water, water everywhere

My morning routine was interrupted.

I usually brew up a pot of Tazo Zen tea before I sit down at the computer on the patio to chat with you.

Making tea is a rather universal process. Heat up some water (in my case, it is a teapot in the microwave). Pour it over the tea. Drink the tea.

I use the same process here that I do at my brother's house in Prineville -- with one major difference. In Prineville, I fill the teapot from the tap at his kitchen sink. In Mexico, I fill it from a five-gallon bottle in the corner of my kitchen.

Before I moved here, people were extremely free on giving me advice about water in Mexico. The first nag out of the gate was: "Never drink water from the tap."

I have generally followed that advice. My water source for the house is a well. The house is plumbed to connect to the city water that runs in front of my house, but I have never felt the need to complete the circuit. It would mean installing a tinaco (a water tank on the roof) and setting up a complex plumbing connection.

Even though, I do not drink the untested well water that pours from my tap, Omar does. He does not seem to be adversely affected. For me, the tap water is for cooking, washing up, and showering.

My drinking water comes from another source. That bottle I mentioned earlier that is housed in a stand that looks as if it is a relic of the revolution.

How that water gets to the house and what it costs is a tale that has changed over the years.

When I lived on the beach and then on the laguna in Villa Obregon, a young man named Ivan delivered water to my house in a truck that had a distinctive Tarzan yell to announce its presence in the neighborhood. In 2009, the price of each bottle had just jumped from 10 to 12 pesos, and each bottle supplied me with water for about two to three days.

Over the years, the price inched up to 15 pesos, I think. I never tracked it because it was such a small amount.

Then, one day, Ivan asked me to help him with a planned trip north. Way north. I never saw him after that. Even though another driver took over the Tarzan route, I switched to a fancier brand of water on the advice of a friend who had the foresight to have several samples tested at a lab. 

I became a Santorini fan. The price was a bit more expensive (about 25 pesos), but it had a great taste -- even though it is a Pepsi product. There was something enticingly exotic about the brand that evoked the sun of Greece. I assume Pepsi did not want its customers to dwell on the fact that what we know as the island of Santorini is the rim of a catastrophic volcanic explosion.

When I switched brands, I switched delivery systems. There was a Santorini truck that delivered water in one of the neighborhoods in Barra de Navidad. But not to my neighborhood with any regularity. And an irregular supply of water is not a good way to run a household.

Instead, I drove my car every two or three days to the nearest Kiosko and bought my water there. When an Oxxo opened near my house, I switched my custom there. It is a simple operation taking no more than ten minutes of my time. The Oxxo is within easy walking distance of my house, but I have come to an age when toting loads like a full water bottle three blocks strains my capabilities.

Because we live in an area where supply chain interruptions (hurricanes, tropical storms, floods) are expected every year or two, I keep three bottles on hand. In emergencies, that will hold me for over a week. Short of a protracted revolution, I should have plenty of water. In a pinch, I can always resort to the Omar method and drink water right out of the tap. 

The price of my Santorini water crept up slowly to 30 pesos. And then one day, it was gone. The Santorini brand simply disappeared from the shelves. No more echoes of Greek burros climbing the path to the top of the island.

But, it turns out, only the name was gone. The same water in the same bottles were still on sale. Tarted up in modern marketing jargon. Out with rural Greece. Forward with the more antiseptic E-Pura.

Of course, re-branding is expensive. So, the price per bottle jumped to 34 pesos.

I was about to make a comparison between the 10 pesos that a bottle of water cost just before I arrived and the 34 pesos I am now paying to draw a lesson about the cost of living in Mexico, but that would be simply perpetuating the type of false comparison so common of politicians. After all, I would be comparing unlike brands. There are still plenty of suppliers who will deliver a bottle of water to your house here for much less than 34 pesos.

In my case, driving the short distance to the Oxxo to talk with the clerks is just part of my routine. Like making tea.

And it is time that I finished off the pot I made this morning.