Friday, April 29, 2016

Mezcal in NYC

It's after dinner. We have just devoured two pizzas, meatballs, rice balls. and two bottles of white wine. What's next? Well, mezcal would seem like the obvious choice.

Len whips out the phone, a quick google search determines Casa Mezcal is only an 8 minute walk away. Let's go!

Finally, a place where everyone speaks Spanish! Ralph and I had been commenting all day that it was strange to hear so much English spoken everywhere. We snag a booth and devour the cocktail menu. They have a flight of Oaxaca Valley mezcals. Exciting. And then I realize the price is in USD and not pesos. Less exciting.


After we each have a mezcal based cocktail (cucumber margaritas for Len and I, a cocktail called Llano de Llamas for Ralph which had serrano chili in it!), Ralph decides he cannot pass on the flight of Oaxaca Valley Mezcals. The waitress attempts to tell us what we are drinking. Her accent is odd and she slurs the pronunciation. Ralph tried to engage her in a discussion about the smokiness of one over the other. She could have cared less.

35 USD. 600 pesos.

They come with salted orange slices, in snifter glasses.

A perfect end to a fun evening!



Thursday, April 28, 2016

Immigration and Putting on Mascara

Ralph and I are traveling North for a month. Along the way to Montreal, where we will settle our cottage renovation and get the place ready for rental and visiting family and friends, we are stopping off in New York to do some of that "visit friends" thing for a weekend.

Before I tell you about putting on mascara for what feels like the first time in 6 months, let me share my little migracion story. I am usually pretty good at shutting my mouth, smiling, nodding, and following the process when it comes to immigration. My tag line about immigration port of entry officials, when I was working in a related field, was "too much power in too small a brain". I generally found we had issues not with consulates or embassies or in-country immigration officials, but the guy in a "uniform" at the airport always struck fear.

As permanent and temporary residents, we have a process to follow when we leave our Mexico. We have to find the migracion desk at the airport where we will exit. This is usually Oaxaca or Mexico City. We have to fill out a generic, not fit-for-purpose form, which gets stamped along with our passports, and half the form gets turned in as we board our flight, and the other half gets turned in when we return home.

So, it went a bit like this:

Him: How long have you been immigrated to Mexico?
Me: About a year and a half.
Him: You should not have Permanent Residency.
Me: Excuse me?
Him: You should only have temporary residency, like your husband. You got permanent residency in error.
Me: Nope. You are wrong. I had the qualifications for permanent residency.
Him: No, I work here, there are no qualifications to go direct to permanent residency. You get temporary first, then permanent.
Me: In 2012 they changed the law which provides for people with financial security to immigrate under non-lucrative conditions, and I met those conditions.
Him: I WORK HERE. I know the law. You have this in error.
Me: At the time of the three step process which is undertaken initially at the consulate in Montreal...
Him: I don't care, the consulate was wrong, you should not have it.
Me: Well, I have it. Are we done?
Him: Silence.
Me: Have a good day.

I resisted the urge to go to a WiFi spot, pull up the immigration law and prance over and show this jerk in a white shirt. The only thing that reassures me that I will get back into Mexico in a month is that HE keeps no record of my name, passport or migracion form. Otherwise, I am pretty sure he would try to flag my passport for re-entry. Oh, and the above, all in Spanish. Another milestone. I thought that Tanya would be lost forever, the one who quotes immigration law and tells officials they are wrong. Nope, she lives on, now tri-lingual.

Now about mascara. We arrived via a red-eye flight to our friends' flat in New York City. After a chat with Len and he made us breakfast, we crashed for more than a few hours and then decided it was time to get our butts in gear. Traveling back is always interesting. Hot water comes out of the tap AS SOON AS YOU TURN IT ON. I had a longer than 3 minute shower, and conditioned my hair in the shower. Actually rinsed out the conditioner in the same shower without turning off the water. I brushed my teeth with water from the tap. I remembered to put the toilet paper in the bowl and not in the bin beside it. I actually dried my hair with a device, and not just went out and let the sun and the dry mountain air do the work. And finally, because I knew it would not melt off my face, I curled my eyelashes and put on mascara. What has become of me? Coming north is always such a change, and I love how it brings life's little (or big) difference rushing back at us full speed and instant.

Now off to a museum. Some things don't change no matter where one is!