Sounds of the Street

First thing in the morning, in addition to the occasional rooster and the neighborhood lamb (I’m not kidding), is the sound of the gas truck. Actually there are 2 companies competing for business, driving up and down the streets all day long, carrying bottled gas. Mexican houses typically have a large bottle that can be easily replaced when needed, and because there aren’t accurate gauges they can run out unexpectedly the trucks circulate continuously. We’ve all experienced that with our gas grills at home—just as you’re about to eat you discover that the gas ran out some time ago and those chicken breasts are still half raw.

One truck’s attention-getting sound is a recording saying, “El Gas! Quiero el gas” (Gas! I want gas), followed by a bugle cavalry charge. This is played over and over and over, and I’m sure the driver hears it in his sleep when he goes home at night. It's totally obnoxious, and it would be the last gas company I would choose.

The other company opts for a more friendly tone--lush violins, followed by a unctuous male voice sweetly saying, "Señora de la casa--aqui tiene Gas del Lago," ("Housewife, here you have Gas del Lago," literally Gas of the Lake)  ending with "Gas del Lago--la marca de confianza" (the mark of confidence).

By the way, Mark tells me that this is butane, not propane. We use propane in Colorado because it’s usable at lower temperatures than butane, which won’t vaporize below 32 degrees.

The ice cream vendor uses a squeeze-type bicycle horn, and cries “Nieve, nieve,” (snow, which is the local name for ice cream). He is pushing a small cart with cans of various flavors. These carts are all over Mexico, anywhere a group gathers. I remember a small demonstration of people angry at the government that was going strong until the ice cream vendor showed up and the group lost focus.

The water truck shows up on our block and a guy gets out and yells “Aguaaaa!” at the top of his voice. I kept hearing it and finally looked out the window to see what was going on. For a long time I thought someone was calling his dog. All Mexican households use bottled water rather than municipal water to drink or brush teeth with. The water leaves the source clean enough, but there is so much infiltration in the lines that by the time it arrives at the house it’s unsafe.

Garbage collectors ring a cow bell, first driving up the street to announce their presence and then coming back to pick up the trash when everyone has had time to put it outside. We give them a few pesos as compensation for the incredibly messy job they do. I also separate out the glass, metal and plastic so they don’t have to go through it themselves.

Miscellaneous vehicles with loudspeakers drive by, with mostly incomprehensible announcements. The streets are rough cobblestone, and the resulting vibration combined with age and dust contribute to an incomprehensible message.

At least once a day we hear a horse clopping by, either being ridden or used to haul firewood or poles.  

At night there are many other sounds, largely people on the street talking, or congregating around a small fire, or kids setting off fireworks or playing an impromptu game of soccer or basketball. In the evenings we hear a clever little jingle—“El panadero con el pan, el panadero con el pan.” It’s a young couple selling bread (“The baker with the bread.”) from the back of their car. They drive too fast for us to catch them before they’ve disappeared around the corner.

We really have had no problems with constantly barking dogs, though a dog behind us has been a little annoying from time to time. The neighborhood dogs are in pretty good condition, though I think no dog in Mexico is spayed or neutered, either for financial reasons or a distaste for altering one of God’s creatures.

We’re also fortunate in that our neighbors have pretty good taste in music. There’s very little monotonous norteño or ranchero stuff, and sometimes we hear some pretty nice groups. One night as we were walking home from town we passed by an open window in a large house and saw 2 children playing classical piano for 4 hands in an elegant living room. But on our street the houses are much more humble, and music we hear on the street is coming from a car or a boom box.

But by 10pm or so it's quiet and everyone's gone back inside. That may change as the weather improves and gets warmer, but for the time being it's perfect for us and we have no complaints.