The people of Mexico are not rich, but are they happy? We all know money can't buy happiness, but it's only natural for the American mind to wonder: doesn't economic instability hurt one's overall sense of happiness?
Well, as far as I can tell, the answer is no.
They seem to enjoy riding life's ups and downs, like a roller coaster. People on the streets offer car washes for a little cash with exuberant energy. There is such hope for what can be earned through one's individual efforts. On buses, people take care of eachother. I almost fell down the other day when the bus lurched with more force than usual, and a lady reached out to catch me. We laughed immediately afterward. Musicians looking for cash enter the buses to play their guitars and sing for money. Their voices are incredible, and they explain their hopes for money. Then there are the entrepreneurs selling incense. They too enter the buses, where there is a captive audience, and explain the health merits of their product. In appreciation of the presentation, and the amazing-smelling incense, several bus-goers purchased a few bundles.
Even in the midst of their unrest, there is celebration. Such was the case in Thursday's protest, when workers wore corn husk costumes to protest the recent lifting of tariffs on U.S. corn. The agreements from NAFTA recently expired, and that means Mexican corn farmers now have to compete with American farmers to sell their corn. So in protest, a bunch of workers lined up in a huge crowd outside this old government building, calling for something to be done about the agreement. I'm not sure what the local government could do. It seemed ridiculous to me that they would be lining up outside a local government building, calling for something to be done about a national treaty. But in the end, it appeared that whether they had an affect on the government or not, they were going to have a good time. I mean, they were wearing corn costumes. They were also playing music that echoed throughout the plaza, as though it were time for a fiesta. In reality, the unfair tarriff lifts were an excuse to gather in the plaza, take a day off of work, and listen to some good 'ole Mexican beats. I don't mean to dismiss their cause--the trade agreement is a serious issue that is affecting Mexico's economy. But the effort was decidedly quaint and festival-like.
But the calm nature of the event did not stop the police from coming out with their machine guns at the ready. They stood at the side of the building in a neat military formation, wearing black and carrying shields. They stared straight ahead in true military form, shifting their eyes to watch me as I passed. It was really strange. I went over and asked the head police, who was standing on the side with his walkee talkee, if this was common. He said yes, these types of protests happen about 4 or 5 times per year in Guadalajara. But things are very "tranquilo" (calm--one of their favorite words, a huge compliment, it seems) here, he said with a proud smile. The people don't get violent. They don't do anything rash like people do in Mexico City or Monterey.
I started to wish I lived in Mexico City or Monterey when he told me this. I know, that's not exactly an intelligent reaction, but aren't you a little curious too? I want to see the drama of Mexico playing out before my eyes. I don't want to keep missing out on the action. I've lived such a sheltered life. On the cover of a newspaper recently, I saw this photo of people with their hands pressed up against the glass and these really desperate facial expressions. It was a hold up at some bank in Venezuela, far far away. It seems that no matter where I go, the exciting stuff is happening somewhere else. Maybe I'll see something crazy at some point. I've got my eyes peeled. Sometimes on my runs, I take little detours away from the nice neighborhoods, so that I can see the shady streets. I want to see what happens on the streets with the broken glass and all the graffiti. Of course, I only do this during the day and then quickly slip back into the nice neighborhoods with the nice houses and the trees. But sometimes I just wonder what stories I'm missing on these other streets.
As I run through the quieter streets, I often see happy lives unfolding. I see store owners talking idly with customers and friends. I often wonder what they are talking about that keeps them entertained hour upon hour, just standing their, waiting for business to pick up? I visited a little market last Sunday, a market with little eateries lining the periphery. I ate an incredible little quesadilla, which I doused in guacamole and salsa, while talking to the ladies behind the counter. One of them said she'd been working their for eleven years. I asked her how old she was, and she said 17. She said she didn't live close; she lived about a half hour bus ride away, but it was a family business and she liked it. She, her mother, and her sister went about their work peacefully, greeting the men who stopped by for tacos and gorditas with genuine warmth. They smiled as they talked to them. I wonder if they have dreams of meeting their future husband as they work. Maybe they too gaze at the beautiful white wedding dresses in the dozens of "Novias" stores that line Vallarta as I do. Maybe my sense of happiness is not so different from theirs after all.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
News from the streets
A reporter would start out with a main point and then tell a story that exemplifies it. But I can´t come up with a main point. Generalities skew the story I am experiencing. They fail to grip the reality, and they often support or refute stereotypes with an inadequate amount of real knowledge to make such grandiose claims. So this time, because I want you to understand the streets, I´m not going to tell you what I think of them. I´m going to tell you what they´re like.
This morning, the rumble of life is constant but varied. It's a fruit salad-jumble of sensory overload, bursting with the many sounds of work and effort. Stand on the corner of Independencia and Amaldo, just beyond one of the city´s rare patches of grass, and you´ll here it all. High in some second story restaurant across the street a hammer clangs against a nail. The sound repeats every ten seconds. Like every city, traffic flows in its constant way. Here, each one calls out to the world in its own way. Some squeak when they stop, others boom with music. Motorcycles buzz by, always seeming to come out of nowhere. The notes rise and fall, the beat even and consoling, the drum rythms adding a clubbing feel to the streets. Some engines whine as they speed up, others sigh. And the buses do it all. They grunt to get going, let out air with a sighing sound as they wait for passengers to load, and squeak as they stop. The break squeak pitches are high enough to disable a dog´s hearing for life.
Then there are the sights. People in neon outfits ride in pairs on motorcycles, faster than the cars. There are so many children walking with adults who pull them along briskly, on definite missions to just get through this place. Except one girl who passes with her parents. She is carrying a guinea pig cage, following her parents and her little brother.
A woman in a purple cotton skirt and purple sweater around her waist hobbles past. She wears a bright blue headband and a tie died shirt. Hobbling is common down these streets. Using canes, lenaing on walkers, and wearing neck braces is also common. There is a sense that everything needs fixing. I know, I know, I just broke my rules about drawing no general conclusions. I guess if I had to choose a thesis statement, that would be it.
