Imagine you work your butt off every day, deliberately doing difficult, scary things, and bombard yourself with newness in a strange world where you are completely alone, and eventually it gets you somewhere. Congratulations, you have been tested and placed in, oh happiest of joys and most sought-after of offices, REMEDIAL LEVEL class. Hurray! I can almost hold my own with 13-year-olds.
Stars indicate the top three most missed things and activities.
Hot Dogs: If you order a hot dog in Oaxaca and you’re asked if you’d like it “con chili” you will get diced, pickled jalapenos. Way better than relish!
Public Buses: In Oaxaca de Juarez (“Oaxaca City”) during rush hour each bus will have a guy who stands in the front doorway at the bottom of the stairs, hanging our over the street, and shouts the bus’s destination to try and wrangle passengers.
Internet Cafes: 20-30 minutes for 4 pesos = about 26 cents USD. Wow.
Del Jardin: I ate in a “sit-down” restaurant by myself for the first time. It was as weird as I thought it would be.
Streets: Every single street in downtown Oaxaca is one-way with parking on one side because the streets are all so skinny. The U.S. (*coughBallard*) could really take a hint. There are also no prohibited left turns so the one-ways aren’t a gigantic pain to navitage (*coughdowntownSeattle*).
Dogs: Mexico is truly the Ireland of the western hemisphere as evidenced by their dogs. They are plentiful, well-behaved sweet creatures, and always leash-less.
Chapulines: I ate grasshoppers. They’re toasted on a comal then flavored with lime and garlic, very crunchy and salty to my taste. Supposedly anyone who eats them is guaranteed to return to Oaxaca.
Sprain: At the cooking class I raja-ed so many flipping poblanos my thumb started tingling again from swelling. It’s fine again now.
Cooking Class: This was a fantastic experience and such a great deal. Transportation, an awesome lunch, tasting tour of the market, cooking class, an awesome 5 course meal, fresh juice and beer all day, recipes to take home, chocolate and a chocolate water whipper contraption as gifts. Quite the day!
School Uniforms: It seems that all public schools in Mexico require standard-issue uniforms, only varying in school colors. The difference between uniforms in Veracruz and Oaxaca is only in the girl’s outfits, in the skirt. In Veracruz the skirt hits just above the knee. In Oaxaca it hits below the knee, eliminating any sexy school girl potential.
Guera: I get called this a lot by people out on the street and for a long while I couldn’t determine how I felt about receiving this ambiguous nickname. Sometimes it’s used as a term of endearment, sometimes it’s derogatory or even vulgar, and usually it’s simply descriptive. I’ve finally decided. . .that I like it. I would rather be a guera than a gringa, for sure.
Doughnuts: To buy a doughnut in Mexico you need a metal or plastic platter and a pair of tongs. You walk around the bakery heaping stuff you want onto your platter, then take it to the cashier to check out and get everything bagged. Yesterday I got a delicious round variety with chocolate frosting on top, that was then sliced in half, sandwich style, and spread with sweet cream.
Topes: Oaxaqueno shocks must be in terrible disrepair because there are so many speed bumps everywhere. Downtown is more reasonable, but out in the sticks, especially the small villages, they have speed bumps every 3 blocks. This is especially ridiculous because the roads aren’t in good enough shape to drive quickly on them anyways.
Monday there was a Mexico-wide public bus strike. Apparently this is the second one, but the first was Veracruz buses only, and this time the rest of the country joined AND a good helping of taxi drivers backed them up. You see, all the gas stations here are owned by the government, and with the crazy climbing of gas prices the president declared a gas price freeze. But he didn’t freeze diesel, which all the buses use, and it has continued to go up. So the bus drivers want him to give them a price freeze, too, and nobody seems to think that’s going to happen. Considering the strike was two days ago and el presidente has kept mum they’re probably right.
The bus system here is very odd, and I think most of it has a causal relationship with this little tidbit: the bus drivers are not salaried or paid by the hour. For each passenger they pick up they earn 1 peso of the fare.
So. . .
Today on the bus I swear our driver was racing with the bus driver next to us. We had two lanes going one way and the road narrowed to one and each wanted to get in front. I looked out the (open) window while this was happening and I swear at a couple points the adjacent bus was only 4 inches away from us, while going like 50 mph in a rickety old school bus. Definitely an “OMGWAAGTD” moment.
***Bonus bus fact! The vehicles themselves are either old tour buses with plush seating or school bus style, all have various kinds of manual transmissions, some with giant weird contraptions. But the yellow ones, oh HO the yellow ones, they are air conditioned and cost 1.50 pesos more. I have only ridden in one once because apparently I’ve already adopted the local mentality that my comfort is not worth 10 cents.
The madness officially began yesterday like a tiny baby lion that doubles in size each day.
I went to the first parade, which immobilized a large chunk of downtown with throngs of standing on-lookers. What was on parade? KIDS KIDS KIDS. Yep, it was a preschool through high school costume extravanganza with a vaguely futuristic theme (lots of stars, moons, aliens–and princesses?). It was very cute, and I snagged some decent esquites off a street cart.
