5 a.m.
The ladies start making their tortillas across the street, slapping the mushed corn quickly into rounded flat patties and toasting them on a fire.
Whap. Whap.

Every day. All day.

The first night I wondered if Marta was making some next to my bed. Then I wondered if the largest rain drop in the world was plunking into a bucket next to my bed.
instaed of
Hours later, annoyed by it, I decided to join them and asked what was going on. A ngot up and asked them what they were doing and how many they make every day.

1,000.

that explains it.

I also asked them to teach me how to make them.

Here's the two I made that seemed "OK" by gringa standards.