This morning, the rumble of life is constant but varied. It's a fruit salad-jumble of sensory overload, bursting with the many sounds of work and effort. Stand on the corner of Independencia and Amaldo, just beyond one of the city´s rare patches of grass, and you´ll here it all. High in some second story restaurant across the street a hammer clangs against a nail. The sound repeats every ten seconds. Like every city, traffic flows in its constant way. Here, each one calls out to the world in its own way. Some squeak when they stop, others boom with music. Motorcycles buzz by, always seeming to come out of nowhere. The notes rise and fall, the beat even and consoling, the drum rythms adding a clubbing feel to the streets. Some engines whine as they speed up, others sigh. And the buses do it all. They grunt to get going, let out air with a sighing sound as they wait for passengers to load, and squeak as they stop. The break squeak pitches are high enough to disable a dog´s hearing for life.
Then there are the sights. People in neon outfits ride in pairs on motorcycles, faster than the cars. There are so many children walking with adults who pull them along briskly, on definite missions to just get through this place. Except one girl who passes with her parents. She is carrying a guinea pig cage, following her parents and her little brother.
A woman in a purple cotton skirt and purple sweater around her waist hobbles past. She wears a bright blue headband and a tie died shirt. Hobbling is common down these streets. Using canes, lenaing on walkers, and wearing neck braces is also common. There is a sense that everything needs fixing. I know, I know, I just broke my rules about drawing no general conclusions. I guess if I had to choose a thesis statement, that would be it.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
On pets, formality, and spiciness
As I spend my days teaching English, reading like mad, and walking to and from class, I now feel prepared to answer some of the questions Angie posted on the blog. Thanks Anj!
Do people have pets?
To answer your question, Anj, yeah. They have dogs that they walk on Sundays. Sundays are a very jolly day around here. One of the main streets opens up for pedestrian use only, and people come out in droves with their families. A lot of them bring their dogs too. Funny thing is, I don´t think I´ve seen any cats the whole time I´ve been in Mexico. Pets don´t seem to be a big deal. It seems like people have other things on their mind, like earning a paycheck and relaxing.
How formal is it? (dress)
Very informal. I live downtown in the second largest city in the country, and so if there is anywhere people would get dressed up, it´s here. A lot of people wear jeans to work, but I also see businessmen and women dressed up in basic business suits. These more serious types are pretty well put together. The women pretty much always wear pointy toed stilletos and the men gel their hair.
In general styles are more intense, and this especially applies to the mainstream. Men sport haircuts with pointy sideburns. Sometimes the back of the haircut even comes to a point, like the hairdresser wanted to give him a rat tail but then stopped short. Hairstyle creativity abounds. I keep seeing this style wear the men make the middle of their hair stick up with gel, kind of like a fin on the top of their head. Downtown, I see lot of women with blonde highlights that don´t exactly look natural with their dark hair.
The women are all about bright colors and patterns: polka dots, leopard print, stripes, flowers. You see it on old ladies, middle aged women, kids, whoever. To appreciate this wealth of aesthetic expression is to appreciate Mexican culture, rich in vibrance and emotion. They love their sequins, beads, and little stitchings of English words. They love their glitter too. I met this girl at a bar whose face looked like it was straight out of the Jetson´s. She had pink eyeshadow, applied in a smooth, thick layer up to her eyebrows. On top of the eyeshadow was a layer of glitter. The blonde highlights in her hair were as pronounced as the blue stripes on her sweater.
Downtown, I see a lot of tacky stuff. There are a lot of questionable styles, either that have gone out of style or are in style now. You´ll see your occcasional pair of pleated jeans. Then there are the twenty-something women who wear really tight jeans. They also wear leggings paired with skin tight shirts. Tight clothes are way in for women, regardless of body type.
Zappaterias (shoe stores) are everyone. These people are obsessed with shoes. Even the men wear interesting varieties, like leather shoes with square toes. The women, of course, are the ones who really go crazy. These days, a ton of women are wearing high heeled boots, usually with stilleto heels and pointed toes. They are also sporting flats in every pattern and material imaginable. The fancier ones have teeny heels which you can´t see, but add that reassuring ¨I´m coming¨ click when you walk.
How formal is it? (speaking)
It´s pretty informal with speaking as well. If you look at the literal translation of the things they say, they are a lot more direct, and less polite, than we are in the U.S. Some might argue that it´s just a different way of saying the same thing, but I think that the intricacies of their literal word choices say something about the culture. For instance, there´s no beating around the bush if you want to get through a crowd. You simply say permiso, which is more of a demand than the typical American request, ¨excuse me.¨
Aside from word choice, they tend to treat you in a familiar way right off the bat. If I seem worried about something, the office ladies at my school are quick to say ¨no te preocupas--¨don´t worry. If I apologize for not knowing a word or ask a dumb question, people in stores and other places are quick to offer reassurance. Being late is not a problem. Most are quick to greet with an easy smile, regardless of how well they know you. There is a sense that we are all in this life thing together. On Sundays, everyone relaxes together. You look on the buses, and there is a collective sense of happiness as people ride along together. Everyone is out in couples, in groups of friends, and most of all with family. Friends chat away openly as they ride buses. If they´re not chatting, they at least seem content. This same sense of a collective experience applies on weekdays, at the end of the day, when everyone is tired and stressed together. You look around and eyes are half open. No one talks, but no one acts out in hostility except for the babies. There always seems to be a crying baby on the 5:00 buses.
They´re pretty frank, regardless of how well they know you. They don´t hesitate to push their way through crowds. On the street, people make eye contact and greet eachother for the most part. People don´t hold back when it comes to greeting or speaking frankly with friends and family. It seems people band together a lot. As much as possible, people try to go places with other people. They make an effort to spend time with friends, even if it´s midday on a weekday.
Do you feel your body becoming spicier...like do you choose to wear red, green, and yellow more often? Do you think you could become Mexican if you lived there for thirty years?
I have to say, I don´t really feel too affected by Mexican style personally. I´m still me, still wearing my jeans and my corduroy jacket, still stearing clear of their fake patent leather shoes. But at the same time, I am really becoming profoundly affected by how serious they take every opportunity presented to them, from the big to the small. At the salsa club down the street, people do not take the fun atmosphere for granted. If you are dancing with someone, you are paying attention to them.
