“What do you say about the heat?” That question was asked by a lady to Pío Baroja. She replied: “What is masculine”. In a way, the famous author of “Zalacaín the adventurer” was wrong. The Academy registers the variant “la calor”, used in Andalusia and several countries in America. Whatever your gender, heat sucks. It makes me walk more stupid than usual. When I lived in Madrid, I sweated in such a way that I had to shower two or three times a day.
The lady of the house questioned me, uneasy. Was I suffering from some epidermal ailment that forced me to make those frequent ablutions? After the corresponding explanation, he increased my monthly pension payment. “For the cost of water,” she put on the receipt.
During almost all the years of my life I had the privilege of living in “The air conditioned city”, according to what Professor Cuquita Galindo announced in the propaganda brochures of her Interamerican University, which he founded in Saltillo to serve students from the neighboring country. With pity and everything I must confess that that good saltillero weather is already a memory.
These days we suffer from infernal heat, sorry for using a simile never used. Of course, we continue to be oasis of freshness when compared to neighboring cities in the four cardinal directions: Monterrey, Torreón, Monclova and Matehuala. “It’s 40 degrees hot in the shade“-said someone to Babalucas.
“After being an asshole, I put myself in the shadows” -declared the badulaque. Another friend commented: “The temperature is so high that a couple of eggs placed on the hood of a car would be fried instantly.” Babalucas replied: “I will try not to approach the hood of a car.” Four pretty girls were going through the field.
The heat was oppressive, so when they saw a small lagoon they decided to enter it to cool off. They did so, stripped of their clothes. That’s when an old peasant arrived. The girls plunged up to their necks in the water, and one of them, angrily, complained to the man: “You are not ashamed to come to see us.” “I’m not here to see you, miss,” the farmer replied, hard-nosed. I come to feed the crocodile that lives in the lagoon”.
The speed with which the four beautiful girls emerged from the water is matched only by the delight with which the roguish peasant saw them in all their splendor. To the inhabitants of mexicali, Baja California, they are called “cachanillas”, apparently from the name of a plant that grows in the region. Adult males, however, are known by the resounding nickname of “huevosfríos” (cold eggs), due to the habit that many have of carrying a can of ice-cold beer between their legs when driving their vehicle.
In Mexicali you can enjoy the best Chinese food in the world. Not even in Beijing can you find a Chinese restaurant as good as the ones in the capital of Baja California. The first time I went to mexicali my host invited me to eat in one of them. When I got to the parking lot, I was struck by seeing a waiter at the door of the restaurant with a tray full of glasses of ice water.
We walked no more than 10 meters under the sun to reach the entrance of the premises. I rushed to drink one of the glasses as if I had walked several days through the Sahara or Kalahari desert. That water tasted tastier to me than the delicious dishes we later tasted.
Another city with extreme heat is Villahermosa. An illustrious person from Tabasco, Don Alfonso Taracena, said: “In Villahermosa we have months of 45 degrees. And then the heat starts. At the early hour that I write this, the thermometer in my city already marks 38 degrees. With this temperature it is impossible to talk about politics. END.
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