It's been over a year since I arrived in Mexico which means the time I have left to stay here is less than the time I have been her. Though some days I long for seeing my family, the change of seasons, speaking English (and Thai food) I also realize this is a unique experience and I want to soak up as much of life here as I can. Megan once remarked that as I became more active here my blogging would slow which is why my posts have been faulty over the summer. Here are the highlights of the past month:
Tengo Ganas
I have been taking Spanish lessons on and off since February but the language has really started clicking during my recent courses. In June I began taking classes at the Iberio, a university in the wealthy part of Santa Fe. I was disappointed that I was only placed in level two but found that the course contained a whole slew of tenses I had yet to encounter. The university went on summer break, and when I entered another course in September, I was bumped up to level five. The said to me 'tienes ganas pora aprender' 'which basically means that because I am eager to understand the language, she thought I could handle the jump.
I can keep up with my classmates (a mixture of foreign exchange students from Japan, Germany and France) though I am not sure if I could have used a review of all tenses rather than leaning the subjunctive tense which we are concentrating on now. However, it's good for me to hear a solid two hours of Spanish spoken slowly each day, no matter what I am learning. I am making an effort to spend more time at the parish listening to Spanish and have one-on- one conversations with people in Spanish even if they speak English. At work, in lieu of singing American nursery songs to the girls, I have been reading to them from my Spanish as workplace.
My language ability has definitely approved though I still get frustrated as I often understand everything in class but miss out on at least half the conversation. in group situations People often tell me that my classes are a waste of money and that I should just learn by hanging out in the street and conversing, but without my classes I wouldn't be able to understand the advice.
Getting to class is interesting. I wait on the street until I can climb on a bus that is not so crowded that people are hanging out of it. Then I have an uncomfortable ride to Santa Fe on a bus mostly filled with people who are likely working low-paid jobs in the wealthy part of Santa Fe. But my classes are filled with either foreign exchange students who are seeing even more of the world or wives of foreign businessmen who have jobs in Mexico City and are chauffeured into the university.
Tuvimos Fiestas
Like last year, September was a month a celebrating, though this time, for us, things started up in August. A week after the Feast of the Assumption was Padre Salvador's birthday. Before the party, Jess and I helped out with the preparations--I picked the bad parts off of corn kernels while Jess shaved a pig's head--pork and corn are key ingredients in pozole, a Mexican soup. A whole pork had been purchased for the party and though Jess was as initially weirded out by it, she soon took delight in pointing out its` heart and ears and putting its` tail near her own behind. I attempted to help pull apart chicken but then decided I would better serve the situation by keeping Padre company away from the preparation. The party went well and was day of dancing, tequila and (for me) muchos friojoles.
A few days later the new missionaries, Lisa and Melissa arrived. We had a big Mexican-themed party for them a few days after they got here. It has been interesting to see things through their eyes and I realize have pretty much adjusted to really difficult things about being here--language frustrations, getting sick more easily, the sadness of my workplace, not being able to communicate with loved ones easily and constant attention on the streets. Knowing that I have gone through the hard parts makes me glad I committed to a two-years, especially now that I have two more fantastic girls to hang out with. (Interestingly enough the arrival of two more cute, young American girls has coincided with an increase of young Mexican men giving us invitations and hanging around our house and we've been doing more socializing with people beyond our parish group.)
Last weekend, we went out twice in a row, partially in anticipation of my birthday. On Friday, we went to a hipster bar in the center of Mexico City where everyone was dressed in black and a live band played a mixture of Mexican favorites and American sock hop music. The next place we went to a bar in Cococayn called The Attic, which was like an attic as we had to climb up and stoop down in order to sit in a wooden bar area crowded with other beer drinkers. Sunday was my birthday and my roommates surprised me with a treasure hunt in which they hid presents in various places throughout the house and gave me illustrated clues toe help. (I don't know if I'll ever celebrate another birthday whereby I'll have such easy access to a chapel and a roof.) We went to Mass (a little late) and I was escorted to the front to sit in a chair of honor. In honor of the parish`s 476th anniversary many people wore indigenous garb and people stood at the altar holding corn stalks. After the service we had a lunch featuring what constitutes my idea of a party--spinach, nopales (cactus), red wine, and a special vegan cake that Jess made for me from a mix my mother sent from the States. In the evening we had more guests over, and all the partying made me feel better about reaching my late-20s.
