July 16

I obviously have lots of catching up to do, but at this point I have neither time nor internet. I'm currently at Starbucks to take care of a few more things before running all over this town to get last minute pictures and things. I wouldn't want my faithful readers (Lori, Mrs. Wallace, Bewley) to be worried. Mom got an email from me explaining this.

I leave in less than 48 hours for Cozumel. Then it's just a week until Nashville and my tour of Kentucky. Much love to all and I apologize in advance for the tired funk of depression I'll be in for a bit when I get back!

Mexican Communication

(*Note: written Tuesday evening)

I got a call this morning, okay, almost afternoon, from Maribel.  She had that urgent franticness in her voice that seems to come every time she needs anything.  It’s always needed that exact moment.  She asked me why I hadn’t come by the office.  I was confused.  She had wanted to make a Tres Leches Cake with me one day this week and told me to text her when I got back in town.  I told her Sunday I was back but that I would probably sleep the day away on Monday, but any other day would be good.  No mention of the office.  She was fine with that.  No mention of the office.  Or which day for the cake for that matter.

Needless to say, I was confused with this call.  Since it was nearing time for her to leave the office, and it was evident in my voice that I had not been up for long, she realized I wouldn’t be making it in today.

Turns out there are certificates from the 6^th grade test I administered months ago it seems.  They have to be delivered to the 6^th graders.  I assumed they were out of school since the 3^rd was the last day, but she said I had to come pick them up and deliver them.

Well, I got frantic as usual.  Then I told myself to chill out.  If it didn’t happen, ni modo (oh well).  It’s going to happen.  I’m going to take Alma to work in the morning and then use her car to run my errands.  But the “teach them a lesson” gringa in me says, why did I work it out?  Why didn’t I just tell them I couldn’t?  Maribel was telling me this about the certificates as if I’d been told 15 times.  When I asked her how I Was suppsosed to know this she said, well, you hadn’t been told, but remember we were waiting for the certificates for the event.  No, actually, I didn’t remember that, and how waiting for the certificates for an event I wouldn’t even attend has correlation to my delivering them to school tomorrow, I’m still not sure.  Anyway, while there are so many things about this country, city, place that I will miss, the education system, school, and complete and total lack of organization within it (and consequently within the lives of most of its citizens) are not among them.

Sorpresa

(*Note: written Tuesday night)

Mayra and I went to see The Proposal last night (Monday night) and I loved it.  I absolutely loved it.  Though I thought Sandra Bullock seemed too old for the guy.  But it’s okay. Age difference was just the elephant in the movie for me.

Anyway, as we were on our way there, Mayra blurts out that there’s a surprise going away party for me on Saturday but she didn’t want me to up and go off to some other Mexican destination because I hadn’t been warned.  Clearly these Mexicans have never pulled off a surprise, and why would they have?  That takes communication and organization.  Neither of which the country is known for!

She has a point.  I very easily could’ve gotten an invite from someone on Friday or Saturday to do something and I would’ve gone, ruining all their “plans.”  I have yet to explain that you just get the surprisee to commit to something for that time period and then actually pull off the surprise.

However, this mumbling seems like I’m unappreciative.  I’m so excited they’re doing it for me.  I could think of no better way I’d want to leave this country than with great memories of a party with my friends that was created with me in mind.  Just me.  Not some shared birthday party.  Not a typical Mexican party that you throw for yourself.  A celebration of me.

I’m going to miss them.  Surprise-ruining and all.

Reflection

(*Note: written on Tuesday night)

What an entire eleven months of reflection this has been.

Wanting a house in Crieve Hall with a golden retriever and a garage with a Volvo in it.  Wanting to work my way around various jobs in metro.  Or be the Spanish teacher at Lockeland for thirty years having started the program.

Then wanting to move abroad for two years and learn another language, only to move to another Spanish speaking country and teach there for a few years to pick back up the Spanish I worked so hard to “perfect” while here.

I want to take advantage of every moment like I do here.  I want to say “yes” to things that may not be “me” things (think Monster Truck Showdown) just because you need to witness various things in your life.  I want to say “no” to the things that are not important to me.  I want to learn from every experience, even if it seems mundane.

