The longer we live in one place, we gradually come to feel more like locals and less like foreigners. Actually I said that wrong. We come to feel less foreign than when we first arrived.
Over the course of a 2-year assignment, you always end up finding a car repair shop because inevitably something goes wrong with the car that can't be fixed at the corner gas station. And nothing makes you feel more local than becoming a regular at the local car repair shop!
A couple weeks ago, the dashboard light in our car just died. We don't do a lot of nighttime driving here and it's impossible to speed so it hasn't been a huge hindrance not to see the numbers on the speedometer, but it's very disconcerting to be totally in the dark with no ambient light radiating from the dashhboard. The interior overhead light still worked so I turned that on as necessary, but even our parking garage is nearly pitch-black-dark, so it's just annoying to not see if the car's in Drive or Neutral.
Today I was at the embassy and asked one of the drivers in Jimmy's office what he thought was the problem and where I should get it fixed. He did not believe that there was a blown-out lightbulb as I suggested and he adamantly vetoed my suggestion to go to the Toyota dealership. Instead, he sent me to the mechanic who services the office cars and he actually offered to take me there when he got off work this afternoon. But I was determined to get it done earlier and on my own (that's part of becoming "local", right?) so I set off with my trusty GPS.
I found the place on a street full of mechanic shops which was a teensy bit overwhelming. The guys were super-nice and helpful, but clearly they don't get many Americans nor do I think they get many women in there. Most people probably send their cars with their drivers who wait for the repairs. I don't think they really knew what to do with me. I stood around for a little while before they offered me a chair in the office. They gave me the newspaper to read and then the old owner offered me a cup of coffee to warm up (it was chilly in the garage). I took the newspaper but declined the coffee because I could only imagine the last time the coffee maker was cleaned with soap and water (seeing as there were no women working there to ensure such "high" hygienic standards). The owner kept me company by talking about narcotrafficking in Colombia and Mexico (and the resulting crime and violence), why we drove a Japanese car and not an American car (inheritance = no car payment, my friend), and when was President Obama coming to Colombia (no idea).
Less than an hour later, I had a new fuse - the driver was right and I was wrong and it wasn't a lightbulb! - and functioning dashboard lights, and they even topped off my AC coolant. All for $25. Including labor. I feel so local.
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