On September 15, we went to the Zocola to celebrate Mexican Independence Day and hear the grita. (When the President comes out and yells Viva Mexico and Viva (name of various Mexican hero.) We got to the square about 20 minutes before the event started and were literally pushed into line so that we could pass through metal detectors. Inside we saw the President and fireworks and were drenched by both rain and a soapy, foam mixture that spectators were spraying. We had celebrated Independence Day in the parish last year (for many people the day is commemorated in their houses with the family,) and while that was fun, it was interesting to there the grita that everyone has been talking about.
Tengo Conejos
During my first few months in Mexico, it was pretty hard to stay in shape. I couldn't force myself to get in a good work-out with just my jump-rope. For a while, I tried climbing up and down a huge nearby hill but realized that as it's filled with cars, pollution and sketchy guys, the safety risks of using as it as a workout tool have outweighed its benefits.
Over the past few , I have been going to work-out at the University's gym and I have also been (for lack of a better word) trembling (Whereby I spend 10-minute sessions on machines that vibrate and burn 500 calories during this period.) It sounds hokey but I read an article saying that in Europe it's the rage and it really works.( The owners were smart for starting the machines as obesity is a problem in Santa Fe and it's difficult to find ways to exercise.) With the arrival of the new missionaries I have been introduced to even more ways to stay fit. I tag along with Lisa and Melissa to Zumba (and bounce out of rhythm to salsa-type music while doing aerobics.) Lisa is a marathon runner and I told her if she did the Mexico City Marathon next week, I would do the half-marathon. We have both signed up for it and found a nearby park to go running at. That means that I have gone running for the first time in over a year (I put in three sessions that each went over an hour.) I am quite sore and am only hoping to finish the race as I have never run more than 10 miles at a time in my whole life. However, Lisa is inspiring as she not only cheers me on during runs but told me that she used to run for ten miles a day in Chicago.
Nos Vemos
I am going to wrap this up by giving a quick synopsis of my day. In the morning, Lisa and I went running at a park at which some sort of presentation was taking place complete with a helicopter, police officers and ambulance truck. I couldn't quite figure out what was happening despite running into and chatting with some Missionaries of Charity (in their white saris) and asking them what was taking place. Still we run an circles and I was nearly blown away by the copter taking off.
Later we went to Mass where a burro with purple legs was grazing by church. (Some sort of medication was applied to it's legs. After Mass we attended a lunch commemorating the year-anniversary of a tragic event of a family of friends from the parish and I awkwardly tried to make small talk with guests. Afterward, I went to a planning meeting for an upcoming retreat of our youth group (I could only understand half of it and was annoyed when my suggestion of serving fruit over potato chips as snacks was shot down.) Then, I went to the parish kitchen and hung out with the church ladies. I drank several servings of tibeticos, a bacteria drink that ferments in the parish kitchen that was allegedly first brewed by Mother Theresa and has amazing healing properties.
Right now, I am in the parish library typing. The church handyman followed me in here and is giggling without apparent reason while waiting to walk me home. I told him he needs to read or listen to music instead of sitting and thinking all the time and he replied that he never thinks. I am both proud of myself for having a conversation in Spanish and slightly uncomfortable with his presence. But I can bicker with him without having to pretend I think he`s altogether right. Which is why I like life here--it is different and often surreal but I can recognize and laugh at the absurdities while learning to appreciate them.
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Feliz Cumpleaños, Jessica!