While I was walking home from yoga tonight (Tuesday, and oddly enough I got there and there was no yoga), I had an epiphany.  This may actually be my biggest reflection of reflections.  Hold that thought.

This afternoon, I had a moment of planning for a Labor Day weekend trip due to a Southwest sale.  It didn’t work out, but it got me in my planner looking.  I have so much planned already and I’m still three weeks from being home.  I literally have plans almost all weekend every weekend from the time I land on the ground until Labor Day weekend.  I have at least one weekend if not two booked per month after that until Christmas.  I got overwhelmed looking at my calendar realizing I’d be home for only one day (with church, lunch, phone shopping and possibly a pedicure, though I don’t think my toenails will allow it just yet- they’re in the microscopic stage at the moment) before I had a doctor’s appointment, two days of professional development, unpacking, moving back in, and laundry to do.  That just gets me to the weekend where I’ll spend time in Glasgow.  Are you tired yet?

My weekends after that include a 5K in East Nashville, dinners with locals, trips to Lexington and Louisville and looking for a way to make it to Jackson.  Not to mention the weekends of yoga training.

I got overwhelmed.  Thankfully it wasn’t in a breakdown kind of way like it was in preparation for leaving the US.  It was more in a “How will I fit back into my life and get everything done” kind of way.

The fact of the matter is:  I already take advantage of every opportunity.  I already seize the day and learn from my experiences.  I already do things that may not seem me until they either become me or I realize why they’re not me.  At the end of the day, I am the person I wish I could be (does that make sense?).  This year away has made me want to be so many different people.  But appropriately at the end of my journey, I realize that I already am that person.  I just happen to have a little more organization and planning.  Instead of waiting for the plans to happen, I know they’re coming months in advance.  I live my adventures with advance knowledge.  I “fly by the seat of my pants” with preparation.  What a fortunate epiphany.  I am who I wish I could be.

My bed

(*Note: written on Monday)

My bed in Culiacán is a twin bed that slides around on the boxed springs.  The sheets are like 100 thread count or less and the elastic, even though I just bought them in September, is already giving out and they don’t fit well on the bed.  The sheets are slightly reminiscent of the balled up rosy ones or Raggedy Ann and Andy ones I had as a little girl.  I loved them.  Even when I went through my Lion King stage and got new sheets, I always preferred the thin-enough-you-can-read-through-them ones.  Now that’s not the case.  I prefer my silky sheets from home. Often in my Mexican life, I wake up to a very jumbled bed.

It’s not the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in (because mine in Nashville is), but it is my bed.  No I didn’t buy it.  It was here in the “guest bedroom” (see Patrick, even Mexican older brothers lose their rooms to other functions when they grow up and leave the house) long before I got here, but it’s mine. 

The bed at Mabel’s was a king size.  It still didn’t compete with my wonderbed at home, but it was comfortable enough that Mabel slept in it every time I left the house. 

I’d take this twin bed over that bed any day.  I never felt that was my bed.

Back to the point.  Getting back from Cosalá, I was tired and completely worn out mentally and physically form a week of travel with a family, by myself, and with a large group of (sometimes annoying-see previous entry) Mexicans. 

Putting my head down on my pillow (that goes with me to whichever bed in the world I happen to fall upon at night- always) on that scratchy, mal-adjusted sheet was heavenly.  I was home.

The Kite Runner

(*Note: This entry was written on Sunday after getting back from our trip.)

Where to even begin.  I picked The Kite Runner off the bookcase in Alina’s room in Guanajuato as nightly reading material, thinking I could finish it before I headed back to Guadajalara and ultimately Culiacán, saving Twilight for later.  This was before I discovered the Used (English) Bookstore.  Once I made that discovery, I set The Kite Runner aside.  (I was also encouraged by Donna that it had been left by a previous renter, just like she would leave books, and not to worry about taking it.)  I picked it back up yesterday on the way to Culiacán from Guadalajara.  A 7 am flight from an airport 30 minutes away didn’t give me too much opportunity to read.  However, a 3.5 hour bus ride (even through curves) gave me just what I needed. 