Opportunity, opportunity, opportunity. It´s not to be taken lightly in life...and people here seem to realize this, at least in the moment the opportunity arrives. It´s making me think.
More on this in future posts...
Pretty much, everything you ever wanted to know about Guadalajara can be taken care of right here, courtesy of me.
Do people have pets?
To answer your question, Anj, yeah. They have dogs that they walk on Sundays. Sundays are a very jolly day around here. One of the main streets opens up for pedestrian use only, and people come out in droves with their families. A lot of them bring their dogs too. Funny thing is, I don´t think I´ve seen any cats the whole time I´ve been in Mexico. Pets don´t seem to be a big deal. It seems like people have other things on their mind, like earning a paycheck and relaxing.
How formal is it? (dress)
Very informal. I live downtown in the second largest city in the country, and so if there is anywhere people would get dressed up, it´s here. A lot of people wear jeans to work, but I also see businessmen and women dressed up in basic business suits. These more serious types are pretty well put together. The women pretty much always wear pointy toed stilletos and the men gel their hair.
In general styles are more intense, and this especially applies to the mainstream. Men sport haircuts with pointy sideburns. Sometimes the back of the haircut even comes to a point, like the hairdresser wanted to give him a rat tail but then stopped short. Hairstyle creativity abounds. I keep seeing this style wear the men make the middle of their hair stick up with gel, kind of like a fin on the top of their head. Downtown, I see lot of women with blonde highlights that don´t exactly look natural with their dark hair.
The women are all about bright colors and patterns: polka dots, leopard print, stripes, flowers. You see it on old ladies, middle aged women, kids, whoever. To appreciate this wealth of aesthetic expression is to appreciate Mexican culture, rich in vibrance and emotion. They love their sequins, beads, and little stitchings of English words. They love their glitter too. I met this girl at a bar whose face looked like it was straight out of the Jetson´s. She had pink eyeshadow, applied in a smooth, thick layer up to her eyebrows. On top of the eyeshadow was a layer of glitter. The blonde highlights in her hair were as pronounced as the blue stripes on her sweater.
Downtown, I see a lot of tacky stuff. There are a lot of questionable styles, either that have gone out of style or are in style now. You´ll see your occcasional pair of pleated jeans. Then there are the twenty-something women who wear really tight jeans. They also wear leggings paired with skin tight shirts. Tight clothes are way in for women, regardless of body type.
Zappaterias (shoe stores) are everyone. These people are obsessed with shoes. Even the men wear interesting varieties, like leather shoes with square toes. The women, of course, are the ones who really go crazy. These days, a ton of women are wearing high heeled boots, usually with stilleto heels and pointed toes. They are also sporting flats in every pattern and material imaginable. The fancier ones have teeny heels which you can´t see, but add that reassuring ¨I´m coming¨ click when you walk.
How formal is it? (speaking)
It´s pretty informal with speaking as well. If you look at the literal translation of the things they say, they are a lot more direct, and less polite, than we are in the U.S. Some might argue that it´s just a different way of saying the same thing, but I think that the intricacies of their literal word choices say something about the culture. For instance, there´s no beating around the bush if you want to get through a crowd. You simply say permiso, which is more of a demand than the typical American request, ¨excuse me.¨
Aside from word choice, they tend to treat you in a familiar way right off the bat. If I seem worried about something, the office ladies at my school are quick to say ¨no te preocupas--¨don´t worry. If I apologize for not knowing a word or ask a dumb question, people in stores and other places are quick to offer reassurance. Being late is not a problem. Most are quick to greet with an easy smile, regardless of how well they know you. There is a sense that we are all in this life thing together. On Sundays, everyone relaxes together. You look on the buses, and there is a collective sense of happiness as people ride along together. Everyone is out in couples, in groups of friends, and most of all with family. Friends chat away openly as they ride buses. If they´re not chatting, they at least seem content. This same sense of a collective experience applies on weekdays, at the end of the day, when everyone is tired and stressed together. You look around and eyes are half open. No one talks, but no one acts out in hostility except for the babies. There always seems to be a crying baby on the 5:00 buses.
They´re pretty frank, regardless of how well they know you. They don´t hesitate to push their way through crowds. On the street, people make eye contact and greet eachother for the most part. People don´t hold back when it comes to greeting or speaking frankly with friends and family. It seems people band together a lot. As much as possible, people try to go places with other people. They make an effort to spend time with friends, even if it´s midday on a weekday.
Do you feel your body becoming spicier...like do you choose to wear red, green, and yellow more often? Do you think you could become Mexican if you lived there for thirty years?
I have to say, I don´t really feel too affected by Mexican style personally. I´m still me, still wearing my jeans and my corduroy jacket, still stearing clear of their fake patent leather shoes. But at the same time, I am really becoming profoundly affected by how serious they take every opportunity presented to them, from the big to the small. At the salsa club down the street, people do not take the fun atmosphere for granted. If you are dancing with someone, you are paying attention to them.
Opportunity, opportunity, opportunity. It´s not to be taken lightly in life...and people here seem to realize this, at least in the moment the opportunity arrives. It´s making me think.
More on this in future posts...
Pretty much, everything you ever wanted to know about Guadalajara can be taken care of right here, courtesy of me.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
New Year, New Job
To continue the cliffhanger I left you at last time, we did not go to my host mother's sister's house on Christmas. We spent it around her small table in her home, with her mute son, eating "Ensalada Navidena," a salad of chicken, pinaeapple, raisins, and potatoes mixed with cream. The other dish was some greens and potatoes steeped in shrimp juice. Out of respect for Mexican culture, just in case this was "typical" (which I don't think it was), I'll leave my comments on the meal out.