If every little girl wants a pony for her birthday, than every young woman must secretly want a horse, even if she learns to hide this desire upon realizing it´s impracticability. However, for her 23rd birthday, Jessica´s dreams came true (at least for the afternoon) as our friends brought a horse to our door for her to ride on to Mass. Upon reaching the entrance, the service was held up so that Padre could come sprinkle holy water on the duo.
From there things seemed to be going pretty typically for a parish party--everyone ate chicken and mole, and Jessica was able to avoid the Mexican custom of having her face smashed into her cake. Things got a little unusual when she was pulled into a small side room, blindfolded and stripped.
Once, Jessica had told Padre that she felt left out because she had never experienced a quinceaños--a ¨coming-out¨ party for Mexican girls on there fifteenth birthday. Padre took it upon himself to remedy this situation, and Jessica´s girlfriends squeezed her into a puffy, sparkly, white and pink gown and presented her to her friends and Mexican family. She first waltzed with Padre (her surrogate Father) and then all the males in the room, including two ten-year old boys that she danced with at the same time.
Guests were called up to give her presents, most of which were flowers and chocolate. The sweetest gift was from our little friend Luci who gave her a cartoon drawing of Jessica. Padre and Gallo (in deference to the fact that Jessica is constantly begging me to allow her to get a puppy) were responsible for the funniest thing-- a stuffed dog that sings, in English, ¨I love you more than I can say. I´ll love you twice a day,¨ and dances.
Festivities continued well into the evening, ending after the rondalla (a choir consisting of guitar players) that plays at the 7 p.m. mass serenaded Jessica with birthday tunes, and paid themselves for their services by finishing off all of the party´s whiskey. We returned home exhausted, wishing we had a beast to help cart all of the loot.
Though I´ve told Jessica that a having dog would be too much upkeep, I´m still trying to think of a way for us to permanently keep the horse. Happy birthday, chica!
From there things seemed to be going pretty typically for a parish party--everyone ate chicken and mole, and Jessica was able to avoid the Mexican custom of having her face smashed into her cake. Things got a little unusual when she was pulled into a small side room, blindfolded and stripped.
Once, Jessica had told Padre that she felt left out because she had never experienced a quinceaños--a ¨coming-out¨ party for Mexican girls on there fifteenth birthday. Padre took it upon himself to remedy this situation, and Jessica´s girlfriends squeezed her into a puffy, sparkly, white and pink gown and presented her to her friends and Mexican family. She first waltzed with Padre (her surrogate Father) and then all the males in the room, including two ten-year old boys that she danced with at the same time.
Guests were called up to give her presents, most of which were flowers and chocolate. The sweetest gift was from our little friend Luci who gave her a cartoon drawing of Jessica. Padre and Gallo (in deference to the fact that Jessica is constantly begging me to allow her to get a puppy) were responsible for the funniest thing-- a stuffed dog that sings, in English, ¨I love you more than I can say. I´ll love you twice a day,¨ and dances.
Festivities continued well into the evening, ending after the rondalla (a choir consisting of guitar players) that plays at the 7 p.m. mass serenaded Jessica with birthday tunes, and paid themselves for their services by finishing off all of the party´s whiskey. We returned home exhausted, wishing we had a beast to help cart all of the loot.
Though I´ve told Jessica that a having dog would be too much upkeep, I´m still trying to think of a way for us to permanently keep the horse. Happy birthday, chica!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Four Fiestas and a Funeral
It´s the weekend of both my birthday and Mexican Independence Day, and sparks are flying. Not due to candles or fireworks, but because work is being done on our house and a man is upstairs operating heavy machinery. We have been living in a house without a roof, and for three weeks, tarps and vinyl panels have provided temporary protection. Over the past week, two men have been coming at random times to build something more stable.
