Chiandoni, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love DF

Last weekend we gave up. I had called it quits a little bit earlier, but Agt.3L was still holding out for a miracle until he decided health and well being was a better goal. So that was it. I started looking for flights back to the states and informing all of my pals with available couches that I'd be on my way over soon. My own body was collapsing under the stress and unhappiness of fighting against the unbeatable DF, the culture shock that I denied out of girlscout inspired sticktoitiveness, and the relative impossibility of reconciling two lives built around completely different conceptions of when the largest meal of the day should be eaten. In the midst of disbelief and a sense of utter failure, not to mention a strong desire not to appear vulnerable, I had to admit to my disillusioned paramour that I needed to see a doctor. Ok, I said I would be fine, but he insisted that we go to the doctor just to be sure. And we did, and I was fine, "healthy as a 15 year old" so said the amiable physician, but overstressed. Ah, you don't say. But something changed between Agt.3L and me that day. I really needed him for something I couldn't do for myself, and he was really sad to be letting me go.

It is an interesting experience to be in a consultation with a doctor who doesn't speak your language and needing to translate through your boyfriend. You have to trust that the BF is describing things correctly, and that the doctor is understanding them correctly. You also have the possibility that you will remember parts of the conversation later and realize that in your earnest efforts to get it right you said some embarrassing things, in front of your BF. Sigh... It is also humbling. I suggested that Agt.3L deserved a popsicle for his supreme efforts to care for me including the death defying maneuvers performed in thick (the kind where the authorized direction of travel is reversed, one-ways become two-ways and people are playing the back-up game) DF traffic on a Saturday. You may think a popsicle no reward for such feats, but I am not talking about a thin frozen sugarwater stick like you may obtain from the freezer section of your local super, but a serious frozen fruit bar, a paleta, from a niveria/heladeria. These things are big solid rectangles of fruit juice and chunks of real fruit and they come in about 100 different flavors such as piña, jamaica, guyabana, pepino con chili, mango, elote, higo, tamarindo and soooo many more. Naturally we were going to need some lunch first.

So we went to a place called Fisher's which is, of course, a seafood restaurant. Seafood here is totally different than in the States. Firstly it is considered THE penultimate hangover remedy, and secondly things are not breaded and deep fried. Ceviche is ubiquitous and super-duper delicious and this particular place serves a shot of steaming hot spiced clam juice to get you in the mood. The one we went to is located in Colonia Napoles and looks like a 1950's chromed diner crossed with a surf shop covered by a greenhouse glass roof with an open kitchen in the middle surrounded by a continuous bar. We got there at just the right moment before it got packed for the futbol game. We spoke in spanish the whole time, me mangling it, he correcting me, and the food was fantastic. Stuffed and still wanting that paleta, we decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could find a good paleteria. After about a 5 block search we were about to give up when I spied a place across the street with big letters above the windows that read "CHIANDONI". It looked a bit like a diner with a counter and low swivel stools from what I could see so we didn't think much about it at first but as we turned to go back to the car I noticed a sign in the window saying something about helado. I am not a huge fan of traditional icecream, but we crossed over to check it out anyway. There were many small tables clad in woodgrain formica with turquoise upholstered cafe chairs. On the far wall was an enormous painting of a European coastal vista and a sweet aroma of fresh espresso filled the air. The staff whisked about in turquoise uniforms with white aprons and we realized that Chiandoni only served coffee and icecream. This was a serious icecream parlor seemingly untouched by time. So we stayed. I ordered a mango sherbet and a Vienes coffee and Agt.3L had a mamey helado. We sat at the counter and as we nibbled, the evening sunshine slanted into the room across our stainless steel dishes and cream colored ceramic cups and I was filled with such a wonderful emotion that I began to cry. I had fallen in love with this one little moment of DF time and space. For the first time I found something in DF that I liked! If this place existed, then I could love it here. I could move to Col. Napoles and eat seafood and have icecream and be happy!

Agt.3L took that opportunity to point out the reality of our situation and I completely crumbled back into my typical sour mood and pouted for about five minutes until I decided to tell him that I hate Santa Fe and that I don't want to live in our neighborhood anymore. Again with the reality, he reminded me that I am not staying here anyway and that his lease in Santa Fe is not up until next May. Harumph. At that point, with complete and total apathy, I told him that my other boyfriends were crazy too and that not a one of them loved me as much as he did so hell, why not give it another try. He kissed me passionately right there at the counter, even though I tried to squirm away (as I always do 'cause where I come from you don't do that sort of thing in public) but he wouldn't take no for an answer so I relented. And smiled. So we went about our evening, walked back to the car and went home.

The next morning we dragged ourselves out of bed to get to church late after eating breakfast. Agt. 3L got persuaded to help a nun pass out donation envelopes. We decided to take off right away after the service instead of sticking around to chat with the expats. And then we looked at each other with no desire to do anything and Agt.3L said to me "Do you want to go to the zoo?" and I said "ok". So we found a parking place in Polanco and headed over on foot to the zoologico in Bosques de Chapultepec. On the way I insisted we stop and look at 1) the bookstore called El Pendulo to find a book printed in English where we discovered an amazing cafe 2) the Da Silva bakery (closed on Sundays, drat) as recommended by The Mija Chronicles and 3) the remote control pirate ships zooming about at the hands of five year olds in the reflecting ponds of Lincoln Park. The zoo was a zoo of swarming humanity. Fortunately for us we had about 6-10 inches on everybody so we could manage to still get a view of the pitiful creatures over the heads of over a thousand boisterous chilangos and their kids. Exhausted and depressed from the heat of the sun and the plight of the animals, we returned to El Pendulo to have lunch and discuss what we were going to do. At this point the mister was not 100% ready to let me stay. And I was not 100% sure I wanted to.

We had a long discussion over some seriously tasty snacks and came to the conclusion that we will just think of this adventure as temporary. It is over in December and we are free to go our own ways. This viewpoint provided so much relief for both of us that the rest of the day was spent in an elated mood. We agreed to be adults and go home and do laundry instead of going to a movie. Since then things have been much more relaxed. We have even started enjoying each other's company. The dishes are getting done again. The rest will come as it comes, I suppose.