So I am taking a trip before returning to life in the United States, but I don’t have the urge to drag all my stuff along. I just don’t have the desire to be a pack mule for my trip. I once arrived at my sister’s house when they were moving to help and it was a surprise. My sister on answering the door calls to her husband and says something along the lines “Ashley is here, she can be our pack mule.” And my job first was to transfer boxes from upstairs to downstairs.
So hope you enjoyed that little story, but this is actually another one. I decided to send some things back to the United States, because some items just would bring me pleasure still having them in the future. I originally hoped for a courier, but no one took me up on my awesome offer to host them this fall. So I did some investigations, to figure it all out. I found out where the post office was in San Cristobal and one day last week with all my errands went to San Cristobal. The address was pretty simple, on Avenida Constitucion farther than the Banco Popular (which I also had to go to, closed my account! Oh my). So I went on my quest. I wasn’t entirely sure it was the right building, it looked so deserted, but it said words that made me think it must be.
When I got in there, I wondered if it was a functioning post office still. The worker was an older lady (that type you think should be pensioned off) and she confirmed I could send packages to the United States. Then it became a chore. Figuring out the cost was something beyond a quick check on the chart, it had to be so slowly done, she didn’t always start with the right number. If the package was taped it was then untaped and determined what was being mailed (interesting when it came to my knit picks interchangeable needles). And the postage was done through stamps with the largest stamp being 25 pesos (no electronic scale printing postage). Let me tell you it takes many stamps to get a package of weight to the United States. I left the post office with a slight headache. Then I receive a call the next day that something had been measured wrong and I need to pay more. So through none of my fault I took another trip to San Cristobal the very next day.
Well that’s what it is like to go to the post office in San Cristobal. There is mail in this country, just not to the house.