Because the floor of the second story of the house is made of criss-crossed iron bars, sparks are able to reach the first floor while we sitting eating breakfast. We feel a bit annoyed that the men came in the morning on a Sunday, especially since on weekdays they had been arriving during the afternoons. However, we are glad things are getting done, and we gamely dodge flying flames as we clean up after eggs and joke about the situation.
Then, the handyman yells and falls from the roof, flat on his face and onto our second floor, with a vinyl slab atop of him. It takes me a moment to comprehend what has just happen. Jessica runs upstairs and I think about running to the parish for help, except I that I know I can´t communicate with anybody there. I yell at Jackie to call Sister Angelita, who is a doctor, and Jessica calls the parish and yells at me to bring up the bottle of tequila that the girls had given me for my birthday the day before.
Tequila is applied to the man´s wounds and he regains consciousness. We bring him downstairs where he has a shot while we clean the big gashes on his face. He is extremely incoherent. I feel helpless as we only have to two places to call in emergencies (the Sisters´home and the parish) and the Sisters are away and the parish is slow in reacting. We had been told that the police and ambulance drivers are corrupt and it´s best to avoid dealing with them.
The injured handyman stands up and decides he is in okay enough shape to leave. Though we don´t want him to go anywhere, his partner insists on leading him away. A few minutes later, Guillto, an older man who lives with the priests and helps them, shows up. Guillto is short, stout, always relaxed and jovial and is usually smoking a cigarette. While I generally find him charming and grandfatherly-like, I am upset by how lightly he takes the situation as he laughs at the man´s clumsiness and then cleans up some of the tools the men left behind.
It´s been quite a morning, and the day hasn´t even started yet. We had been told to go to one o´clock Mass and as ready ourselves and then walk to the parish, what sounds like gunshots keep going off. Though we know it´s only firecrackers for the holiday, the noise adds to the tension of the situation.
Mass is crowded, so we stand in the back along with other latecomers. After the service, Father leads a march that involves carrying flowers, chanting prayers and walking down a sleep, slippery hill and planting a giant cross, walking across a bridge and planting another one, and then walking up a hill and planting a third cross. I still don´t really know what it was all about, except that it had something to do with the anniversary of the death of the person who founded Santa Fe and it was meant to draw light to the fact that the grounds where he lived should be open to the public. Jackie and Jessica are still too shaken to really listen, yet alone translate.
After the walk, everyone goes to the Parish hall for soup. Jackie and I sit in the corner of the kitchen while teen-age girls rush around pulling out dishes and preparing ingredients. Though I´m trying to de-stress, I have a minor argument of sorts with one of the mentally handicapped boys who works at the parish and is trying to prepare coffee. I have to pull tap water out of his hands to stop him from adding it to the beverage but since I can´t explain why I´m doing this, (it´s toxic when unboiled) I feel rude.
While everyone eats there soup, (except for me because I´m a vegetarian) Jackie and I decide it´s been one of the weirdest days of our lives and we are ready to leave and visit an elderly neighbor who always brings us peace. However, we get called to the dining room where I am presented with a cake as a room full of women sing to me for my birthday (which was yesterday.)
It´s lovely, except the deacon tries convince to get me to take a bite out of the cake and he won´t listen as Jessica explains that I don´t eat dairy. I finally take a small nibble of icing from a spoon that a lady shoves in my face and then I cut the cake. I attempt to chat for a while, until the only people left in the room are me, the deacon, Jackie and a few ladies.
The deacon (who treats himself to more than a day of rest on Sundays) is in high spirits and leads the women in traditional Mexican folk songs. He tells Jackie and I to sing songs from the United States and then attempts to attempt to sing them himself. He chants ¨chica-chica boom-boom¨ while unbuttoning his shirt and shaking his hips and getting the other ladies to imitate him.
Jackie looks at me with wide eyes and says that we need to go--except we get called into the kitchen where the parish staff has congregated. Glasses of tequila and beer are passed around, which are sorely needed after the day we have had. When we finally get back to the casa--at eight o´clock--we sleep well.