The first half of the book, I kept getting the Sunnis mixed up with the other groups.  I kept wondering when it would become amazing, like everyone seemed to have told me.  Then suddenly, today on the ride home, it became breathtaking.  I literally found myself holding my breath multiple times.

Being the sensitive type, I was destined to cry in this book.  Having talked to Mom about it and listened to her say there was one part she couldn’t read, I found several parts that I shouldn’t have read, but had to.

I teared up on more than one occasion.  That led to more tearing up.  I closed the book relieved.  Wanting more, but relieved.

There are so many aspects of this book that touched me.  As I prepare to leave what I truly see as my home away from home, I felt a strange bond with the narrator.  A part of me being so American, while the other part of me strives to be more Mexican.  Clearly, neither my US life nor my Mexican life is anywhere near Amir’s bi-national life and the contrast between the two, but it hit me in a way it might not have had I not been traveling (and approaching my departure).

That sensitive thing also showed itself in the injustice in the book.  I spent several hours being really annoyed with Mexican culture today.  But when I look back, it wasn’t really Mexican culture, it was specific people who just got on my nerves.  In whatever language and whatever culture, I’m guessing these personalities would’ve just gotten to me (add to that I was tired, enough said).  But in the bigger picture, I think back to the Monster Trucks.  I think back to whoever’s statement it was about how I could never repay them the same way with an upgrade of seats or free entry somewhere, or a special meal because “they came from Mexico.”  It just doesn’t carry the same weight (or should I say isn’t as warmly welcomed) as when they introduce me as someone from the US.  It’s not that I’m anything special.  I think it’s more that the Mexican people just look for a reason to reach out and love you.  I’ve spent that last 9 years studying or teaching Spanish.  And for each of those years, I’ve traveled at least once to a Spanish speaking country, most years twice.  I’m well aware of the cultural differences and I’m careful, even within the US which words I use and how I phrase things.  I’m super-culture conscious.  At least when it comes to Spanish speakers.  However, that seems to only make me all the more aware of the closed minded people who still think all people that “speak Mexican” are from Mexico and therefore want to swim across an ocean to live in our amazing country.  I’m aware of the people who think the only Spanish speakers in the US are “Mexican migrant workers” (direct quote).  Their ignorance on these phrases isn’t even what gets me fired up.  It’s that thinking a Peruvian is a Mexican is some sort of shot.  That it’s embarrassing or shameful or somehow less than being a Honduran or Spaniard or whatever. 

I used to joke that I was offended because those are “my people,” but now it feels like no joke.  Those are my people.  That’s my family you’re talking about.  Those are the strangers who upon meeting me, made sure to give her friends my cell phone number so I would have a friend set, and who continued to check in on me from Podunk, Michigan to stop worrying I was miserable.  Those are the teachers who could’ve gone to work and been polite and called it a day, but instead took me to breakfast with their families and drove me to the hospital to get Tetanus shots.  That’s my friend who barely let me finish the sentence, “I’m not sure I’m happy where I’m living anymore and I think I need to look for something else,” before she said, “Come live with me.  Why wouldn’t you?  I’ve always wanted a sister.”

Everything I do here in these last two weeks will be sad.  Possibly my last Mercado taco.  Maybe my last shopping spree at Forum.  Perhaps my last time at this club or that bar.  Could be the last time I see this person before I come back to visit.

Obviously I’m nothing but huge tears right now.  My new friend set may get to see the alien Laura that comes after crying for longer than 4 seconds.  But that’s okay with me.  I’m thankful for every single tear that’s falling right now.  I’m thankful for the 18 times I’ll blow my nose before I go to bed.  I’m thankful for the swollen eyes and blotchy face I’ll have tomorrow.  I’m thankful for the hold in my throat right now that makes it hard to breathe, impossible to talk, and even a little difficult to cry.

What better measure of a year?

More misery

I slept well that night, but not enough to make up for over a week's worth of terrible sleep.  I continued the crabby habit.  The good news was, for the tour, I was "stuck" on the smaller truck; there were only 8-10 of us.  That made it much more bearable!  

