Neighborhood Watch

As I have said before, I am very fortunate to be living in a lovely neighborhood like this one.  It truly is a beautiful one.  Over time, I have noticed more than just the blooming flowers and gorgeous old homes.  I have also managed to make a few friends and get smiles when I am in the streets.  As much as some of these simple accomplishments make me happy, I still have yet to get more than a grunt from the fat cop a few streets over.  Only after repeated times of yelling "Good morning" down the street at him and waving, does he barely raise his hand or acknowledge me.  Still, it is progress.

Actually, Tonya pointed it out first, that it appeared that I was befriending the cops before anyone else.  In one sense, I suppose living here is like living in certain neighborhoods in LA or Chicago, the only real difference being the cops that cruise around the neighborhood are the ones carrying the machine guns rather than the gangs.  In order to crack down on corruption, or maybe just to keep things fresh, the cops are rotated every so often.  The cop who first guarded the house across the street was my first 'official' friend.  He would beam a smile when he saw me, wave and talk.  I never understood him, but he loved to talk to me.  When he got comfortable, he even would come to pet the dogs whenever he saw us.  At his most brazen, he asked if we wanted to go to the Garibaldi with him.  It is the part of town where bars are all around, and the sounds of mariachis are everywhere.  That is the place for Mariachi watching.  Sadly though, just as our friendship was blooming, he was moved on.  The cops who took his place have now warmed up to me too, especially the one who always hides down the street and texts on his phone.

Yes, aside from cops with machine guns and shotguns wondering around the streets, it is lovely.  Every morning as you walk down the street, you can see sudsy water flowing out from underneath doors.  The maids are busy cleaning and mopping everything.  They even go out and sweep the sidewalk, while the trash men sweep the streets.  I just don't understand the clean facade.  They make the place spotless, and push it all under shrubs and in huge piles on the back street.  It kind of sucks when to on a nice stroll and you have to kick away an empty plastic coke bottle half filled with pee from one of the chauffeurs who sit in their cars awaiting Mr. Big to call upon them.  In actuality, you see these 'trucker bombs' all over the place.

I like the regular characters I have come to recognize.  There is the bread guy on a bike.  He rides a special bike, with two front wheels and a huge basket on the handlebars.  It is filled with assorted bread and rolls.  Underneath the breadbasket, he carries a thermos and a few assorted instant coffees and some Styrofoam cups.  After seeing each other so much, we started exchanging greetings instead of nodding heads or smiles.  If you flag him down, he will stop and hop off his bike, pull the cover off the basket and let you grab your bread...if you are thirsty, he'll whip you up an instant coffee on the spot.  This is currently my favorite neighborhood guy.

The wondering musicians are quite good too.  I like the wondering trumpeter.  An older man, he slowly makes his way around the streets, stopping every so often and plays old songs on his old trumpet.  He stands alone in the street and just plays to whoever will hear him through opened windows, behind gates or driving by.  He has a son, or grandson, who will wander up and down the street, happily taking the change that passers by may hand over.  There is something that really makes you feel like you are in Mexico, hearing a lone trumpet playing a sad song, floating above the blooming flowers and stonewalls.  There has also been a couple wondering through doing some serenading themselves.  The man plays a saxophone, and the woman walks around to grab change.  As nice as a sax can sound sometimes, this guy hits too many bum notes and is just sort of messy.  However, when they are around it is sure to get a chuckle or two out of you.

Most of the characters run in packs, well, work as a group.  There are the scrap metal guys.  They split up and take a few streets at a time.  You can hear them echoing each others calls, as they walk slowly down the street, yelling out for any scrap metal or iron you may have hidden away.  There is the 'belt brothers'.  Two guys who split up and take their own side of the street.  They troll the whole length of each street with a ton of belts draped over their shoulders.  They will ring your bell, and when you show up, happy show you an array of leather belts that you can buy on your very own doorstep!

Sometimes, you see the weavers.  Usually it is a single guy, but sometimes a pair.  If you have any seating that has worn thin or busted out, you can tell the weaving man.  He will sit outside and with his dried fibers, sit and weave you new seats for your seats, or couches if you have those woven kind.

The mobile shoe repairman is making himself at home at the end of the street.  He too, if you ask, will come to your house and re-sole, re-heel, or just simply shine your shoes.  His wish is your command.

The trash guys are all part of a family.  The dad is grumpy; he rarely says hello or smiles.  He has two sons.  The chubby one is quite stern too, though now he is friendly to me...sometimes.  The youngest is a skinny, wily kid.  Every time he sees us he smiles and says a few kind words. It is either he likes us, or he has a big crush on Tonya.  The catch with these guys is this, they will happily pick your trash up and take it to the end of the street where the big trash truck comes, but you have to 'tip' them. Ahhh, everyone is out to make a buck.

Last but not least, is the lone robotic tamale salesman.  I used to think this was unique to our 'hood, but I have heard these guys in other neighborhoods elsewhere, there must be a kingpin tamale lord who sends his cronies out to do his dirty work.  These guys always look downtrodden; walking slowly down the street, pushing a cart with a heated container filled with tamales and other assorted Oaxacan goods.  Below...or on top and even beside the tamale pot, they have a huge loudspeaker attached.  As they walk down the street, the echoing sound of a squelchy, robotic voice repeats a mechanized message of 'Come out. Come get these tasty tamales. Tasty Oaxacan goods. Don't be afraid, come taste’ from the very first time I heard this, I was baffled.  When I finally go to see the lone tamale guy, pushing his cart down the street and the robotic voice bouncing off the front of house, I was completely intrigued.  Sometimes, late at night, you can hear this siren's call from afar, as the lure of tamales slinks through the air and into your open window.  He is out there, somewhere, the tamale guy.  Day and night, he and his pre-recorded robot voice go back and forth selling these so-called tasty Oaxacan goods.