|Isla Mujeres garbage truck when it was newer.|
At six in the morning I can hear the tired engine and the loud exhaust sounds of the muffler-less municipal garbage truck.
The crew operating the garbage truck are currently only two houses south of ours. I have to hustle to get the can out on the street before they pass us by. The guys wave and holler a greeting as the truck slowly rolls up to our curb.
One worker tosses the full can high into the air, towards his buddy who is perched atop the myriad of reeking plastic bags and cardboard boxes. Our can is emptied, and carefully placed back on the street right-side up with lid affixed. They laugh, joke with each other. One guy sings bits of a song that could be ribald, off-colour judging by the way it makes the others giggle.
It’s good to be back on Isla.
|At the Eiffel Tower in Paris|
During May and June we traveled for six weeks through Dieppe, Vimy Ridge, Dunkirk, the Loire Valley, Paris, southern France, Cinque Terre, Tuscany and Venice before returning home via London.
We mangled several languages, speaking a combination of French, Spanish, and English with the odd word of Italian tossed in the mix for that truly continental sound.
We ate delicious food, but missed the ‘heat’ – the spice of Mexican foods. Apparently our palates have adjusted to Mexican food better than we thought.
|Spaghetti and Mussels in Italy|
|Cinque Terre area of Italy|
|On Isla Mujeres motos are often used as trucks.(M.Watt)|
|Parisian woman on motorcycle (K.Lock photo)|
|Parisian woman on bicycle (K.Lock photo)|
In the evening we sit on the east side of the house, wine glass in hand, staring at the turquoise ocean, aware that we missed this most of all.
The colours. The sounds. The smell of the water.
We will always be proudly Canadian. But, this foreign country, is now home.