Our first outing was to an old house, hotel, servant quarters, and hospital.  If you ask me, it was a bunch of run down, empty buildings with bat caca all over every visible surface.  It was getting hotter and stayed humid from the day before.  At the third building that looked exactly the same (yet apparently needed to be documented with another mostly-group picture, I was thankful I wasn't in the US, because I would've snapped some serious sarcastic remarks at just about every turn.  Instead I tried to be thankful I was still on my year-long Mexican adventure.

We got back on the trucks and went to see some parrots.  Again, could've done without that.

Finally, we looked at some mines.  As in, we drove up and saw the train stop and the entrance.  Then we drove away.  I wanted to kiss the drivers at that point.

At 1, we had to check out of the hotel, so we did.  We sent some men for lunch and headed to the Vado Ondo (pronounced bah-DOAN-doe), which was the waterfall I went to with Mabel.  I was ready to jump in and get rid of my sweatiness, but no one swam.  And honestly, the water looked murky.  I didn't really get it because this was rainy season and it seemed to me it should've been cleaner than it was in October, but what do I know?

Shortly after, the chicken and blue corn tortillas arrived.  Mexicanism took over again and I had to remind myself that I was, in fact, in Mexico, and that I had to play by their rules.  Well, I couldn't play by their rules, so I at least let myself not get annoyed that everyone was knocking me over to get to the food, pushing each other out of the way, and not concerned in the least at making sure everyone got a little before taking way more than their share.

I had two very full tacos and couldn't complain.

While the lunch group went up the waterfall (we had already been while waiting for them to bring lunch), we asked the araña driver (the word means spider, but also refers to these trucks with seats in the back) if he would take us back to the main road to get in the charter bus.  He obliged.  Again I wanted to kiss him.

We waited less than 20 minutes for the other group to catch up to us.  Shortly after, we were on our way.  I found it mildly humorous that no one asked to stop at an Oxxo or to take a picture now that it was time to get back.  

I had my front seat again, and while the road was very curvy, I pulled out my book and began to read...

Pictures from Saturday in Cosalá

Alma made herself comfortable with the driver and got the music going before we'd even reached the end of the street.

After arriving, we headed to the square to look for the museum that was closed.  That led, of course, to a million group pictures.

The group that I actually enjoyed being with (front to back): Karina, Shania, me, Alma, Eli (like Elizabeth), Quinantzin.

Of course one group picture wasn't enough, so we crossed the street from the church group picture to get a plaza group picture.

Unfortunately, the gate was locked.  The local policeman told us we could climb the fence.  Awesome.  Good thing I dressed for climbing!

Yet another group picture.  This time in front of the prison.  This picture includes some of the people that were on my nerves a wee bit.

On our way back to the hotel, I was in desperate need of a coca light.  When we stopped at the little store, they had corn for sale in this container.  It was to feed the animals, but also for making... you guessed it: tamales de elote!

Saturday non-stop

Saturday, I had to be at the airport at 6 for my 7:15 flight.  That would likely be cutting it close, but I was okay with that.  I was up at 4:30 and checked out by 5, waiting on the taxi.  I got to the airport at 5:40 and man is it a bigger airport than Culiacán's!  It was huge and crowded!  After 30 minutes of standing in line, I got to the counter and got checked in.  I made it to my gate and waited, wishing I could be on the plane and asleep.  That came soon enough.  I was asleep before the seatbelt announcement and not awake until we were almost landing.  I had and empty row again, so I had occupied two seats, getting actual quality sleep.  I didn't want it to end!

When I arrived, I took a taxi to the house and hit the bed.  I thought I would sleep until the next day, so I set my alarm for 11.  I was leaving around 1 for Cosalá with the PISI folks and didn't want to oversleep or be dirty or unprepared.

I got my two hours of sleep, my shower and my packing, and then was told Shania would pick me up at 1.  Of course that ended up being a bit later.  Shania, bless her heart, is punctual.  I don't know if she was before a year in the US, but she's on it.  Problem is, she doesn't have a car, so she's dependent upon others for her transportation.

When she pulled up, it was her brother driving, her in the passenger seat, and Neyva her sister and Citlali her cousin already in the back.  My overly stuffed backpack didn't fit in there with us, so Shania took it.  I was impressed with how little I had packed (though I also had my pillow and purse), but Citlali asked me if I would be staying a week.  I wanted to tell her I needed two suitcases for a week, but I just laughed.

