House Hunting

Have I mentioned that I love my house?

It's a great size for us, has a kitchen that actually has cabinets (a rarity for the price range we've got). We have a lovely, lovely patio that has a grill and a great view of the neighbors' trees (which are finally coming back to life after nearly dying after the week of below 0 degree temperatures we experienced in January), and space enough for the pool that I feel that is absolutely essential to my survival for the six months between March and September. We're technically downtown, but we're far enough away that the neighborhood isn't icky. We're able to walk to the Alameda a few times a week. I know a number of my neighbors. We hear the church bells twice a day, which thankfully don't ring before 9am. There is a butcher shop across the street. This is an older neighborhood with a lot of charm. I love, love, love it here.

But the house is falling down on us. Literally.

We have decided that we really, really need to move before the 1000-liter tinaco (water-holding-thingy) on the roof falls on our heads while we sleep.

The trouble is, it's really hard to find anything that's comparable to what we have for the rent that we have in an equally lovely neighborhood.

As the end of the month is coming up, we've finally gotten off our butts and off the online listings and actually called a few of the houses listed online. I found a plethora of houses that looked very interesting all listed under one number. I tried calling that number, but it doesn't exist. The online pictures of these houses were stamped with Coldwell Banker's logo, so I got CB's number out of the phone book and called. They could give me information on only one of the five houses I was interested in. The others were a complete mystery to them.

We set up a date to look at that one house. It was just about everything I expected, with a much better patio than I expected. Outdoor space is crucial for me, and very hard to find in Mexico. At least affordable houses in Mexico. The only downside is that it's less than a block from the train (we're currently two blocks from the train, and it isn't bad. But I'm scared to be any closer. It does blast its horn frequently in the middle of the night). And I'll never understand why those who rent houses here feel that cleaning the house before a showing is just a suggestion. And apparently, in the minds of these landlords, a ridiculous suggestion, as they didn't mind showing us the corpses of twenty cockroaches in the downstairs bathroom. And they think that garish pink is an OK color for every room in the house. But, other than those kinks, I was pretty excited about the house. (OK, I was excited about the HUGE patio.)

Then the realtor mentioned that, if we had time, she had another 3 bedroom house with the same rent to show us nearby. We were OK with the neighborhood, so we followed her.

She took us over the railroad tracks. We do not want to live on the "other side of the tracks".

She took us into a gated community. We hate gated communities.

The houses were too close together. The neighborhood isn't within walking distance of ANYTHING. There are factories nearby. It would make Mario's commute so much longer.

As we drover further and further into the addition, I kept saying, I could think about it only if there were a playground. After every street we passed, no playground.

Then the realtor stopped in front of a lovely yellow house smack in front of a LOVELY playground. No way.

It's got a great view of the mountains.

The master bedroom not only has its own bathroom, but a walk-in closet AND a super-spacious balcony.

The patio is about twice the size of ours. (No trees in the neighbors' patios, though. *sigh*)

The cabinets and closets were actually pretty as well as functional. Again, I didn't know that existed here, at least in houses that rent for less than 1000USD a month.

And there were ceiling fans!

As you can tell, I'm sold. But we just started looking. I'd hate to settle already--it is so much fun to look at houses. And we're really rather be on the south side of the city, if we can't stay in this neighborhood.

But I'd really hate for someone to rent this one before us.

And I'd really hate to get squished by our tinaco. Ooo--the tension!

Picnic

We decided that yesterday would be a lovely day for a picnic.

Normally, for a picnic, we'd go to a park that boasted actual picnic tables. Or, if we were in the mood for a picnic in the mountains, we'd head to Arteaga, where there are authorized places to pull off the road and eat. There are even picnic tables for rent, thanks to those enterprising Arteagans.

But no, Mario had to go to his office for what he swore would only be twenty minutes (it turned into an hour . . . no surprise there). Unfortunately, Mario's office is in the opposite direction of Arteaga. So we just pulled off of Highway 54 and sat down under some pines right off the highway and ate our turkey sandwiches.

We were bemused to find out that eating lunch 20 feet from the highway was a good deal quieter than eating lunch in our kitchen. (Reason #2 why we will be looking for a new house sooner rather than later.)

I had the urge for a little hike, but after going another 20 feet further from the highway, Clara decided that she had had enough hiking. The highlight of her afternoon was counting the trucks driving by. Oh, two-year-olds.

The two-month-old made it clear that he just wanted to sleep in his car seat.

Picnics in the mountains just aren't what they used to be.

However, I did learn an interesting fact: the pine trees that are off the side of the highway are indeed pine nut trees. I found a pine cone that had some suspicious looking seeds in it. I asked city-boy Mario if they were pine nuts, and he said no. At the end of our picnic, a pick up truck parked behind us, and after a few minutes, let us know that it wasn't a good pine nut-scavenging-day. (Reason #23 why I should stop taking Mario's word as the gospel truth.) Then, as we were driving back to town, we noticed a number of other trucks and cars, apparently also out scavenging pine nuts. Good to know. Next year, when my basil bush won't be shriveled up, I'll head out there and join them. (Or maybe I'll just buy a bag downtown . . .)