Looking back on my experience with my host mom in December, I now realize that I did not exactly luck out. While other students were getting big, fancy lunches at their house every day and going on trips to other cities with their family, I was getting invited to the occasional market trip and receiving constant reminders that I would have to be out by December 28, no later. When I realized that my key to the new apartment might not work, and I was not sure if I would be able to get in, I asked my host mom if I could hold on to her key for a few extra days, just in case. The answer was a certain and definite no. "It's not my problem," she said. So I left with my luggage, took a taxi downtown to my new apartment, and luckily, the key worked.
I've now been here for about two weeks, and in comparison to the old place, it's great. First of all, my roomates, Lily and her mother Christine, are really nice. They've been living here for a year and a half and are well settled in. We don't exactly have heating, and as it turns out, they do have winter in Mexico after all, so I'm doing a lot of yoga to keep warm. I've also taken to walking to class as fast as I can, in order to keep the blood flowing. What used to be a 25 minute walk is now something like 15. I do this walk multiple times per day since I have a class early in the morning, and then classes in the late afternoon and evening. During the day, I read and attend Spanish classes...and write about life here.
I'm constantly meeting people on buses, in class, and in passing. They're very open, unashamed to talk about the hardships of their pasts. As I learn and understand more of the Mexican world, I realize what a unique world it is. Above all, the volatile economy keeps Mexicans in a state of uncertainty that colors their histories and their futures. There is a sense that not much can be done, that the powers that be either don't care that the typical Mexican seems to be living pay check to pay check or are just as befuddled over it as the average Mexican. Maybe Mexican leaders need to look at protecting Mexico more and appeasing the U.S. less, suggest Mexican newspaper headlines on trade agreements. (What I want to know is if Mexico is the second leading supplier of oil to the U.S., why don't they seem to have more leveraging power? Why should they need to comply with U.S. trade agreements when the U.S. is at their mercy when it comes to its biggest achilles heal--oil?) Whatever the reason, there is a collective sense that the U.S., not Mexico, is where you go if you want a financially secure life.
"There is not a lot of opportunity here," they keep telling me. When they open up to me, this is the first thing they say. There aren't very many jobs. Many Mexicans have gone through long stretches of time when they were without work, scrounging to find food as each family member searched for work. My house-mate's Mexican boyfriend, Jaime (pronounced Hi-mee) went for six years like this. Cupboards were empty, the future uncertain. You would think this economic volatility would produce a culture that is hyper-sensitive to the importance of hanging onto the money you've got, but it seems that just the opposite is true. Instead, there seems to be a perpetual anxiety not to have, but to spend, money. They grow up with insecurity, are used to insecurity, so when they get money, it is not security that they crave, but rather, the extra luxuries that they've been deprived of: the latest fashions, fancy meals, and nights out. For most, payday is time to spend, not a chance to save. I have a few stories that lead me to these conclusions.
First there's Jaime (Lily's Mexican boyfriend). He spent a few months sick last year and was unable to work. During this time, Lily supported him. Now, don't tell them I told you, but when Jaime got better again and started working, he spent all his money. He did not pay Lily or his other debts. He bought clothes, went out drinking. He told Lily his reasoning, which she imparted to me. "Imagine not having money for a long time, and not being able to spend anything," he'd said to her. "Then when you get it, all you want to do is spend spend spend. You want so many things because you have gone without for so long."
Twenty-nine-year-old Jesus Ola, who I met on a bus when lost on Christmas Eve, told me the same thing. He spent six months in the U.S. earning money, and when he returned he had $1,000. Considering how little his family had, that was a small fortune. However, when he returned, he managed to blow it all in one month. He and his mother, grandmother, and four brothers indulged in wine, steak, fish, and cake for a month. He talks about it with pride though, because to him, it's not a story about failure to make use of his hard-won earnings. It's a story about a time in his life that held the glint and glimmor or a life he'd always hoped for. And maybe he never will experience such extravagance again. Had he saved it, he may have been able to buy things to better his situation--some sort of classes to increase his chances at a more secure salary. But maybe not. "The opportunities are limited in Mexico," he says.
Looking back on my experience with my host mom in December, I now realize that I did not exactly luck out. While other students were getting big, fancy lunches at their house every day and going on trips to other cities with their family, I was getting invited to the occasional market trip and receiving constant reminders that I would have to be out by December 28, no later. When I realized that my key to the new apartment might not work, and I was not sure if I would be able to get in, I asked my host mom if I could hold on to her key for a few extra days, just in case. The answer was a certain and definite no. "It's not my problem," she said. So I left with my luggage, took a taxi downtown to my new apartment, and luckily, the key worked.
I've now been here for about two weeks, and in comparison to the old place, it's great. First of all, my roomates, Lily and her mother Christine, are really nice. They've been living here for a year and a half and are well settled in. We don't exactly have heating, and as it turns out, they do have winter in Mexico after all, so I'm doing a lot of yoga to keep warm. I've also taken to walking to class as fast as I can, in order to keep the blood flowing. What used to be a 25 minute walk is now something like 15. I do this walk multiple times per day since I have a class early in the morning, and then classes in the late afternoon and evening. During the day, I read and attend Spanish classes...and write about life here.
I'm constantly meeting people on buses, in class, and in passing. They're very open, unashamed to talk about the hardships of their pasts. As I learn and understand more of the Mexican world, I realize what a unique world it is. Above all, the volatile economy keeps Mexicans in a state of uncertainty that colors their histories and their futures. There is a sense that not much can be done, that the powers that be either don't care that the typical Mexican seems to be living pay check to pay check or are just as befuddled over it as the average Mexican. Maybe Mexican leaders need to look at protecting Mexico more and appeasing the U.S. less, suggest Mexican newspaper headlines on trade agreements. (What I want to know is if Mexico is the second leading supplier of oil to the U.S., why don't they seem to have more leveraging power? Why should they need to comply with U.S. trade agreements when the U.S. is at their mercy when it comes to its biggest achilles heal--oil?) Whatever the reason, there is a collective sense that the U.S., not Mexico, is where you go if you want a financially secure life.