We got to Centro de Idiomas and I went in to give Alma some clothes she had asked for.  At 1:30, we were finally on our way.  There were 29 of us on a charter bus with a pot of beans and several coolers of beer and other beverages.  Alma and I both promptly put on our face masks and went to sleep.  I couldn't sleep much longer than an hour of the 3 hour ride.  When I woke, I decided to try to read since I was in the front seat and could catch a glimpse of the road if I felt nauseous.  But let me get back to that.

It started just as I would have predicted.  Not ten minutes into the drive, the music was too loud (thankfully the driver had sympathy and turned it down) and people were begging to stop at the Oxxo.  I mean, we had just left and had been standing next to a store.  "What is with these people?!" was my actual thought.  I blame it on a week of true lack of sleep.

Within the hour, a lot of several bottles of liquor had major dents in them and the (very loud, very annoying) English was coming from all parts.  Most people found it hilarious.  I wasn't one of them!

I must admit there were several really good accents.  Close enough that I think they spent quite a bit of childhood time in the States.  The semi-authentic accent, though, was not enough to keep me from being super annoyed.  Had I been better friends with these people, I would've told them what I thought.

It didn't a lot better when the over-served stumbled out of the bus into the lobby.  And of course getting our room assignments took longer than my taste.  I was irritable!

We decided to hit up the town before everything closed.  Alma thought she remembered a museum, so we went in search.  It took awhile to get those rounded up that wanted to go.  Then, even though it wasn't sunny, or necessarily hot, it was MISERABLY humid.  Maybe worse than in Culiacán (but in Culiacán, there's always the heat, too).  It was about to rain, so I'm sure that was it.  We walked around the town and saw the two churches, the plaza and got some ice cream along the way.  We got back to the hotel just in time for a big rain.  I wasn't up for swimming in the rain, so I read while the rest swam.  After awhile, I went to dinner with Alfredo (I went to coffee with him and Mabel early in my stay here) and four other teachers.  One of them had lived in the US from the age of 5.  She and her daughter both were teachers at Centro de Idiomas.  The mom bugged, but it could've easily been my mood.  Why everyone has such a hard time with the concept of exchange, I'm not sure.  But everyone thinks I'm here learning Spanish.  It gets kind of old, though I should get over that.  Anyway, the mom was like, "So you already speak Spanish.  So you don't say un otro like my friend?"  To which I responded, "Well, no.  That's one error I don't make.  But there are plenty of mistakes I make on a consistent basis.  I'm not a perfect speaker."

Then there was Alfredo, who accidentally translated everything for me.  "Y salimos de la prepa, high school, y habían quemado un carro, they burned a car."  It's probably how he teaches (which by the way is not a preferred method), so it just carried into his conversation with a foreigner, but I finally had to tell him, "Look, I understand you.  If I get confused, I'll ask you."

After that, we headed back to the hotel to miss the storm and the others came back from having gone to a taquería on the square.  I took a shower and changed into pjs and everyone gathered around while Alfredo played the guitar and sang.  Of course I knew none of the songs.  Shania requested he play something in English so I could sing along.  He chose November Rain.  Guns N Roses?  Yeah right I knew anything besides, "Nothing lasts forever, but the cold November rain," and I can't even be sure I got that right!  Around 11:30, the manager came out and told us we needed to move because we were too loud and there were elderly people staying at the hotel, and that at midnight we had to stop altogether.  I went for a little while and then decided to head to bed.  My eyes were drooping and I wasn't enjoying myself anymore.  Off I went.  Within the hour, my three roommates (Alma, Karina, Quinantzín) were in bed and asleep, too.

The big day- or not.

Friday was unfortunately another miserably rainy day.  Again I made it out (though I got seriously splashed by the cars this time) during a pause from the downpour for my meals, but other than that, I was in the hotel reading a James Patterson book.  I finished it.  Another thing to leave out of the suitcase!

