Going Local Down in Acapulco. Didn't Take Too Lo-oh-oh-ong!

I have a bad feeling that this post is going to end up being just a bit racist.  But to cite an excellent Oprah Winfrey episode from the late 1980's, "We are all inherently racist even though we don't think we are", conducted by an emminent professor of psychology from a leading American university, I am covered legally.

Leaving that aside for a minute.  Do you like my new header?  It only took me five hours to do and I am fully aware that the right side has been cut off.  (reb - that stands for Rolling Eye Balls. Lol).  I will fix it when I next have five hours to spare and can find my spectacles.

Well, since my last blogpost I have now been in balmy Singapore for two weeks and without jet lag to blame for my attitude, behaviour and mood, all my personality flaws are becoming quite apparent.  Either that or as my racist husband has commented, I am going all "Indian".  Given we have been together for 15 years and he clearly has not spotted that I am actually of the Sri Lankan disposition he is not only a racist but an idiot and has demonstrated again how he really does not pay me much attention.  But enough of our marital problems.

Back to us going a bit local.  There could be some truth in this given a few altercations I have had this week and the manner in which the children and I ate our lunch today.  I will once again split this post into sections for easy digestion.

Lunch
We had a rip roaring cracker of a thunderstorm last night which woke everybody up at 4am and resulted in the children spooning with us until 7am.  I say spooning but what I mean is kicking us in the guts, clothes lining us multiple times and generally fidgeting.  

The rest of the morning was busy beeing and the afternoon was a total thundery showery wash out.  The children are now too scared to go on the balcony because of the thunder and the balcony houses the only table we have in the apartment.  

Due to their foolish paranoia, lack of understanding of thunder, lightning, physics and advanced weather patterns we had to sit on the floor to eat our roti prata with mutton curry and butter beans.  

As we sat there, cross legged, hunched over and eating with our fingers, I realised it only took two weeks in Asia for the kids to not only go feral but for their inner brown to rapidly materialise (bit racist?).

Smiling
This is not a society big on smiling.  Just a general point of note.  Of course meeting individuals in stores or restaurants has on the majority of occasions been wonderful and I have found the loveliest lady in the form of a newsagent in the village, who is delightful.  We have had a few long discussions on parenting and agree that when we were both growing up in the 1940's children were generally nicer, appreciated the value of money, were not greedy fat spoilt brats and had jobs from which all the money earned went to the parents.  Altogether a better situation indeed.  These discussions often take place as my children stand outside the lego shop next door to her newsagents screaming "I want that!".

Generally however, people here do not smile too much.  I was criticised for this comment having lived in London for the majority of my life and London being cited as hugely unfriendly.  I disagree with this completely.  I actually think London can be friendly but only if you make eye contact with somebody.  If you catch someones eye in a lift or in a queue they will most likely acknowledge you with a smile which I think is as about as close as you can get to an all singing and dancing scene from Oliver! and really does make my day.  Of course, catching someones eye in a pub should be avoided as that can result in a stabbing or a date with a drunk, unwashed septuagenarian.

Few people smile here and I have realised it is because it is too hot to smile.  Every bit of energy needs to be conserved when one leaves ones home because at some point you have to get back there and you cannot be wasting energy smiling when you should be saving it for duck walking.  So, I no longer smile, not because I am trying to fit in, but just because physically I am now unable.

Bus Drivers
Sweet mother.  I think they are officially the most impatient people I have ever had the misfortune to meet.  On Monday I spent a good part of the day with the children riding on the bus up and down one street because the bus driver gives the passengers disembarking exactly five seconds to do so before they pull off, even before closing the double doors.  We were then sent over a mile further down the road to have to then cross the overpass to the other side to then get another bus back to where we originally wanted to get off to once again not be allowed to get off because the joker was in such a rush to get to the next stop.  

This may sound trivial but when it is 34 degrees, humid and you are carrying shopping and two whinging children, it is enough to make you want to rip out your chest hair.

I don't really like my children much at the moment having been with them every day for the last three weeks due to no school and no sign of school for another 6 weeks but as they are mine I am the only one who is allowed to be horrible to them and not consider their feelings or safety.  Anybody else behaves that way to them and they will get The Hulk version of me to deal with.  I had a fight with one bus driver in front of all the other passengers on a packed bus when he did not wait for us to come down the stairs and the kids got jolted as he pulled off before we had a chance to get off the bus.  I did a lot of shouting like "use your camera ON THE STAIRS as that is what it is there for" and "I have two small children yadda yadda yadda" and "couldn't you see we were getting off etc etc".  I should also mention that I did lots of hand gesticulations while slipping into my version of Singlish.  Apparently, another sign that I am going local.

Needless to say, it was all in vain as we still got dropped miles away from our destination and he probably just thought it was my time of the month.

Rudeness
I have become rude (see above).  I also shouted at a child at the cinema on Monday because he pushed in front of me and split me from my children (it is completely pitch black in the theatres) and hit me in the head with his plastic booster seat. 

I was also the victim of heinous rudeness on Saturday when I sauntered down to the local wet market on my own.  There are very few expats at this particular wet market so I felt super clever going there on my own.  Of course I quickly forgot that I look like domestic help if only for the fact the live in maids do dress a lot better than me, so I really had nothing to be smug about.

I really did like going to the wet market.  It was only about twenty minutes out of my day and thoroughly enjoyable.  Not something one does much living in London or a big town.  Generally it is a once a week thing when you hit the market for your bunch of fresh flowers, olive bread and good organic meat to put in your special once a week organic jute bag.  Here it is more an every two day thing as fruit and vegetables do not keep so well due to the heat so you tend to buy for a couple of days and then go to market again.  Wery wery nice.

I skipped on in like Little Brown Riding Hood with my organic jute bag and bought lots of lovely fruit, some fresh eggs decorated with chicken poop and some fish.  I bought a massive seabass for around £3.  Given I just spent about £15 on 750g of mince beef at the supermarket to give the kids some bolognese as a break from local cuisine, I thought the fish market wasn't too shabby on price.

I was so excited about buying my fruit and fish and chatting away to the locals who were shopping alongside me that I strolled off to the egg aisle without getting my change.  Back home, during my Saturday job days as a teenager in WHSmiths, if a customer forgot their change I would call them a fool and pocket the money, but here, not likely.  People here are so honest and so law abiding that not only did the proprietor lady of the fish counter that I bought my seabass from close up her stall to come and find me to tell me I did not collect my change, she also shouted at me for about five minutes in front of everybody in the entire market.  If I wasn't so scared I would have told her she could just keep the money, but I sheepishly walked back apologising profusely and took my change.  She refused to accept my apology, told me over and over again that she had been calling me and calling me but I did not listen and did not come back and of course when the telling off was concluded, she did not smile at me either.