The next day, the injured handyman comes back to continue working on our roof.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, that wasn´t the only celebration to take place over the weekend. Sister Angelita invited us to the funeral of one her patients on Friday night. As bodies aren´t embalmed here, the funeral took place a day after her passing. We arrived to the deceased women´s two-room house at a little before 10:00 p.m., when the funeral was supposed to start. The casket was laid out and the house was overflowing with so many people that many sat on streets. Coffee and pastries were passed around while we waited for Father. Though Sister was concerned by his tardiness and tried to call him once it reached 10:30, he finally arrived us if nothing happened and then said Mass. It seemed pretty similar to American services as some people were deeply in mourning, others seemed bored, and the children played amongst themselves after being shushed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday was my birthday and the girls and I went into to town to see the the Metropolitan Cathedral, an elaborate church in the center of the city. Though the Spaniards began building over 400 years ago, it took several centuries to complete and it is composed of many architecture styles and chapels. After a tour, we went out to a popular Mexican chain called Sanborn´s for dinner and then meandered about looking at vendors selling crafts, artwork, jewelry and food. When it started raining, we took sanctuary in an open church and got to view portions of a wedding. At night, Javier and his friends paid us a visit and we all stayed up late drinking tequila and eating imitation pork rinds topped with guacamole.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Monday, we went to have dinner with Parish staff members in honor of Mexican Independence Day which always begins on September 15th and honors Father Hidalgo´s cries for independence from Spain in 1810. The affair was much more low-key than Sunday´s affair and we went home before midnight after a dinner of beans, tortillas and beef and some salsa dancing. However, our neighbors were up all night dancing, and the music coming through our open roof made it hard to sleep. While normally the precarious situation of our roof would bother me, I was too grateful for our handyman´s recuperation to be too upset, and I happily drifted in and out of sleep as sounds of mariuchi serenaded me.
Because the floor of the second story of the house is made of criss-crossed iron bars, sparks are able to reach the first floor while we sitting eating breakfast. We feel a bit annoyed that the men came in the morning on a Sunday, especially since on weekdays they had been arriving during the afternoons. However, we are glad things are getting done, and we gamely dodge flying flames as we clean up after eggs and joke about the situation.
Then, the handyman yells and falls from the roof, flat on his face and onto our second floor, with a vinyl slab atop of him. It takes me a moment to comprehend what has just happen. Jessica runs upstairs and I think about running to the parish for help, except I that I know I can´t communicate with anybody there. I yell at Jackie to call Sister Angelita, who is a doctor, and Jessica calls the parish and yells at me to bring up the bottle of tequila that the girls had given me for my birthday the day before.
Tequila is applied to the man´s wounds and he regains consciousness. We bring him downstairs where he has a shot while we clean the big gashes on his face. He is extremely incoherent. I feel helpless as we only have to two places to call in emergencies (the Sisters´home and the parish) and the Sisters are away and the parish is slow in reacting. We had been told that the police and ambulance drivers are corrupt and it´s best to avoid dealing with them.
The injured handyman stands up and decides he is in okay enough shape to leave. Though we don´t want him to go anywhere, his partner insists on leading him away. A few minutes later, Guillto, an older man who lives with the priests and helps them, shows up. Guillto is short, stout, always relaxed and jovial and is usually smoking a cigarette. While I generally find him charming and grandfatherly-like, I am upset by how lightly he takes the situation as he laughs at the man´s clumsiness and then cleans up some of the tools the men left behind.
It´s been quite a morning, and the day hasn´t even started yet. We had been told to go to one o´clock Mass and as ready ourselves and then walk to the parish, what sounds like gunshots keep going off. Though we know it´s only firecrackers for the holiday, the noise adds to the tension of the situation.