There are several neighborhoods of interest in Guadalajara and of course there's the tequila tasting, but I just wasn't feeling it.  Rain has a way of doing that to me.  This was the same thing that happened to me in Barcelona.  Everyone- every single person you will ever run across- raves about Barcelona.  I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was wet the whole weekend.  And peeved about it.  I think Barcelona has much more to offer than Guadalajara, but I lump them in the same category: places I could've liked more had I not been thinking "don't get me wet!"

Oh, well.  I now feel like I never have to plan a trip there.

I had a terrible night's sleep the night before due to a band in the lobby, a street front room, and no fan or a/c to make noise.  I reverted to iPod therapy.  It had worked.  More or less.

Because of this, I was actually pretty okay with reading, packing, etc instead of traipsing all over a city in the rain to see another church and another plaza.  Unfortunately, this attitude (and the rain and precaution I take with my fancy camera) left me with no pictures from Guadalajara besides the food.

Donas

After I had read and relaxed some, I resigned to the rain and took a shower ready to call it a night.  However, there was a moment it let up again!  I seized the opportunity and went in search of a donut (dona) place I had seen while torta ahogada hunting. I found it!  It was a tiny little baggie of miniature donuts.  They're chewier here and less gritty when you bite into them.  Yum!  I topped it off with a scoop of chocolate ice cream.  I actually got it with the intent of throwing it out because Mexican ice cream (the creamy kind, not the fruit flavors) tends to be dry tasting.  I know no other way to explain it than that.  I was pleasantly surprised.  It was delicious and even had some ice flecks in it.  Unfortunately I finished it.  And the baggie of donuts.  However, in a matter of weeks, I'll be back to my salads and veggies world with only the occasion dessert.  You only live once!  I sat on a wet park bench enjoying my sugar overload and took in the people that didn't seem to mind getting wet as much as I do!  Then I called it a night.

Tortas Ahogadas

Fortunately, it stopped raining for about an hour and a half.  Enough time for me to walk around in search of food and to get a lay of the land.  Guadalajara is known for sandwiches called tortas ahogadas (literally drowned sandwiches).  This is what Liliana's aunt had us searching all over Guadalajara for on the way to Manzanillo for Spring Break.  In the end, her favorite place had been closed and we ate tacos.

I saw several places, but got turned around and settled on the next one I found.

I ordered my torta ahogada and horchata but it was pink!  I hope that doesn't mean it had strawberry Quick in it!

I must admit I was disappointed.  I had had a torta ahogada in Culiacán and it was much better.  This one seemed to want to challenge you with its spiciness.  The horchata was pretty incredible though!  I headed back to the hotel to make a plan, but it began raining again, so I curled up with a book for a bit.

4 hours

I didn't have as much trouble sleeping on the way back to Guadalajara.  I read some, ate their white bread pre-packaged ham and cheese sandwich (bleh!  but no time for anything else) and chugged the juice.  Before I knew it, I was in gloomy Guadalajara.

After I got off the bus, I got a coca light and some principe cookies to wake me up.  I sat down for a minute and called the two hotels for which I had numbers.  One was full.  The other one had space.  Off I went in a taxi.  The taxi driver was interested in why I was there, why I'd been in Culiacán of all places, etc, like almost all Mexicans upon realizing I'm a gringa, but a gringa with a better accent than most gringos.  The ride from the bus station to the hotel was at least twice the time as the ride from the hotel to the us station, but it was half the price.  Official taxis are such a rip off!

I got to the hotel, got myself organized and looked out the window in time to see lots of rain.  Awesome.  It was already 4:30, so I wasn't going to get a lot of site seeing done anyway.  Besides, I had all of Friday.  No worries.  I made my plan to leave for dinner, maybe get some pictures and get in bed early for all day Friday.

One final summit

I had given Donna permission to wake me at 730 so we could climb up to the Pípila one more time and take a walk/jog.  When I woke up and was super dizzy from exhaustion, I should've rethought my decision.  But alas, we went.  It felt good to be pushed to get to the top.  Then we ended up just walking.  I wasn't in the running mood.  There was still a gradual climb on the road.  