Last night was the burning of the bad humor, which I didn’t attend because it was a school night and I am a lame-o who goes to bed before midnight. The bad humor is a giant effigy made to resemble somebody or something of which the general populace would like to be rid. My teachers and I were betting on George W., but this year the organizers decided to be a little more heady and a little less catty and made it a giant dollar sign to represent the worldwide economic crisis.
Tonight was the coronation of the king and queen infantiles–yup, kids again. It took place on the monstrous stage they built in the zocalo and after the crownings (the king and queen each had separate, elaborate posses of Carnaval royalty) there was a firework display right OVER OUR HEADS. Over a tree-lined downtown plaza, which rang all kinds of panic in my lived-in-a-desert heart. It’s a good thing everything here is built with stones and coral. But the deepest impression made by tonight’s ceremony was that of the child-queen’s dress. It was a beautifully purple, sumptuous ballgown with an absurd train and layers and layers of floaty, glittery fabric, and, prominently displayed in the front, two GIANT SILVER SEQUINED PEGASUSES OMG.
I did not know before that I wanted such a thing but now I know I need one.
Almost without fail, when an open-for-business Veracruz taxi passes you they will signal you in some way. My guess is they think maybe you want a cab but forgot to look interested. Usually they just honk at you, which is annoying, but sometimes they have a “funny” honk sound, similar to an ambulance siren. The first few times I heard it I thought it was a car alarm, but today a cabby tried to coerce my fare with it.
The notion that people can forget to look interested is a belief that not only the cab drivers hold, but many, many dudes. Oh how I long for the days of yore where I could walk down the street without being hasseled. I want to say, “yes, I see you, stop staring at me,” but saying anything at all only seems to encourage them. I have tried being polite and just saying hello or good whatever, and I have tried rolling my eyes and looking annoyed, but either way you slice it they take any acknowledgment as an invitation to talk. This would explain why the local reaction to being talked to by someone you don’t want to talk to is to ignore them entirely. Vendors, dudes, whatever. It seems really rude to me, but if that’s the standard no wonder the fellas get so excited when that standard is deviated. A stupid cyclical thing.
Another irritating dude thing, is that they all know I speak English. I’ll be walking around or whatever, not saying a peep, and a leering dude will say something to me in English. Just as most folks in the U.S. know enough Spanish to say “pretty” and “lady” and things like that, everyone here knows them in English. It seems the cultural exchange is just strong enough to enable being a creep.
I did have one nice exchange with a muchacho yesterday, even though he immediately assumed I spoke English. I was waiting for the bus and a guy parked there and probably saw I was confused about him parking there, as that’s generally where the bus stops (it’s not marked, only a handful of bus stops are).
So he came up to me and said, “Bus?”
And I said, “Si, espero.”
“Uhm. . .uhm, it no. . .”
“Hay desviacion?”
“Si, si. Alla (pointing) two uh. . .”
“Dos manzanas?”
“Si, dos manzanas.”
“Ah, gracias!”
It was nice to have the opportunity to be like, “Hey, you don’t have to try to speak English, I am in your country and will use your language.” Take that Mexican expectations of gringos!
Just when I was beginning to accept the fact that my diet here is ridiculously low cal and I’m going to lose weight while I’m here (I’ve basically only been eating rice, corn, beans, nuts, vegetables, fruit, and a little bit of cheese) I found perhaps the yummiest junk food in the country, and it is sold at the tiendita next door. It is called Mante Chox and is a Bimbo product. We have many Bimbo snacks in the U.S. (at 7/11′s mostly) but the selection up north does not begin to represent the breadth of their product line. For starters, they are THE commercial bread supplier here; I haven’t seen any packaged bread that isn’t by Bimbo. But that’s beside the point–on with the reveling! Mante Chox is essentially a delicious mini cupcake that is filled with chocolate cream, and each package contains two of these precious little gems of trans fat goodness. Hoooooo yesss. When I bit into my first Mante Chox I felt like I was going home to mama. It tastes like comfort.
For my happenin’ Friday night I went to the mall. Awwwww yeah. And I bought shoes. Stereotyyyyyyyyped.
La Plaza de las Americas is a giant, U.S. style, multi-layered cake of a mall, with a cineplex, cascading waterfalls and a billion teenagers. It was hoppin’ with la gente. I’m not sure if it’s always that busy on a Friday or if it was because tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day, apparently a big to-do here. There were noticeable flocks of people in the jewelry stores and store-islands of Valentine’s crap. Balloons are the big thing here rather than flowers and little “regalitos” (“little gifts” that are tiny, less than an inch tall thingamajigs that say cutesy lovey things) instead of chocolates. I imagine flowers would wilt and chocolates melt. Hard candies and sweet breads (real ones, not the gross kind) are the rage instead of chocolates anyways.
