Tea with milk?

The ranch house gets it washing machine after all.

Salta City, Argentina

June 13th

“You want milk with your tea?”, the waitress asked.

“Yes.”, I said.

“You mean like hot milk with the tea bag in it?”.

“No…a cup of hot black tea with cold milk on the side.”.

The waitress looked at me blankly. Her glossy cherry red lips pouted slightly.

“Oh. People don’t ever ask for that…”.

“Well…do you have milk?”, I asked.

“Yes.”, she answered.

“Then how about you bring me a cup of hot tea with the box of milk, and I’ll put it in myself?”.

She frowned.

“I’ll have to check with my manager.”.

I waited. I was sitting in a café in the town of Cerrillos about an hour outside of Salta. We’d just wound our way around the Bishop’s Pass covered in thick mist.

Adrien had an errand to run so he’d dropped me off at this café on the square.

A few minutes later, an ample woman came out of the kitchen bearing a tray. On it was a cup and saucer, a small tea pot filled with hot water, a black tea bag, a glass of milk, and a round sugar cookie.

“Here you are.”, she said with a smile. I thanked her, and she bustled off.

The glossy lipped waitress threw me a disdainful look as I tried to pour the milk from the glass into the cup without spilling it all over the place. Luckily there were plenty of napkins on hand to mop up the mess.

I dipped my cookie in the milky liquid, and was just finishing when Adrien pulled up in his truck and waved. I paid the bill and headed out.

Descending the Bishop’s Pass.

Before leaving the Valley, I stopped in at La Arcadia to see where the washing machine might go.

Inés and I entered the worker’s lodge where our foreman has his office, and our mechanic has his quarters. There are a few extra bedrooms for itinerant workers to stay, a couple of bathrooms, and a makeshift kitchen.

The large white machine sat in a corner of the kitchen.

“Beautiful.”, she said approvingly.

Then, looking around at the bare surroundings, she wrinkled her nose.

“But I don’t like it here very much. No privacy…couldn’t we have it over at the banda (across the river)?”.

“I thought it wasn’t possible…but I’ll talk to don Adrien again.”.

“Bueno.”, she replied gaily.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed toward her house.

I took a stroll over to see old Doña Luisa. She was sitting on a bench in front of her daughter’s house overseeing the butchering of a cow. Her hands rested on a cane.

She wore a sun bonnet, a cardigan sweater, and a woolen skirt. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bench, revealing her knee high stockings. When she saw me, she waved and reached her softs hands out to clasp mine.

“How are you Doña?”, I asked.

“Oh, I’m well. Except when it gets cold, and my arthritis acts up.”, she said turning down the sides of her mouth in a frown.

“I’m sorry.”, I said. Poor Doña Luisa, who also suffers from diabetes and a thyroid condition, smiled a defeated smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“That’s quite a cow.”, I commented.

“Yes, a really beauty.”, she agreed.

I kissed her on the cheek and bid her goodbye.

Top: the butchered cow. Bottom: Doña Luisa.

Later, I asked my husband if it really was impossible to install the washing machine over at the ranch house…

He called up the German fellow who installed the solar panels.

The verdict: it could be done, but we could only run the machine during the day. No problemo.

The next day our handyman came over to see how he’d install it in our very own laundry room at the ranch house.

More to come.

Abrazos,

Mariah