Neither here nor there

You may have heard that Toronto elected a new mayor this week, a man about whom the best I can say is that he has a pretty potent voice. I was dreading his election for a while before we moved to Victoria, since I started reading more and more angry comments in online news articles on Miller, the previous mayor, and seeing fellows with “Rob Ford” buttons on the subway. On election night I was glued to my computer, exasperated with the results, reading anything I could find on the topic, and wondering how will the new political situation play out.

A couple of days later, after reading some article on Ford to Val over dinner, I realized there was something incongruent going on with me: though I cared very much about what would happen to Toronto under him, I didn’t even know the name of the mayor of Victoria, the city in which we actually live, much less his policies or initiatives. It was as if my mind was still living in Toronto and I refused (or didn’t care) to grow roots in my new town.

And I noticed this had happened to me before, when we moved from León to Toronto. I would be reading Mexican news intensely, while I barely cared about local Canadian politics. Back then we thought we’d only be in Toronto for a couple of years—in parallel to our current situation—, which perhaps made me feel uncommitted to my new environment. But eventually I started to care more about Toronto, to feel an inner warmth whenever I returned from a trip, and to get informed and involved in my community. I kept interested in Mexican affairs, of course, but differently: from afar, not from an artificial within. My interest or lack of interest for local politics was a symptom of my degree of adaptation to my new home. I can see it happening again today.

So now my life is split in three places: the one I first knew, and that grows slightly more foreign every time I visit; the one I just left, to which my unconscious still takes me in my dreams and worries; and the one where I am and should be, still rather unknown and strange, until I gradually decide to truly turn to look and discover it.

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Picking apples

A new friend here in Victoria told us about the LifeCycles Project and its fruit picking activities: if you have a fruit tree in your garden you can call them, and they’ll schedule a team of volunteers to come pick its fruit. You get a share (about a quarter), the volunteers get a share (another quarter), and the LifeCycles Project donates the rest to local non-profits. Turns out our friend is a team lead with LifeCycles, and was wondering if Val and I wanted to join in. Let’s see…

1. spend a few Sunday hours chatting and doing light work outdoors,
2. get lots of ultra-local, organic, delicious produce,
3. and contribute with local food banks and community centers.

Awesomeness from every angle!

We spent some three hours last Sunday picking apples from three different trees (King, Golden Delicious, and an unidentified third kind). In total we collected about 200kg of fruit. Our share was two boxes, about 15kg! Fortunately they keep well.

So far it’s been apples every day, as well as applesauce and apple salad. An apple pie or crumbler is rumoured to be in the works this weekend. I guess I’d normally get tired of so much of it after a while, but the fruit tastes fantastic and I am quite fond of it, having picked some of it myself.

The picking season is nearly over, but I think there will still be a few trees to pick, so if you’re in Victoria let me know if you’d like to join, and we can go together!

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Tacos!

(Non-Spanish-speaking friends: I hope you won’t mind that I occasionally switch back to my mother tongue. For now, in case Google Translate mangles my clear and beautiful Spanish, a summary: if you’re in Victoria you must try the tacos at Puerto Vallarta Amigos!)

Hace una semana, me escapé unas horas de la oficina para ir con Vale a probar los tacos de Puerto Vallarta Amigos. Cuando escuché de ellos por primera vez no se me antojaban; quizá por el nombre: suena agringado, como el Café México a una cuadra de distancia, como el tipo de nombre que alguien pondría sin mucho conocimiento sobre la cocina mexicana. Además, el puestito sólo abre entre semana para el lunch, y como se pone en el centro de la ciudad me queda medio lejos de la oficina, así que no es muy práctico visitarlo. Pero escuché un par de recomendaciones y me enteré que tenía opciones vegetarianas, así que Vale y yo decidimos intentarlo.

El carrito de tacos se instala en la esquina de Wharf y Yates, y no se ve como los puestos en México; más bien me recuerda a las camionetas de comida china que se ponen en Toronto, en la universidad (por St. George) o por el palacio municipal (parece que aquí en general no hay comida callejera, ni siquiera hot dogs). Los taqueros trabajan dentro de la camioneta, y ponen unos banquitos afuera para que la gente se siente si quiere (supongo que por acá es mucho pedir comer parado y malabareando el plato, el taco, y el refresco).

En fin, la taquería lleva tan sólo unos tres meses aquí. El dueño se llama Toño (Tacos Toño!), y por lo que veo es un negocio familiar: él cobra, su esposa y dos hijos preparan los tacos, y otro hijo se pasea por la calle haciendo no supe qué. Creo que tienen tacos de pollo y de res, pero también de papa con espinacas, de frijol con queso, y de chorizo de soya (resulta que Toño es vegetariano). El día que fuimos también había de hongos portobelo, pero esos no están en el menú.

Los tacos están buenísimos: las tortillas como deben estar, un poco aceitositas, la cebolla y el cilantro frescos, y las salsas sabrosas y picantes, una verde con aguacate y una roja. Lo único que falta es un poquito de limón, pero aquí es caro. Igual y para la próxima Vale y yo nos llevamos unas rebanaditas para ponerle ahí. El chorizo de soya estaba delicioso, quién sabe si porque ya llevo más de seis años de vegetariano y ya se me olvidó cómo sabe el de verdad, pero me sentí de vuelta en México, momentáneamente. Acabé comiendo unos doce tacos (dos órdenes) de varias cosas, y con muchas ganas de regresar. Si nos quedara más cerca, ahí nos la pasábamos.

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