Mass is crowded, so we stand in the back along with other latecomers. After the service, Father leads a march that involves carrying flowers, chanting prayers and walking down a sleep, slippery hill and planting a giant cross, walking across a bridge and planting another one, and then walking up a hill and planting a third cross. I still don´t really know what it was all about, except that it had something to do with the anniversary of the death of the person who founded Santa Fe and it was meant to draw light to the fact that the grounds where he lived should be open to the public. Jackie and Jessica are still too shaken to really listen, yet alone translate.
After the walk, everyone goes to the Parish hall for soup. Jackie and I sit in the corner of the kitchen while teen-age girls rush around pulling out dishes and preparing ingredients. Though I´m trying to de-stress, I have a minor argument of sorts with one of the mentally handicapped boys who works at the parish and is trying to prepare coffee. I have to pull tap water out of his hands to stop him from adding it to the beverage but since I can´t explain why I´m doing this, (it´s toxic when unboiled) I feel rude.
While everyone eats there soup, (except for me because I´m a vegetarian) Jackie and I decide it´s been one of the weirdest days of our lives and we are ready to leave and visit an elderly neighbor who always brings us peace. However, we get called to the dining room where I am presented with a cake as a room full of women sing to me for my birthday (which was yesterday.)
It´s lovely, except the deacon tries convince to get me to take a bite out of the cake and he won´t listen as Jessica explains that I don´t eat dairy. I finally take a small nibble of icing from a spoon that a lady shoves in my face and then I cut the cake. I attempt to chat for a while, until the only people left in the room are me, the deacon, Jackie and a few ladies.
The deacon (who treats himself to more than a day of rest on Sundays) is in high spirits and leads the women in traditional Mexican folk songs. He tells Jackie and I to sing songs from the United States and then attempts to attempt to sing them himself. He chants ¨chica-chica boom-boom¨ while unbuttoning his shirt and shaking his hips and getting the other ladies to imitate him.
Jackie looks at me with wide eyes and says that we need to go--except we get called into the kitchen where the parish staff has congregated. Glasses of tequila and beer are passed around, which are sorely needed after the day we have had. When we finally get back to the casa--at eight o´clock--we sleep well.
The next day, the injured handyman comes back to continue working on our roof.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Of course, that wasn´t the only celebration to take place over the weekend. Sister Angelita invited us to the funeral of one her patients on Friday night. As bodies aren´t embalmed here, the funeral took place a day after her passing. We arrived to the deceased women´s two-room house at a little before 10:00 p.m., when the funeral was supposed to start. The casket was laid out and the house was overflowing with so many people that many sat on streets. Coffee and pastries were passed around while we waited for Father. Though Sister was concerned by his tardiness and tried to call him once it reached 10:30, he finally arrived us if nothing happened and then said Mass. It seemed pretty similar to American services as some people were deeply in mourning, others seemed bored, and the children played amongst themselves after being shushed.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday was my birthday and the girls and I went into to town to see the the Metropolitan Cathedral, an elaborate church in the center of the city. Though the Spaniards began building over 400 years ago, it took several centuries to complete and it is composed of many architecture styles and chapels. After a tour, we went out to a popular Mexican chain called Sanborn´s for dinner and then meandered about looking at vendors selling crafts, artwork, jewelry and food. When it started raining, we took sanctuary in an open church and got to view portions of a wedding. At night, Javier and his friends paid us a visit and we all stayed up late drinking tequila and eating imitation pork rinds topped with guacamole.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On Monday, we went to have dinner with Parish staff members in honor of Mexican Independence Day which always begins on September 15th and honors Father Hidalgo´s cries for independence from Spain in 1810. The affair was much more low-key than Sunday´s affair and we went home before midnight after a dinner of beans, tortillas and beef and some salsa dancing. However, our neighbors were up all night dancing, and the music coming through our open roof made it hard to sleep. While normally the precarious situation of our roof would bother me, I was too grateful for our handyman´s recuperation to be too upset, and I happily drifted in and out of sleep as sounds of mariuchi serenaded me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
