Raindrops Keep Falling October 24, 2021
“Raindrops keep falling on my head, they keep falling, so I…”
Burt Bacharach
This has always been one of my least favorite Bacharach compositions, particularly as it served as the ill-chosen soundtrack of an otherwise excellent movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” I only wish I had one of their 6-shooters to silence the endless melodica played by the waterman who comes by my house several times a day. “Raindrops keep falling on my head,” plays the perennial vender, via scratchy megaphone, pedaling his tricycle stacked with 20-liter jugs of potable Agua. Message received loud and clear. If a marimba player should ever join this chorus, there will be blood on the streets.
Everyone must have enough water these days. It is a shame that there are indeed water shortages in Chiapas, one of Mexico’s wettest states, but there is apparently more money in storing water in plastic bottles than in public reservoirs. With all of the rain we have had lately, however, I imagine any old storage vessel will probably do.
Rain is never far away. The daily forecast has not changed appreciatively since moving here in June—rain, 48-68 degrees F. In point of fact, it does not actually rain every day, but it does get overcast everyday after lunch and often before. Geography makes this rainy season particularly active because of our proximity to both Pacific and Gulf weather systems. These two drivers of moisture collide above the coastal mountains, the air cools, nucleated drops condense, and suddenly sidewalk diners on Guadalupe Real are reaching for their umbrellas while the Tzotzil cover themselves in makeshift tarps.
The rainy season is supposed to end in the next couple of months, but weather has reportedly become more unpredictable in recent years. On any given day, the prevailing wind can be from north, south, east or west, depending on which low-pressure systems are converging, whereas the surrounding mountains produce their own clouds as the day heats. Mornings are driest, but they tend to be accompanied with fog that must burn away before the solar engine is activated.
In short, one must be prepared to get wet and chilled at any time. During the brief dry spells, pains are taken to open doors and windows to ventilate against the constant invasion of molds and their allergenic spores. With such well-circulated knowledge, San Cristobal manages to avoid becoming a haven for sun-seeking retirees. Risk-taking mycologists are more the norm.
Due to my overzealous coffee consumption, I am out of fresh water this morning. 28 pesos will buy me 20 liters, provided I have a jug to exchange. Alas, the musical tricycle is nowhere to be heard, nor should his god-awful song be expected anytime soon. Not until it stops raining.