Here we go

I apologize for the dramatic delay in the final posts. To say I've been bust these three weeks of being home would be quite the understatement. However, couple that with a severe dose of unexpected culture shock (it did not look like I expected it to!), and you get no blog entries (or even attempts)! We're well on the way, though.

I last left you with two weeks left in Culiacán, but only one week left with Alma before her big departure to my homeland. We had been to Cosalá with the PISI folks and it was a great time. After getting back, Mayra had blown the surprise in order to secure my attendance at my own going away party. So now we're to the week of Alma's departure...

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.