"There is not a lot of opportunity here," they keep telling me. When they open up to me, this is the first thing they say. There aren't very many jobs. Many Mexicans have gone through long stretches of time when they were without work, scrounging to find food as each family member searched for work. My house-mate's Mexican boyfriend, Jaime (pronounced Hi-mee) went for six years like this. Cupboards were empty, the future uncertain. You would think this economic volatility would produce a culture that is hyper-sensitive to the importance of hanging onto the money you've got, but it seems that just the opposite is true. Instead, there seems to be a perpetual anxiety not to have, but to spend, money. They grow up with insecurity, are used to insecurity, so when they get money, it is not security that they crave, but rather, the extra luxuries that they've been deprived of: the latest fashions, fancy meals, and nights out. For most, payday is time to spend, not a chance to save. I have a few stories that lead me to these conclusions.
First there's Jaime (Lily's Mexican boyfriend). He spent a few months sick last year and was unable to work. During this time, Lily supported him. Now, don't tell them I told you, but when Jaime got better again and started working, he spent all his money. He did not pay Lily or his other debts. He bought clothes, went out drinking. He told Lily his reasoning, which she imparted to me. "Imagine not having money for a long time, and not being able to spend anything," he'd said to her. "Then when you get it, all you want to do is spend spend spend. You want so many things because you have gone without for so long."
Twenty-nine-year-old Jesus Ola, who I met on a bus when lost on Christmas Eve, told me the same thing. He spent six months in the U.S. earning money, and when he returned he had $1,000. Considering how little his family had, that was a small fortune. However, when he returned, he managed to blow it all in one month. He and his mother, grandmother, and four brothers indulged in wine, steak, fish, and cake for a month. He talks about it with pride though, because to him, it's not a story about failure to make use of his hard-won earnings. It's a story about a time in his life that held the glint and glimmor or a life he'd always hoped for. And maybe he never will experience such extravagance again. Had he saved it, he may have been able to buy things to better his situation--some sort of classes to increase his chances at a more secure salary. But maybe not. "The opportunities are limited in Mexico," he says.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Feliz Navidad otra vez
Remember when I called for comments last time? I want to know: what do you want to know about Mexico? Come on, there are enough stereotypes to fill a book. You must want to at least know a little bit about where some of them may have come from. Of course, there is no hard and fast answer to any of these questions, but I'd still like to get the discussions going.
As far as life goes here, I must say, the difficulties I've had with getting my phone to function may prove fatal to my social life this holiday season. When you have every expectation stripped from you, and you realize that you will possibly be spending the entire holiday season with your Mexican host mother, whose activities consist of exhausting herself on daily trips to the market and to run other errands, you realize that complaining is useless. At that point, all you have is your sense of humor. I've decided it is probably best, tonight, if I get drunk on the weak, terrible, sparkling cider she had me buy. I am one deep and feeling better already. I'm looking at tonight as a great chance to laugh about how small this apartment is and how few place settings (3) my host mom has put at the kitchen table. It's such a quiet little place. I'm planning to introduce my host mom and her son to Bailey's Irish cream tonight and teach them to play poker...if I can remember the rules.
I just spoke with my parents on skype, and it was just dandy to see their faces, I must say. I haven't spoken with them on skype yet, so this was the first time since I arrived mid-November that I saw them.
Those of you that know me think of me as an exercise fiend, but it's just my addiction to endorphins, and I've decided to give it up. I'm quitting, not cold turkey, mind you, but little by little. Today I did yoga and have decided that I don't need to bother with the difficult exercises, only the stretches. it's better, more graceful, more harmonious, more tranquill. this way .I"m just trying to imerse myself in Mexican culture--wait a minute, I am being called... we have visitors. We never have visitors!
BREAKING NEWS:
I think my host mom is using me as a scapegoat for why she is not attending her family's Navidad celebration. They have come to claim her. They are here, at the door, two of her four long lost sister's she references in explanations of the familial neglect and sorrow that's befallen her in recent years. It has seemed up until now that her sisters do not care about her. But just now, I saw them at the door, dressed in nice shirts and festive shawls, looking Navidad ready if I've ever seen it, hoping to untie the knots of logic that keep my host mom from agreeing to go to their Navidad.
I thought they lived six hours away. This is what she told me last night, when I asked if she had any Christmas plans. She said they asked her to come to Navidad and she said no, it's too far away. She explained to me that she could not possibly go because she did not whether I was going to Puerta Vallarta or not (this was my original plan but the hotels filled up before I could book, and the friend I was going to travel with ran out of money). What I really wanted was a big Mexican family get-together, and it's beginning to look like it might be possible...unless my host mom refuses to go. As it turns out, one of them lives right here in Guadalajara!
She tries to explain to them that she did not know what my plans were, and this is why we cannot have Navidad with them. The plans have already fallen through, she says, and it is too late. She says that she has already made the chicken salad and I've already bought the cider, and she's already set the table. She gestures to the table in her room filled with antiques. They nod in understanding. Then they list the things they have prepared: beef, wine, dessert, the works. "Es Navidad," they say. They say there is plenty of food, we would not even need to bring anything that we made.
I told them, "No me preocupas," (It doesn't matter to me) and "Podemos ir" (we can go). Honestly, I'm dying to get out of this knick-knack stuffed apartment and see a real Mexican family get together, all of them, around one big table, eating their authentic, traditional, Mexican dishes.
And it is Navidad, so why aren't we a family? Okay, so maybe "we" are not a family...I'll be the awkward Gringo using my broken Spanish to make my way through the conversations. But it'll be interesting. Sure, I may not know her family, but I know her and her two sons, and this is a great chance to learn about how their family functions, and to talk to them about their lives. That's really why I'm here. This is Christmas and cultural immersion opportunity combined! And they should be with the rest of their family on Christmas. Isn't that what Christmas is for? Or is Navidad a different thing entirely, where togetherness doesn't matter so much...
No, it does matter so much to her sisters, it seems. The shorter sister looked at my host mother with sad, pleading eyes. This sister has thick black hair and dark skin, the sort of coloring we think of as truly Mexican. Right now, she's discussing with Magda (my host mom) behind the closed door of her bedroom. The fate of my Christmas hangs in the balance at 7:30 on Christmas Eve.
To be continued.