About an hour later, we were back at the apartment.  I went to get money out of the bank and too a few pictures on the way.  This is of Cervantes.  There is a Cervantes festival every fall in Guanajuato.  That was one of those things I was so jealous of my Fulbright colleagues about.  Many of them went because they were so close.  I would've had to have missed school (I know we think that wouldn't have been a problem, but I missed a lot!) and at that time I wasn't aware how easy it was to piece together a flight plus a bus trip.  As a side note, when Shania flew to Chicago with Fulbright, her sister and cousin stayed behind until it was time to get to Michigan so she wouldn't be stuck with the flights to and from DC and housing.  For that same reason, Yuri's husband didn't arrive in Nashville until we were back there.  Anyway, Shania found much cheaper flights for her sister and cousin to Indiana, where Beatriz was, so she bought those tickets for them, thinking they'd just hop in a taxi to the bus station and get a bus to Michigan.  
This singing man is something Guanajuato is known for.  They have an official name, but my Culichi friends all asked me if I'd been callejoneando- alleying.  You pay for a ticket to follow these musicians through the town.  They stop several times, inspiring the group to dance and then telling jokes and stories.  When Donna and I had gone shopping on Tuesday night, we caught the tail end of one of the groups and decided that was enough.  In the old days, it wasn't a tourist event, it was just what happened in the town.  There was wine and music.  Now there's Tang and a ticket.

After the pictures, I decided to get one more massage (this one just legs since I'd been walking on inclines for three days).  It hit the spot.  I went back, got my shower, and left the house at 11 in search of a taxi.  I figured I'd miss the 11:30 bus, but went in hopes anyway.  There was another at 12:30 if I did happen to miss it.  As luck would have it, I made it.  I must've been quite the spectacle with my rolling suitcase, packed backpack, J-Lo hat, pillow, purse, and plastic bag with my pottery!  Tourist!  Coming through!

Schooling and going out

After dinner (that included lots of broccoli and I was SO thankful!), Donna and I had planned on going out for a drink, but before we went, Alina had to put on a show for us.  You gotta give only children their creativity points!  

I had heard from Iván and he ended up telling me that a friend of his owned a bar very near the Theater close to the apartment.  I was hoping that connection would lead to a free drink, but it didn't...

But I met the guy, gave him Iván's best, and Donna and I had a great conversation.  I can't get into the details, but it was good.

We got back before midnight to talk to Tim about what we'd discussed.  They went to bed and I started the attempt to fit almost everything in its appropriate place.  Ha!  I didn't get to bed until about 2 am.  Since it was raining, I closed the window.  That was the answer to the problems.  I slept like a baby.  (Might have helped that I had a week of exhaustion built up!)

Touring with the Tourmaster

Tim is a travel writer (which I think is just a super cool job!).  Touring with him, though, isn't an experience.  I don't mean that in a good way or in a bad way.  It's a neutral statement.  I guess I somewhat expected to hear him rattle off facts of the city.  Or drone on Bill Stein-like about who knows what.  But it was just like being with anyone else.

We headed to the bus stop and took the city bus up to the Mummy Museum.  That's right.  There's a museum in Guanajuato chock full of bodies they exhumed from a church in the early 1900s I think.  Because of the location they were buried, their bodies were preserved far better than anyone had planned.  You'll see.  Legend has it that if a family couldn't keep paying the plot fee, the body was exhumed to make room for a paying customer.  Awesome.

We got off the bus and made our way up yet another hill.  We had to stop to enjoy the view.  Unfortunately, it was overcast, so this picture doesn't do it justice (though no picture in teh best of conditions does this place justice).

We paid our 50 pesos, highway robbery for a museum in Guanajuato (Diego's house was 15 pesos I think- but also a let down).

It was interesting, different, and dare I say it, WEIRD.
One of many along a wall of mummies.
Alina and I do our best mummy pose for the yearbook.
This was the worst one for me.  She was buried alive, likely on accident.  That's preserved dead skin you're looking at.
This one was a close second.  Or maybe a tie.  A mother and her fetus.
Here was attempt two at a yearbook picture.  We'll see if we make the cut!
I had to document this guy sticking out his tongue.
When we left, it was much brighter, and I got some shots I wanted.  Isn't it just a charming little town?
Unfortunately, this is the only picture of Tim I have.  
After we took in the view again, we boarded the city bus back to the mercado and sat down for some lunch.  I should've had the local dish of enchiladas mineras miners' enchiladas, but Donna had convinced me that they were your typical enchiladas.  I asked the woman if the mole was good or if something else would be better.  She gave me a taste of the mole and I was sold.

