My quest for propane is already turning into a great adventure.
I will report back, but in the meantime for those rare souls who might be interested, here is a peak at what I am up against.
I shall return with or without propane or butane or a mixture of propane and butane.
[Dateline: Two and a half hours later.] What a let down! That was too easy, thanks to the internet. The expatriated Americans here have set up a couple of web sites recommending local establishment for these or those services and goods. Apparently, Jesús at Noel Gas wormed his way into some Americans' good graces, because that was touted as the place to go. And it was. There were even directions. It was way out in the country though, on the way to Dolores Hidalgo up the road.
It was an exchange of tanks just like we do it with the gas grill tanks back home, except here you get a beat up Mexican tank in exchange for your pristine one. As far as vocabulary, the only new word I had to learn in advance was el propana, and then I had to refresh myself on el tanque from my gasoline station vocabulary.
It is just that you never know what you are going to run into when you go out on an errand like this.
The adventure—actually, “ordeal” would be a better term—was right back here at the campsite. I damned near had to completely dismantle the camper in order dismount the old propane tank and mount the new propane tank. With the forward bed chamber extended out over the tongue, there was not sufficient clearance underneath to allow me to lift out the old tank and then drop in the new one. I had to take all that shit out of there and push in the front bed chamber all the way in order to pull the old tank and drop in the new one.
It's done though. I had my coffee at the lunch hour instead of in the early morning.
What do you think of this, Candy? Is that what you had in mind?
It is odd. I saw that abandoned pallet some time ago down at the end of the campground, and I remember mentally noting how handy pallets can be sometimes. Previously, I had consider the welcome mat, but I could not figure out how the mat would profit me when I would simply be throwing in down in the mud outside my door. I did not put those two concepts, the pallet and the welcome mat, together in my own mind.
I am kind of ashamed that you had to explain the whole package for me. But what the hell? This trek is turning out to be a group project anyway.
It is not a patio, but it is a huge improvement over that with which I was dealing before.
I have a totally unrelated confession to make. I got hooked on George Strait's music during that month up there in the San Antonio area, his home. I am a late comer, but like the recent convert to Catholicism, I am becoming a more devout fan of George than are his life-long believers.
My feet are tan. I cannot remember the last time my feet were tan. In fact these feet are quite seriously tanned right now. I had forgotten how neat looking that is. I will spare you from photos of them though. . .unless you really, really want to see photos of them, that is.