As far as life goes here, I must say, the difficulties I've had with getting my phone to function may prove fatal to my social life this holiday season. When you have every expectation stripped from you, and you realize that you will possibly be spending the entire holiday season with your Mexican host mother, whose activities consist of exhausting herself on daily trips to the market and to run other errands, you realize that complaining is useless. At that point, all you have is your sense of humor. I've decided it is probably best, tonight, if I get drunk on the weak, terrible, sparkling cider she had me buy. I am one deep and feeling better already. I'm looking at tonight as a great chance to laugh about how small this apartment is and how few place settings (3) my host mom has put at the kitchen table. It's such a quiet little place. I'm planning to introduce my host mom and her son to Bailey's Irish cream tonight and teach them to play poker...if I can remember the rules.
I just spoke with my parents on skype, and it was just dandy to see their faces, I must say. I haven't spoken with them on skype yet, so this was the first time since I arrived mid-November that I saw them.
Those of you that know me think of me as an exercise fiend, but it's just my addiction to endorphins, and I've decided to give it up. I'm quitting, not cold turkey, mind you, but little by little. Today I did yoga and have decided that I don't need to bother with the difficult exercises, only the stretches. it's better, more graceful, more harmonious, more tranquill. this way .I"m just trying to imerse myself in Mexican culture--wait a minute, I am being called... we have visitors. We never have visitors!
BREAKING NEWS:
I think my host mom is using me as a scapegoat for why she is not attending her family's Navidad celebration. They have come to claim her. They are here, at the door, two of her four long lost sister's she references in explanations of the familial neglect and sorrow that's befallen her in recent years. It has seemed up until now that her sisters do not care about her. But just now, I saw them at the door, dressed in nice shirts and festive shawls, looking Navidad ready if I've ever seen it, hoping to untie the knots of logic that keep my host mom from agreeing to go to their Navidad.
I thought they lived six hours away. This is what she told me last night, when I asked if she had any Christmas plans. She said they asked her to come to Navidad and she said no, it's too far away. She explained to me that she could not possibly go because she did not whether I was going to Puerta Vallarta or not (this was my original plan but the hotels filled up before I could book, and the friend I was going to travel with ran out of money). What I really wanted was a big Mexican family get-together, and it's beginning to look like it might be possible...unless my host mom refuses to go. As it turns out, one of them lives right here in Guadalajara!
She tries to explain to them that she did not know what my plans were, and this is why we cannot have Navidad with them. The plans have already fallen through, she says, and it is too late. She says that she has already made the chicken salad and I've already bought the cider, and she's already set the table. She gestures to the table in her room filled with antiques. They nod in understanding. Then they list the things they have prepared: beef, wine, dessert, the works. "Es Navidad," they say. They say there is plenty of food, we would not even need to bring anything that we made.
I told them, "No me preocupas," (It doesn't matter to me) and "Podemos ir" (we can go). Honestly, I'm dying to get out of this knick-knack stuffed apartment and see a real Mexican family get together, all of them, around one big table, eating their authentic, traditional, Mexican dishes.
And it is Navidad, so why aren't we a family? Okay, so maybe "we" are not a family...I'll be the awkward Gringo using my broken Spanish to make my way through the conversations. But it'll be interesting. Sure, I may not know her family, but I know her and her two sons, and this is a great chance to learn about how their family functions, and to talk to them about their lives. That's really why I'm here. This is Christmas and cultural immersion opportunity combined! And they should be with the rest of their family on Christmas. Isn't that what Christmas is for? Or is Navidad a different thing entirely, where togetherness doesn't matter so much...
No, it does matter so much to her sisters, it seems. The shorter sister looked at my host mother with sad, pleading eyes. This sister has thick black hair and dark skin, the sort of coloring we think of as truly Mexican. Right now, she's discussing with Magda (my host mom) behind the closed door of her bedroom. The fate of my Christmas hangs in the balance at 7:30 on Christmas Eve.
To be continued.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Merry Christmas
It's been quite a while since my last post, mainly because I have been transitioning into teaching this past week. I wound up taking a job here in Guadalajara at a school that teaches to business learners. The students at the school work for companies like Hewlett Packard and Hershey's, and other companies based here in Guadalajara. All my classes but one got cancelled this week, which worked out well since it gave me time to go get my permission to work from the government office, as well as get a little more teaching training. I taught for the first time on Friday. It was a private lesson for a man that works for one of the larger companies here in Guadalajara. I spent the day preparing--going over and over what he had already learned, and selecting the games to play carefully, according to the skill level and his current topic of study. But when I got there and started teaching, it became readily apparent that he was not, after all, up to the level that the paper said. He wants to review the entire book. There is something inefficient about the way ESL teaching is happening in a lot of these places because apparently it's pretty typical for students to get through an entire book without having actually acquired any permanent, or recall-able, knowledge. Language acquisition may be tough, especially when you have a full time career on top of classes, but it seems like there's got to be a more orderly way of going about this. I met with the teacher that used to have my students today, and he said that sometimes he just talks to students all of class, rather than making them do lessons, because that's what some of them prefer. It's not exactly like teaching high school kids, where they're going to have a test at the end and need to be responsible for the knowledge you've tried to impart.
i find myself having the same conversations over and over again in Spanish. Everyone wants to know: do you like Mexico? What do you think of Mexicans? Do you like Guadalajara? I love talking to people but when it comes to answering these questions, I am considering making a tape recording of my answer and just playing that whenever people ask them. It would really make a lot more sense. I mean, practicing my Spanish is all well and good, but I'm beginning to feel like a walking broken record. On the other hand, I do appreciate that Mexicans tend to take a genuine interest in Americans who come to live here. There is always a smile, and the effort to engage in conversation, when they meet you. Mexican culture seems to really value honesty of heart, and openness towards strangers. Yesterday, I was on the bus during one of those really intense rides, where it's dark and there are blue lights inside, and everyone is crammed in, clutching the bars for balance as the bus lurches and halts. At one point, we went up onto a curb in order to make our way around another car in heavy traffic. I looked over at a lady who was clutching her little baby, trying to keep him safe, and she looked up and said "Dios mio!" and gave me a look of exasperation at the bus driver's craziness. There was a strong sense that we were all in the craziness together, for better or worse.
