Espere - waiting...
oh well, off I go on my own to try to find oil.
I walk around the several city blocks here. I could walk forever, if my feet didn't get blisters. I forgot to get those socks before I left Berkeley that are supposed to keep your feel from sweating i.e. no blisters.
Everyone I meet here is so friendly. Almost everyone struggles to understand my poor Spanish, most likely more than I am struggling to speak.
But finally, SUCCESS!!!! A young man at a small Japanese restaurant smiles knowingly at me, nodding his head the whole time I am asking for veggie oil, speaking to me in rapid Spanish that I nod and smile back at, hoping hoping, hoping he understands more of my Spanish then I understand of his.
He motions me to follow him back into the tiny kitchen area, which I do. Then he points to a FULL 20 liter container of used veggie oil!!! YEAH!!! I think I clap and cheer as he picks it up and carries it outside to the sidewalk.
I cannot believe my luck! I am parked about 5 blocks from this restaurant, but I just haul that heavy sloshing container back to my truck, stopping every few feet to put it down and beam!
When I am almost there, a man who is apparently helping cars park on a busy side street (I wonder if he gets paid for this or works for tips?) grabs the container from me and hauls it a few feet down the street until he is called to help park someone.
Another Japanese restaurant has promised me oil and wants a container. I reach my truck and exchange the full container of oil for an empty one.
On my way back to the other Japanese restaurant, I stop at a little tortas place and ask for their used veggie oil. As I am carrying the container, they seem to understand faster and point me to the back yard. There, a womon is busy cooking over a 2 burner propane stove and in another corner of the yard are two large plastic jars of oil!
I cheer and get to work. I strain the oil before putting it into my container. The womon who was cooking comes over and immediately helps me. It is a slow, hard process but she sticks with me the whole time, keeping one eye on the fish she is frying.
I go to the next tortas place in the next block and get a grand welcome there too. The daughter is working hte front counter, and in the back, the mother is frying. The father shows me the container of oil, apologizing because it is so little. I am so happy! MORE OIL!
He tells me he is half Chinese (his father) and half Mexican (his mom). He tells me his father just died a couple of years ago at the age of 109!
I now have to return to the truck with my container that is almost full. Thank goodness it is only 1/2 a block away! Once again, I exchange this container for an empty one. This time I head straight for the Japanese Restaurant Kibu, I think, and give them the empty container.
I am going to go to Yadira's home and see what happened to Pati!