Gretchen, my roommate and the mom of the family from California.
Something important (?) in Mexico City.
The lobby
Room 3, home to Gretchen and me
Our door mat, yep the right place!
We rang a tiny doorbell and a woman came to let us in. Once on the inside, it was quite quaint, yet big enough to house all eight of us, plus our fearless leader, plus several other passers-by.
We got settled into our room and decided to walk around the area for the next hour, just to see where we were. We went up to the main street and did just that. It felt nice to be walking around. Granted, I had been walking all day through Coyoacán. But no one walks in Culiacán. It seems people will ride the bus for 15 seconds to save four minutes. And in the heat, I occasionally don't blame them. But come on!
So it was so nice to walk all about.
We got back to Casa González with about five minutes to spare until dinner. Luckily, Comexus is an operation run with Americans in mind. Even though most of us have acclimated to running late and not worrying about it, they run a prompt and tight ship. That's a nice change.
After we freshened up, we saw in the room above ours, several of our Fulbright friends. We all screamed and hugged and it was like we were lifelong friends. It's a strange, wonderful bond that 8 strangers (and a few more) share after knowing each other for only 5 days. We've been through just about the same things and we have plenty in common (even just as Spanish teachers we share many characteristics). It was really nice to see them.
We headed to dinner and had a grand time. There were about 12 of us in all including significant others and Jessica (the Comexus gal in charge of us), and we crowded around one table. We shared stories in formally and caught up, reminding each other of which grade level, which city, which counterpart. I sat with Kate (who reminds me a lot physically and gesturally of Kasey Jo) at dinner. She is in DF and in a middle school. Her boyfriend is back in the States. Her first apartment was miserable. Her situation was pretty bleak at the beginning. She has since joined a photography class at a University in DF (which has inspired me to look into something like that in Culiacán in the spring) and consequently met many an American. She shared that she wishes she had more Spanish speaking friends, but her social life seems pretty active, so she's not complaining.
At any rate, at one point the whole table conversation went in the direction of the word huera (WHERE-uh). I'm not sure of the spelling, because that's not a word I ever studied, but it's another word that can be substituted for Gringa. It actually means blonde, or lighter colored hair, but as most Anericans have lighter colored hair than black, we're typically all hueras. Mabel, in fact asked me when I got here, if I hadn't been more "huera" in the pictures I had sent. Considering the former highlights and the state of my extra dark dye job at the time, she was right.
So we're all talking about this, and I say "huera, huera!" like they do to get your attention, and Kate said, "You sound just like them!" Two points for Laura on the single Spanish "r." This compliment came from a huera, so it doesn't weigh as heavily as Mabel's compliment, but I'll take it!
I'm entirely too self conscious of my speaking abilities. This is a general statement that applies in English as well. I will teach all day and all night in from of elementary aged kids. Put me in front of their parents or my peers, and I'd rather be.... well, anywhere else.
Add to that the second language factor and I get all tongue tied, thus worsening my speaking ability. All this to say, I was glad to hear that from Kate.
We ended dinner and basically went to bed. We headed to a bar for a drink and appetizer, but we were not there long. I was exhausted, so I was glad for it. I had still a few final touches for my presentation, so I got those done and was out like a light.
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