Sunnergy Dealer in Xalapa

There was an informational booth in Parque Juarez yesterday for a local Sunnergy dealer, Grupo Hersa, located in Col. Ferrer Guardia, 8-42-92-64

Presently the company is selling only vacuum tube, gravity feed, batch type hot water heater systems with the integrated tank of stainless steel.  The smallest system, with a 132 liter tank is selling for $8,700 pesos.  The systems include a mounting rack.  The company eventually plans to also sell photovoltaic systems.

Sunnergy is a company n Guadalajara whose website may be found here. 




Filed under Solar Hot Water, Xalapa

3 responses to “Sunnergy Dealer in Xalapa

  1. You're So Right

    Part I: I Can’t Place the Face, but the Odor is Familiar

    As the shards of my shattered consciousness began to reassemble themselves, against my better judgment, like astigmatic quilt-makers on crack, I realized that it was pronounced “ha” as in hah not “ixla” as in Xalapa.

    My vision cleared in brief bursts. Slowly, like one of those fifties movies where they played with the focus of the camera to simulate…well, someone’s vision clearing in brief bursts. When I finally came to, I really wished I hadn’t. Before me, squinting through clouds of acrid tobacco smoke at a wheezing laptop, muttering and chuckling as he hunted and pecked, sat a vision from hell. Not just any hell but a really bad hell, like living in the suburbs of a major American city . Or maybe having to sit through 24 hours of C-Span. Bad hell.

    Hunt, peck. Peck, mutter, hunt. “Welcome back, sailor.”

    With what, I am proud to say, considerable clinical detachment, I did a quick visual assessment of the abomination before me. Small, thin, dark as Cuban maduro with stringy matted hair the color of, say, the bilge from some steamer in Vera Cruz harbor. Arms like armadillos, feet covered in patent leather penny loafers. Awful. But the head. The head. So strangely distended under the massive pressure of a large granite boulder held in place by hemp and burlap. Sloping quickly back from the wrinkled forehead to form a shelf over the grizzled neck.

    “I said welcome back, Kitty.” I realized he was talking to me.

    “Where am I? Shit!” This is what I would like to have said. But, since I was incapable of speech just then, what I actually whined was “Whffffffarrach! Shisssht!”

    I was unable to localize the pain with any certainty. It was mostly between my shoulders and my scalp, I knew that. It was like driving a 1972 Volkswagen behind a truck hauling sheep manure up a hill. You can’t go around it and you can’t stand the smell. Eventually, I realized that something had gone really wrong with my teeth.

    “What’s the matter, not feeling so great?” The horrific demon before me continued hunched over the computer and distractedly worked at his left nostril with a mini-whisk, clearly vexed with some elusive turn of phrase on the screen before him.

    “Whachadotobe?, you sonabamick!” I moaned.

    “Oh, not much. Just a little pre-Columbian dental work. Thought I’d take care of it while you were still in dreamland.” He pulled luxuriously at his pulpy roach as the blue of the monitor reflected off his filthy, holographic My-Little-Pony shades. “Want to have a look?” I detected more than a little pride in his remark.

    He lifted a hand mirror and held it before my face, tilting and zooming until he was sure I could see myself clearly. “Go ahead, say ahhhh.”

    I barely recognized my own visage. My hairline, which I had always considered one of my best features, had somehow receded to about mid-crown; the sixties surfer bob replaced by a series of short tufts. Pig-tails actually; densely knotted and slathered with a tarry substance which held them a various angles away from my head. My face was bright red. Ape’s-ass red, except in the rivulets of dried tears which revealed the pallid skin beneath.

    With great care, I drew my lips back from my throbbing choppers. I gazed in horror at the intricately chiseled and perforated designs that covered the formerly off-white glories with which my sainted parents had worked so hard to provide me. Each incisor was now adorned with three vertical grooves bordered by a sort of crescent moon chipped out along the midline; the designs on one side perfectly symmetrical with those on the opposite side of my mouth. Festooned as they were with tiny constellations of holes and imbedded chips of semi-precious stones, I couldn’t help but admire the artistry on some depraved level.

    “What the thuck?” This last accompanied by a convulsive wince and fresh torrents of tears brought on instantly by the pressure of front teeth against lower lip. “Whath have you done to be, you badman!”

    “Mad?” He snapped his head back so quickly that he slightly lost his footing, balancing as he was some 60 or 80 pounds of stone on his scrawny neck. “Mad you say?”

    Whether it was the cackle of fetid laughter fouling what remained of the breathable air in that dank space, or the crude bludgeon brought down sharply on my stubbled pate, I know not, but the resultant return to incoherence was welcome beyond words. As I slipped into that satiny abyss, I realized that I was in the presence the very person I had come so many miles and spent so many years in search of. Once again the Shepherd of Satsop was within my grasp!

    Next Installment
    Part II – Do These Shackles Make Me Look Fat?

  2. Ain’t it just like the privileged to complain?

    Those “intricately chiseled and perforated designs that covered the formerly off-white glories” have betrayed your status. So your dynastic forebears waited to apply the symbols until your mid-fifties. Don’t hold their nouveau richeness or their propensity to procrastination against them.

    And what’s wrong with C-Span, other than that it regularly places on display the vacuity and pomposity of the ruling class. I think it’s the best that TV has to offer.

    Haven’t I repeatedly told you that you should be ensconced on the river placing the psychosis to words? After all one can spend only so much time pursuing the cliched Old Man and the Sea fantasy.

    Be thankful that it was just your teeth. The Satsop Shep could have administered that which has heretofore been reserved only for his ovine wards.

    I look eagerly forward to Part II.

  3. Pingback: In Case You’ve Missed Them « Ruminations of an Expatriate

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