Notably there was not a single chocolateur in the behemoth mall, but there were like 15 shoe tienditas, no kidding. The standard shoe store layout is interesting–they have one of each shoe out on display, and ALL the shoes are on display, usually behind big plastic cases. You go in and eyeball which ones you like then tell the employee the shoe’s number that you want to try on. I’m sure I waved my gringa flag when asking to see the shoes I liked because their number was something like 56,789. I’ve gotten pretty good with numbers, but they’re such a mouthful I’m slow in speaking them. I mean seriously, “cincuenta y seis mil, setecientos ochenta y nueve.” Oh well.
I had dinner at one of the food courts (this place has 3!) at a local chain restaurant called “Something las Gordas.” The something is in script and I cannot fathom what it says. It looks like “fa’ca” but as far as I know that doesn’t make any sense. They were awesome, though, by far the best food deal I’ve had so far. I had fried plantains (the big ones) with crema and some kind of cheese, a gordita with potatoes and chorizo, and a glass of radtacular horchata and it cost 46 pesos = $3.20! It was soooo good and I couldn’t eat all my plantains. They have a poblano and corn gordita I can’t wait to try.
Like any mall, my evening affirmed my belief that all teenagers everywhere in the universe are the same.
Two crazy things happened today that I didn’t notice until class let out and I was left with Spanish swimming laps in my brain.
First, there were several conversations today where I stopped concentrating on what people were saying and JUST HEARD WHAT THEY WERE SAYING. Woot, my friends, woot. The downside of this is that there were a couple times I didn’t understand a word or a phrase and I couldn’t look it up or ask about it afterwards because I wasn’t paying attention to each word.
Secondly, and this is the big one, I actually rolled my r’s today. Not EVERY time, but a big chunk of my attempts were successful. Every time there’s an “rr” (and every word that starts with an “r”) I try to trill it but my problem is that I don’t say “r” correctly in English, either. My tongue is in the wrong place. I was supposed to see a speech therapist to correct it (among other weird formations I came up with) back when I wore braces, but, for reasons best summed up by saying I had a tumultuous teenagerhood, that plan was never realized. So I talk funny–but not today!
Today I realized that maybe I will actually know and be able to produce Spanish. One would think I hoped that prior to signing up for this whole immersion shindig but no. I only knew that I had to try or I would kick myself forever. After all, there is school to return to and a career to build and babies to have. Now is the time for sorry attempts.
Except maybe this one isn’t so sorry! 
The stupid food sociology has begun, my friends!
I went to a KFC today. Hells yes I am cool. It was actually really hopping, perhaps the busiest KFC I’ve seen. I was on a quest for the illusive Mega (which is like a Super Kmart, and apparently that’s all they have down here–tienditas (corner stores) and huge megaplex mercados–besides the big labyrinthine market downtown) and happened to pass by one. I ordered 1 bisquet, which amused everybody staring at the weirdo foreigner. “Si, solo uno, por favor!” I asked for honey sauce and confused the heck out of the cashier. What came with my biscuit was called “mermelada” which is usually just jam, but in this case I swear it was just strawberry flavored syrup. Like what you’d find on your table at IHOP. It was not so good, but the biscuit hit the spot. I hadn’t had any grains all day.
Speaking of grains, I wanted to buy some corn tortillas once I got to the store. I couldn’t find them and couldn’t find them (lots of soft flour and crispy corn tostadas, but no soft corn) and finally I asked a stocking dude. He said they didn’t have any, only flour. What!? What country is this? They freaking invented the stuff!
Another corny discovery: stuff made from corn (ala cornmeal) is de maiz, of course, but apparently when it is just corn in its natural state it is called “elote.” Corn on the cob is “elote natural.” I ate some esquites yesterday and, I gotta say, NOT AS GOOD AS SENOR MOOSE’S. Yep. I will do my part to conduct further research!
I wish I’d bought the Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese. I put up my nose at it at the store, but now that I’m home and I’m hungry for cena, gosh does that sound good.
OK, so I went to Mexico and got a little drunk, but it is cool.
Veracruz is very nice. There are a number of pushy vendors but otherwise folks are legit and everybody is friendly. Tonight I had a couple margaritas and then I had to have another because, hehe, the table next to us bought them for us OMG. I went out with one of my classmates, who has been here awhile and already amassed a little fan club at the zocalo (main plaza). It is all so silly. Everybody is great. I went on my little walkabout con charlante about the city and it is very easy to navigate, I had my first class and it was all stuff I am already rad at, so all is well in the world of hard knock immersion. Oh woe, woe is me.:P
Basically things only suck when I sit still and consider that I miss my sweeties.
When I stick my head out over my balcony this is what I see.
The same gulf as yesterday, new view.
OK, probably not the Arctic Ocean, or Hudson Bay, or the Sea of Othosk, but the rest of ‘em! OOOH YESSS.
1) Mustache.
2) Suits.
3) It is eating the mountains, I swear.