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I walked and waded 19 miles along muddy roads on Sunday, only to find myself wading through a couple of inches of water in my apartment during the torrential downpour later in the evening. Wet and wild was sort of the theme on Sunday.

There I was, standing at the front door, watching the downpour and marveling at how Moppit and I had dodged a bullet.

Moments before, we’d set out for our evening walk when the sprinkling started. Normally, we’d race around the block before the rain began in earnest. Not this time. After eight rainy seasons in San Miguel de Allende, you learn to listen to your gut, read the clouds, scope out the wind, and sense the drop in barometric pressure.

We turned around and raced home, just as the skies let loose.

So, I’m standing in the comfort of the doorway videotaping the River San Juan, previously known as Calle San Juan, in Colonia San Antonio.

That’s when I felt this wetness lapping at my sandals.

The entirety of my ground-floor two-bedroom two-bathroom apartment was filled with about two inches of water. 

I’m officially labeling it a flash flood. It happened within minutes of my opening the front door.

I traced the flow back to its source – the back bedroom doors that open up onto the courtyard. The water was cresting on the glass and spewing in like a firehose. The whole patio was underwater.

The problem was easy enough to figure out: the mesh covering recently added to the drain to keep the rats at bay was covered with leaves, sticks, and dirt. I lifted the metal lattice cover, knelt in the pond, and reached in like a catfish hunter to grab anything covering the screen.

A few handfuls of foliage removed, and the water was spiraling down the drain.

But the damage was done.

I should pause to note that water removal was not on my night’s agenda. I hiked 19 miles yesterday, almost to Antotonilco along the noisy highway and back beside the wet and verdant Rio Lajas, a training walk for my September Camino.

I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. That’s the most walking I’d done since the West Highland Way a couple of years back. And the first time hiking to Antotonilco since 2019. (And on that hike, we took the bus back to SMA!)

Yep, pretty chuffed.

A couple of nights ago, I woke up, went to my desk, and wrote: “I was raised Catholic and taught that if you want something bad enough, God will deny it, in order to teach you a very important lesson.”

Why I wrote that and where it came from was a mystery. But I’m beginning to see some truth in it.

Sorry, God. I won’t get ahead of myself. Lesson learned.

I was tired.

All I wanted was a nice dinner and a comfortable bed.

Water and I have a difficult relationship in this building. We lived in the top-floor apartment five years ago, with its spectacular view of all of San Miguel and a ceiling that would leak for four days after every rain. 

The owner concluded that the entire roof needed to be rebuilt to fix the problem. The property manager relocated us to a spectacular house at the same price – this was during Covid. No real complaints.

A year ago, we moved back into this four-apartment building – it really is a beautiful property with great management and owners. I figured the water issues were behind me, and the top-floor tenants say whatever problems existed were fixed long ago.

I suppose I should blame it on the rats. There is a covered drainage channel that runs through the backyard and into the next property. I know not where it comes out. The rats use it as a freeway, but I always thought the lattice cover kept them below ground.

Until one the size of a chicken showed up in my kitchen. All it wanted was to get out the back door and back into the channel.

I was happy to oblige.

The handyman came over the next day and slapped on the grill to keep the rats away. And of course, it worked.

I was thinking of all this as I scooped water into a bucket and poured it down the shower drain. Kneel down, scoop water, stand up, carry into the bathroom, empty bucket. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Just the kind of repetitive exercise I wanted to be doing after a day of hiking.

I emptied about 30 buckets, with little to show for it, by the time reinforcements showed up. The property manager, Jonathan, and his assistant Esteban arrived with brooms, buckets, and a squeegee. We swept and pushed the water out the front door until around 10:30 pm.

It is their job, I know, but both were pulled away from their families on a Sunday night. I give them all due respect for that.

That dinner I was savoring? Ended up being an apple and a glass of orange juice.

This morning, the place looked fairly normal, except that the furniture was all over the place. As I was leaving for the gym, Sandra showed up to deep-clean the floors.

The main victim in all this is about 20 boxes of stuff. I’m not sure what all is in Rose’s boxes, but mine contain papers, notebooks, story scribbles, photographs, and memorabilia going back nearly 60 years.

Is anything salvageable? I don’t know, and I just don’t have the fortitude to look just yet. 

Estaban will be back with 20 dry boxes this afternoon, and I’ll start going through the damage, box by box.

That will be my life for the rest of this week.

I guess it could have been worse. A lot of Colonia San Antonio and much of San Miguel lost power during the storm. Can you imagine trying to reclaim floorspace from a flood in the darkness?

Maybe we did dodge a bullet — while taking a direct hit from some others.