Etre en Feu

This morning the fire station down the street from our house caught on fire. And burned, because the fire trucks weren't filled with water. Then a big fight broke out! There was a huge crowd. But I didn't see any of that. Just the charred smoking building as we drove past this morning on our way to the parcelle.

It's strange living in a land where fire trucks fill up with water after a fire starts, and there's no trash cans so people throw everything on the ground and burn piles of plastic, and there's no mail system, and when policemen try to pull you over you lock the doors, roll up the windows, and drive away very fast. Also mosquitoes are SILENT. What's even stranger is that I'm getting used to it all. And maybe when I return to Berkeley I'll be a littering, mosquito-bite-covered fugitive from the cops who smells like burning plastic.