The first thing I noticed as I walked through the front door of my new apartment in San Miguel was the light. Light pouring in through the wall of windows facing south. Glorious! My new home!
Nearly 7 weeks with this fantastic view. Who cares that the Uber driver took me to the wrong address only minutes ago? So what if I had to lug my stuff another block and a half to get to the right place?
It didn’t matter at all, of course. I had arrived.
I was shown the bathroom, the kitchen, then the bedroom last. Serviceable. Hey, there’s even a window looking out on the street. Not much to see, but a window nonetheless. Good for ventilation.
By now, you’ve watched the 38 second video above. You likely have already caught my drift. On this evening, one of my last in this apartment, I appreciated this window and the view it afforded me in ways I could not have imagined on Day One. Interestingly enough, it was the sounds from the street that initially pulled me in. Not my visual curiosity. Those squeals of laughter — they were the teasers that took me to the window.
Just that evening, downstairs at Rich’s place (Rich was my “neighbor” on the ground floor garden unit), Rich told me stories of how much he loved those kids, and how during rainstorms he’d invite them in from the street to his indoor garage to continue their soccer game unabated, under cover. He added how they loved to help him cross the street, practically battling each other for his arm, to guide him safely over the treacherous cobblestone sidewalk on the next block.
The big panoramic views on the other side of the building were stunning, of course.
Even better from the rooftop terrace. But you know what? It wasn’t the scenery that I will remember most about the rooftop. I don’t think so. What I will most remember about my visits to the roof is hanging with Maya, the dog.
So full of life! So happy to have company. We’d play a bit, I tossing a toy and she chasing it down. She had such a sweet dispostion. She needed a bath too. I wish I’d taken that action.
Funny how both Maya and the kids made their respective presences known most prominently at night. When there was less to see and more to hear. Maya carried on long barking discourses with neighboring rooftop woofers. The kids played and laughed and shouted with glee until 10 or so.
You frequently hear people describe Mexico as being noisy. I get it. Noisy. As in full of life, alive.