We really are, too. There is no telling what a day will bring forth, says Magda, my host mother. She does not make plans because you never know what is going to happen. i agree. When I make a call on my cell phone, for instance, I never know if I am going to get through or not. I never know if the last place I tried to purchase minutes at was truly legitimate or not, or whether I am going to mysteriously run out of minutes. I never know if I am going to be able to meet up with friends or not, due to these phone issues. And I also never know if my taxi driver truly knows where he is going or is going to drive me all over the city in search of my destination. And I never know when the next wave of exhaustion is going to hit. When I'm out on the streets for too long, or have gone running at all or done yoga, I get these waves of exhaustion where all I want to do is sit and watch the crazy world go by...or sleep. It's strange because a lot of the time, I do not know when they are coming and cannot explain why it happened then. Each day is this unlocked mystery that demands me to respond as I go, rather than make a plan and stick to it. It's not exactly intuitive, but it's interesting.
I will be moving in with two other teachers soon: a mother and a daughter. They're back home in London for the holidays, and I'll be moving in over break. The apartment is midway between the city center and work, which is perfect. They both have a really sophisticated air about them, with their regal British accents. Sitting in their airy common room, drinking coffee at the long wooden table, it seems that everything the mother says has an authority to it. With her extensive background in teaching, she is a legitimate authority on ESL teaching, but even their hobby of making pigs out of paper mache has a sophistication to it. As they tell me how they have filled the table with crafts for months to make these pigs for their friends, I can't help but think to myself that maybe, sometime down the road, they will be professional pig artisans, and this is just the beginning. These pigs are hot pink, green, light pink with feathery wings, orange; you name, it they've done it. There's a real sense of respect for taking a creative approach to things, and I appreciate that.
In any case, I hope everyone has a merry Christmas!
I have one Christmas wish for you all, and that is this: if you could ask anything about Mexico--the Mexican people, the city of Guadalajara, the mentality, the way of life---what would it be? These questions will give me more to think about, more to question for myself, as I live here.
As we say here, Feliz Navidad.
i find myself having the same conversations over and over again in Spanish. Everyone wants to know: do you like Mexico? What do you think of Mexicans? Do you like Guadalajara? I love talking to people but when it comes to answering these questions, I am considering making a tape recording of my answer and just playing that whenever people ask them. It would really make a lot more sense. I mean, practicing my Spanish is all well and good, but I'm beginning to feel like a walking broken record. On the other hand, I do appreciate that Mexicans tend to take a genuine interest in Americans who come to live here. There is always a smile, and the effort to engage in conversation, when they meet you. Mexican culture seems to really value honesty of heart, and openness towards strangers. Yesterday, I was on the bus during one of those really intense rides, where it's dark and there are blue lights inside, and everyone is crammed in, clutching the bars for balance as the bus lurches and halts. At one point, we went up onto a curb in order to make our way around another car in heavy traffic. I looked over at a lady who was clutching her little baby, trying to keep him safe, and she looked up and said "Dios mio!" and gave me a look of exasperation at the bus driver's craziness. There was a strong sense that we were all in the craziness together, for better or worse.
We really are, too. There is no telling what a day will bring forth, says Magda, my host mother. She does not make plans because you never know what is going to happen. i agree. When I make a call on my cell phone, for instance, I never know if I am going to get through or not. I never know if the last place I tried to purchase minutes at was truly legitimate or not, or whether I am going to mysteriously run out of minutes. I never know if I am going to be able to meet up with friends or not, due to these phone issues. And I also never know if my taxi driver truly knows where he is going or is going to drive me all over the city in search of my destination. And I never know when the next wave of exhaustion is going to hit. When I'm out on the streets for too long, or have gone running at all or done yoga, I get these waves of exhaustion where all I want to do is sit and watch the crazy world go by...or sleep. It's strange because a lot of the time, I do not know when they are coming and cannot explain why it happened then. Each day is this unlocked mystery that demands me to respond as I go, rather than make a plan and stick to it. It's not exactly intuitive, but it's interesting.
I will be moving in with two other teachers soon: a mother and a daughter. They're back home in London for the holidays, and I'll be moving in over break. The apartment is midway between the city center and work, which is perfect. They both have a really sophisticated air about them, with their regal British accents. Sitting in their airy common room, drinking coffee at the long wooden table, it seems that everything the mother says has an authority to it. With her extensive background in teaching, she is a legitimate authority on ESL teaching, but even their hobby of making pigs out of paper mache has a sophistication to it. As they tell me how they have filled the table with crafts for months to make these pigs for their friends, I can't help but think to myself that maybe, sometime down the road, they will be professional pig artisans, and this is just the beginning. These pigs are hot pink, green, light pink with feathery wings, orange; you name, it they've done it. There's a real sense of respect for taking a creative approach to things, and I appreciate that.
In any case, I hope everyone has a merry Christmas!
I have one Christmas wish for you all, and that is this: if you could ask anything about Mexico--the Mexican people, the city of Guadalajara, the mentality, the way of life---what would it be? These questions will give me more to think about, more to question for myself, as I live here.
As we say here, Feliz Navidad.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Transitions
Transitions are tough, especially the ones that are drawn out. It's now been a month since I arrived, and I just completed my Spanish class. That means saying goodbye to a lot of people that I've met here. The school where I've been studying, called IMAC, is full of people who come and study Spanish for a few weeks, or a month or so, and then leave. It just so happens that a lot of the people that I know from school are leaving now. They are heading to Puerta Vallarta for some fun in the sun. As for me, I will be starting a trial week of teaching at a school called ICI on Monday. First I have to go to the government and get my statement of permission taken care of on Monday. Then on Tuesday I will start teaching. It's just a trial week, so I don't think the job is mine yet, but we'll see how things go. The school teaches English to businesspeople. They work for companies such as Hewlett Packard and Hersheys. I hear that I am to avoid jobs with Hersheys because they often involved teaching on Saturday, but I think I might try for those ones anyway in hopes of free chocolate. (Just kidding)
I have been really awful about writing lately because I couldn't think of anything good to say, but I think that was just a low that I hit from the lack of endorphins. I am no longer running because the pollution is too thick, so I am trying to brainstorm other ways to energize myself. Let me know if you have any because I am at a real loss without running. I thought it was a myth that pollution can have a noticeable affect on health. I always thought that people who complained that pollution affected their lungs or their energy or whatnot were just using it as a scapegoat for their own poor health. Oh, those stairs were tough today, must be the pollution, sort of thing. It seemed as though telling the difference between breathing polluted air and clean air would be a lot like teling the diffrence between Coke and Pepsi. This is not the case. Polluted air smells bad. it makes you feel more and more tired with each breathe. It gives headaches, sucks the life out of your step. They don't call pollution toxic for nothing.
