Before I catch up with
some thoughts I had over my holiday break, I wanted to briefly mention what
happened to me last week at the post office. For those of you who do not know,
I love sending postcards. They are quite expensive to send from here, but, it
is well worth the cost. Unfortunately letter-writing has become a thing of the
past for most people, but I think there is something special about sending and receiving
something handwritten—especially if it is from another country and has a pretty
picture on it.
Last week, one of my 3
or 4 goals I had made for myself including making tomato preserves, was to
finally send my 11 postcards. One of my dilemmas with sending anything is that
I must go into town. I live about 8 km from the town limits. Granted, I love
walking, but walking takes time. I would run, but I do not want to be in town
all sweaty. I would love to bike, but my road bike would get destroyed here
since the majority of the roads are dirt & rock. So, that leaves me to
depend on someone to drive me into town.
I never like to impose, so unless we need something for the house, I do
not ask to go into town. Luckily, last week, we had NO food in the house, so
this was the perfect opportunity for us to go into town and for me to send my
postcards. Or so I thought.
We arrive in town and
I asked if we could please send the postcards first so I can get that out of
the way. I walk over to the post office, which is, well, sad. The post office is
this small room, probably built in the 1960s/1970s, dust everywhere, mail boxes
are made of old wood that are falling apart, the doors themselves do not keep
the rain out, and there is always a line. I guess things do not change even if
you live in a rural part of the country. Anyway, the guys already seem to know
me by now…they either call me “teacher,” “profe,” or sometimes I have heard “mendogringa,”
since I kind of have a Mendocino accent, but I am still totally a “gringa.” I
walk up happily with my 11 postcards waiting to be stamped and, what do I find
out? They have no stamps. Yes…I just said that. They have no stamps. It is a
post office, but they had NO stamps. At least in Mendoza, even though the line
is longer, I know I will get my “tramite” done by the time I walk out of there.
Hopefully this afternoon they will have stamps.
K bye.
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