, we don't carry her. We build her an altar, special, in the back of my uncle's pick up truck, the old diesel one with the really strong emissions because the muffler is almost gone. She rides all the way to Mexico City in front of us on our bicycles, also in the right lane. This way, she is our visual inspiration, our spiritual guide and our protector during our pilgrimage.

Julia: Wow. I am so excited! I am going to rush home now and tell my mother and my brother. Thank you for inviting me, Maria!

Maria: Wait, Julia, don't forget your team shirt!

End Scene.

Just a shot in the ass...

There are about 100 things I want to blog about, like the Radish festival, Ralph's affection for the virgins of Oaxaca, the expat community that seems to have exploded in the past 5 years since we lived here, the pottery tour in Atzompa, and so on, but first, I need to tell you about our first doctor visit.

There will be no pictures.

We were both sick. I had one of those annoying trailing colds that feels like it is getting better but never really does. It had arrived on December 21st and settled in nicely for a few weeks, then seemed to remain but a shadow of itself. Some days my ears would be sore, some days I would be a bit gland-y, but still functioning overall.

We went to the coast on Monday, January 5th, and by Wednesday, the coastal weather had taken whatever bacteria Ralph had brought with him and exploded it to coastal sizes. He was in bed all day Wednesday, barely any food and no cigars. I know. No cigars. It was bad, folks. It was so bad he went 9 days without a cigar or a beer or a glass of wine. Basically, he was on death's door. And yet, I was left unmoved. In my typical fashion, I managed 4 days of feeling a bit sorry for him. He was in bad shape. I made consommé de poulet. I made cookies. I made teas. I bought and administered three different flavors of cough and cold medicine. I did everything around the house. And then I lost my mind. And this meant we needed to find a doctor.

He went to pick up the laundry from the fluff and fold place and told them how sick he was. They told him all he needed was a shot in the ass, and there was a doctor right down the street, maybe three blocks. When he came home and dropped off the laundry, we both walked down the 4 blocks to the doctor's office next to the pharmacy.

The doctor's office is the size of three chairs. Without the front doors left open, there would be no room to sit on the chairs. The doctor was in, so we went right into his little cube of an office. A desk, a bathroom, two plastic consultation chairs, a little examination table, and a scale. We explain what our symptoms are. He takes our temperature (Ralph had a fever, I did not), listens to our chests, takes height and weight, asks us family medical history (blood type, diabetes history, age) and asks if we want an oral antibiotic or a shot. The shot is faster acting (we asked) and so we opt for the shot.

We are sent off in a hurry to the pharmacy next door to fill our prescriptions and told to hurry back as the office is closed between 2 and 4 for siesta. Back in the office we set about dropping our pants (Ralph) or hoisting our skirts (me) and the doctor quickly and unceremoniously injects us in the upper butt check with a generic antibiotic.

We must return for the next three days for a shot each day! In addition to two other type of medication we are required to take at 6 and 8 and 12 hour intervals.

Of course, when we return the following day, the doctor has left (who only knows why) and we must walk three blocks over to the other doctor's office where she requires seeing our prescriptions, which we had not brought with us and need to return home to get, before administering the next shot, in the opposite butt cheek, of course.

We have no idea what we have, or I should say had, as we are now feeling better. I cannot recall a time when my doctor at home offered to give me a shot of antibiotics in the ass for quicker relief of my symptoms. I have no clue what the drug costs would have been in Canada, but here, the doctor's visit was free of charge, and the drugs cost us about 1100 pesos, about 90 Canadian dollars, for all 8 shots of antibiotic, the syringes needed to administer the shots, and all the other drugs we needed.

Time to research and find a general practitioner, before the next shot in the ass is required!

No Bank Account for You

Okay then, we have moved to Mexico, rented a house, bought a new phone service and got cable hook up for internet and TV. Well, that was easy. So now I have monthly bills to pay. How am I going to do that?

For the 1st month's rent I take a copy of the lease and cash to HSBC where the landlord has an account though in Puebla.We have the necessary account number information which we received when we signed the lease. The deposit is quickly completed. The intent is to have a local account so that we can setup an automatic monthly transfer.

Our Canadian bank cards cannot be used for store purchases so instead we use a credit card and have to provide identification and enter our PIN. Our bank cards do function in bank ATM's which provides us with cash. A local bank account would make grocery shopping and purchases at Home Depot and Sears so much simpler.

Since we deal with ScotiaBank in Canada a local account here in Oaxaca at ScotiaBank seemed to be the logical choice. Our Canadian bank contact provided an introduction to a senior manager here in our neighbourhood ScotiaBank. We make an appointment and off we go to setup a new bank account.

We are prepared, we have copies of:
 • passport and tourist visas;
 • house rental lease which indicates a fixed address;
 • telephone bill indicating that a federally controlled business accepts that the house exists and;
 • minimum deposit of Mx$500 to put into the account.

Yes, everything is fine except the telephone bill which is addressed to a person who is not listed as one of the owners on the lease. Sorry, bank policy will not allow them to open an account in our names.

So off we go to the local TelMex office to get a name change on the telephone account. (We didn't even want to have a house phone because we would use our cell phones anyway. But the landlord, for some reason, wants to maintain a land line and we are responsible to pay the C$18 monthly fee.) Sure they say, simple. Take this form and have the person listed on the telephone bill fill it out requesting the name change. Great! Like that's going to happen. We don't even know who that person is.

Oh well. Let's deal with this another day.