In comparison to Guadalajara, Guanajuato is a pure jewel. It is like being in Europe: truly enchanting. The streets are made of the giant stones, as are the castle-like buildings. There are old churches that line the cityscape, and the streets are all very narrow. They wind this way and that in romantic arcs. When you go up to the top of the city, all the buildings look like they are stacked one on top of the other. To add to the cuteness and quaintness of these buildings stacked one on top of the other, they are multicolored: pink, orange, green, blue, white, and purple. It really doesn't seem real, and for those of us enthralled by color, it really looks like a dream town, painted for the pleasure of our muse.
Tacos tacos tacos. The five of us that trekked to Guanajuato together could not get enough of them. Eating tacos was our main activity. They were always cooking meat at our place, a hallway shaped restaurant a few doors down from our hostel. Lured in by the meat on the turning spit, with its juices dripping onto the stove. Then there was the platter of eight salsas and sauces they would bring out: pineapples, chipotle sauce, picante salsa, mild salsa, chopped tomatoes, onions, cilantro, the list goes on. We must have eaten there five times during the two days we were there.
Every wind in the road begs to be explored in Guanajuato because it is all so beautiful. There is something about the aesthetic quality of windows and doors with thick borders and huge beautiful stones that makes a place really romantic. The plazas have fountains.The people flood the plazas at night. Roam from bar to bar and you'll find plenty of salsa. And you may just find yourself jumping up and down in ecstatic glee when you stumble upon....get ready....a normal bar with normal American music from the likes of the Killers. That's when you may feel the night is just getting going, and you may feel guilty because it's the very thing that does not fit this quaint town that you are the most excited about. But that's when you remember, oh yes, you are American, and you like your own culture quite a bit. That can't be helped.
While I did enjoy the American bar, I also found myself salsa dancing at various clubs throughout the weekend. The challenge of salsa is many times a process of learning how to coordinate things with another person. That's tough. There are hands, feet, hips, all these things are supposed to work together. It's pretty impressive to see people who know what they are doing. So many spins, so much synchronizing.
Right now my goal is simply to learn Spanish. That means making more Mexican friends. It's really fun, actually, practicing all the time. But of course, there is also the difficulty of understanding all the understood ideasa that they live by, those deeper cultural differences that I have only scratched the surface of so far.
I have been really awful about writing lately because I couldn't think of anything good to say, but I think that was just a low that I hit from the lack of endorphins. I am no longer running because the pollution is too thick, so I am trying to brainstorm other ways to energize myself. Let me know if you have any because I am at a real loss without running. I thought it was a myth that pollution can have a noticeable affect on health. I always thought that people who complained that pollution affected their lungs or their energy or whatnot were just using it as a scapegoat for their own poor health. Oh, those stairs were tough today, must be the pollution, sort of thing. It seemed as though telling the difference between breathing polluted air and clean air would be a lot like teling the diffrence between Coke and Pepsi. This is not the case. Polluted air smells bad. it makes you feel more and more tired with each breathe. It gives headaches, sucks the life out of your step. They don't call pollution toxic for nothing.
In comparison to Guadalajara, Guanajuato is a pure jewel. It is like being in Europe: truly enchanting. The streets are made of the giant stones, as are the castle-like buildings. There are old churches that line the cityscape, and the streets are all very narrow. They wind this way and that in romantic arcs. When you go up to the top of the city, all the buildings look like they are stacked one on top of the other. To add to the cuteness and quaintness of these buildings stacked one on top of the other, they are multicolored: pink, orange, green, blue, white, and purple. It really doesn't seem real, and for those of us enthralled by color, it really looks like a dream town, painted for the pleasure of our muse.
Tacos tacos tacos. The five of us that trekked to Guanajuato together could not get enough of them. Eating tacos was our main activity. They were always cooking meat at our place, a hallway shaped restaurant a few doors down from our hostel. Lured in by the meat on the turning spit, with its juices dripping onto the stove. Then there was the platter of eight salsas and sauces they would bring out: pineapples, chipotle sauce, picante salsa, mild salsa, chopped tomatoes, onions, cilantro, the list goes on. We must have eaten there five times during the two days we were there.
Every wind in the road begs to be explored in Guanajuato because it is all so beautiful. There is something about the aesthetic quality of windows and doors with thick borders and huge beautiful stones that makes a place really romantic. The plazas have fountains.The people flood the plazas at night. Roam from bar to bar and you'll find plenty of salsa. And you may just find yourself jumping up and down in ecstatic glee when you stumble upon....get ready....a normal bar with normal American music from the likes of the Killers. That's when you may feel the night is just getting going, and you may feel guilty because it's the very thing that does not fit this quaint town that you are the most excited about. But that's when you remember, oh yes, you are American, and you like your own culture quite a bit. That can't be helped.
While I did enjoy the American bar, I also found myself salsa dancing at various clubs throughout the weekend. The challenge of salsa is many times a process of learning how to coordinate things with another person. That's tough. There are hands, feet, hips, all these things are supposed to work together. It's pretty impressive to see people who know what they are doing. So many spins, so much synchronizing.
Right now my goal is simply to learn Spanish. That means making more Mexican friends. It's really fun, actually, practicing all the time. But of course, there is also the difficulty of understanding all the understood ideasa that they live by, those deeper cultural differences that I have only scratched the surface of so far.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)