My What?

I’m not sure if it’s a sign of the times or just a sign of my poor packing skills, but after spending Wednesday afternoon running errands in Todos Santos, Baja Sur, Mexico, I’ve learned the following:

For the brave and the bored, here is a description of the events that caused me to acquire the above knowledge.

One Convertidor a Tierra and a Wackload of Wifi

Everyone I asked was able to direct me towards wireless Internet access within minutes.

Minor setback. I needed to recharge my MacBook battery, and I forgot to bring the appropriate adaptor for two-hole sockets.

The gringa running one of the expat art galleries told me to just make the appropriate gestures for two-hole versus three hole sockets. She didn’t know the Spanish for grounding adaptor. To her credit, however, she did direct me to the nearest hardware store.

I found the hardware store and the elusive grounding adaptor within minutes of leaving the art gallery. Turns out the owner spoke English, and my adaptor costs 10 pesos (roughly $1 US). “Convertidor a tierra” is Spanish for grounding adaptor.

Roughly 15 minutes in total were spent in the effort to get my computer up and running.

Looking for a Needle in a Village (with free WiFi)

I ripped a giant hole in my very travel-friendly black capris on Sunday. By the time I managed to find the Convertido a Tierra, I’d already asked six people and gone to four stores in search of needle and thread to fix my pants.

After solving the adaptor issue, I walked up the street to a tourist-oriented ceramic tile shop and asked the owner how to say needle and thread in Spanish. The answer: aguja y ilo. She spent a couple minutes teaching me how to pronounce “Aguja” (the “g” is pronounced like an “h” if you tried to pronounce an “h” with a jawbreaker stuck in your throat; the “j” is pronounced like a normal “h”).

Then off I went in search of farmacias and any other store that might carry the ever elusive “aguja y ilo”.

Armed with my phrase of the day, I walked across the street to the nearest Farmacia. “Tiennes aguja y ilo, por favor?” I asked quietly. The answer: something in spanish which roughly translates to “No, but maybe at the pharmacy down the street.”

The woman at the next pharmacy was not as helpful, and simply answered my question with a curt “Non” and a smile. I stood there for a moment, hoping for more information, but the smile had already disappeared.

Throughout my quest, I’d been rehearsing the broken conversation I would have once I found a place that actually carried needle and thread. Potential questions about color and needle size and possible “package deals”. Like maybe an extra spool or fancy scissors, or one of those little travel kits with 20 different colors of thread, a useless seam ripper, and a couple of dull needles — just like the one I left at home on top of my dresser.

I took a deep breathe. I was ready for anything. Anything except the fact that nobody in Todos Santos seemed to know where I could buy needle and thread.

I went to another four stores, but still nothing. I asked the woman at the hotel. Nothing.

Frustrated and sunburned, I headed back to my hotel, plugged my new “Convertidor a tierra” into the wall, turned on my laptop, and considered surfing the net in search of needle and thread.

But by that point I was hungry.

Maybe the Internet Can Fix My Pants?

After forgetting about my rant and my beloved ripped pants for a couple days, I decided to google “needle and thread” and “Todos Santos”.

At the top of the results, a link to a tripadvisor review for the Todos Santos Inn, including the following:

Loved my lavish Room 6, the care of the fabulous staff, the perfect grotto of a swimming pool. Only 8 rooms and the guests were interesting. John, the owner, saw to my needs, down to needle and thread!

The most amusing part? I actually went to the Todos Santos Inn for dinner on Wednesday and met the amazingly resourceful John. It didn’t even occur to me to ask him for a needle and thread.

If only I’d had my laptop with me.