As I was finishing, she asked me if I liked beans.  I said yes and she served me some!  No charge.

We headed back to the house and I decided to go for a massage.  Donna had shown me a pamphlet of a place close to the apartment.  I decided on a 30 minute shiatsu and a 30 minute facial.  400 pesos later (total) I was relaxed and exfoliated.  That was my first massage and facial experience.  I could get used to it.  I was cracking up that even the receptionist spoke softly.

I made my way back to the house for a shower and some reading and board games before dinner a la Donna.

Shopping

Tim got home and we promptly left him with Alina to go check out a store.  Donna wanted an opinion on some pants, and while she was the reason we went, she ended up empty handed, and I had a new wide-brim hat (so cute!) and skirt (ditto!).  But when you're payin' in pesos, it's not such a headache when you're the only one buying.  Oh that's not true.  I forgot she ended up with a skirt, too.

We got some munchies and headed back to the house.

Francesca

So Alina made friends with a spoiled little brat from California named Francesca.  That's probably not fair; I knew her all of two days.  But I heard stories. 

You'll recall that I said Alina was running out of books to read.  And that we had played some board games.  Well, Francesca from California was only in Guanajuato for three weeks, but brought not one single book.  She had not one single game.  That is unless you count the Wii and Nintendo DS.  So her face was glued to a screen when she wasn't in language school.

Now I'm not a parent.  I'm just a teacher.  And I'm guessing that if I ever have kids, I will fall victim to the tv, the electronic games, etc.  All those things I loathe because I see what kinds of students it makes I'm sure I'll fall back on.  However, three weeks in a foreign country with lots to do seems a little much to bring a Wii for goodness sake!

To the real story.  After my site-seeing on Tuesday (and book buying), I got home and Donna said that Francesca's mom had called and her husband was fixing ceviche if we wanted to come over.  He's a famous chef, or at least very successful.  We said yes.

Interestingly enough, here I was about to eat seafood after I had completely banished the thought for lunch.

The ceviche Isak had fixed was made with squid.  And because of the hour (1am Thurs morning), I'm having a hard time remembering the pretty word for that.

Anyway, I ate enough in Spain to do me for a lifetime, but I was hungry enough to try this famous stuff.

One had an asian flavor with some soy sauce.  It was good.
The other had mango.  It was pretty much divine.  I had to stop when Isak went on and on about how he left it so raw that most people wouldn't eat it.  

That's not all he said.  By the end of the night, I was pretty much sick of hearing him talk about himself.  He made "the best guacamole you'll ever taste" because he layered the lime juice and olive oil and I don't even remember what else.  I disagreed because I've grown to like my guac a little bit stirred instead of straight avocado chunks, but whatever dude.  They pay you the big bucks to please the crowds (he told me on more then one occasion).

My goodness I was glad when we had to get back so Donna could feed Alina and so we would be in the house when Tim got in!

After I left, I semi regretted not getting his last name or contact in case I'm in California.  It seems he's pretty wealthy and powerful.  They were staying at this house for three weeks (he just came for the last one, naturally) for free because some business associate owed him a ridiculous amount of money.  They were going to be using the Guanajuato house for the next ten years.  Interesting.

Also, along the lines of last names.  He dissected Klapheke.  I wish I could remember what he said it had to be.  Had to be.  Please.  And then I explained that Mom had gone from the only Klapheke in the phone book to the only Ambach.  He proceeded to tell me that we were Welsh.  Every Berry is Welsh.  He didn't even touch Ambach.

I was so irritated.  I don't do well with people whose accomplishments and coolness speak for themselves, but who completely shatter both of those things by dousing you with that information with their own mouths.  Ugh!

Donna was more than in agreement.  "I had predicted he would be completely full of himself!"

She was right.  I was glad to be back in the East Nashville hood of Guanajuato.