An almost final farewell?

I'm not in Mexico anymore. So it seems silly to continue with this blog. In the upcoming weeks, I might have a post or two of reflections or whinging about the things I miss (and don't miss), but for the most part, I think it's time to move on.

So here's my new blog, Peep Show, because I am entirely unoriginal, as I state in the URL. Change your links or add to your follow list; whatever suits your fancy. I'll catch y'all on the flip side.

The more I see, the less I know

It's cold and raining here in Los Angeles.

Let's go back, south of the border, where it's 85˚ F and the avocados and strawberries are a dime a dozen.

Between the idea and the reality

Taking off over Oaxaca

This is the way the world my trip to México ends: not with a bang but a whimper. I was just sitting there in the airport, listening to my iPod. No melodramatic crying. Maybe there was a little tearing up when I said goodbye to my host mum, but relatively uneventful. Even last night, which was incredibly fun, still sort of let me down (mostly because I have an overactive imagination and I was to come to pass does not ever come to pass).

And now, back in Los Angeles, sitting in my room, everything feels so familiar. But I don't want it to.

I want to go back to México.

Landing in Mexico City

Baggage

I'm all packed, but it was a painful process. I'm pretty sure I'm over the weight limit, and I'm leaving a ton of shit behind.

Last night was our last night out, and while we did not stay up to watch the sun rise, we did manage not to all start sobbing. The sobbing happened this morning, just befor 7 a.m., when we saw Melissa and Catherine off the airport. I'm leaving at a quarter to three. I don't even want to think if there will be some sort of floodgate opening at that point.

It just feels like I'm losing a little part of me. Which sounds stupid, but it's the truth.

One thing I won't miss

I was waiting for Sara in the deportivo yesterday when, as usual, some guy thinks he can make my day by trying to chat me up. This time it was a fat, middle-aged postman.

I saw him come in on his bike and stop about fifty feet from me, starring. I could just see the gears turning in his head, deciding how to approach me. He bikes over and stops dead in front of me and asks for the time. I tell him it’s ten past four. He stays right where he is, unsure as to what to do next. Apparently my friendly but detached tone and eyes looking everywhere but at him aren’t enough of a hint, and he puts his bicycle off to the side and sits down next to me and proceeds to ask me fifteen minutes worth of awkward questions, punctuated by even more awkward silences, but even my obvious disinterest doesn't deter him. Even after Sara arrives and we start to walk to Chedraui, he actually follows us on his bike. Talk about really not getting the hint.

Look, I understand that he was just trying to be nice. I'm sure his intentions weren't exactly pure, but I know he didn't mean anything offensive by trying to chat with una güera bonita. But that doesn't mean I have to talk back if I don't want to, and when someone can't take a hint, that's annoying. Estoy esperando para una amiga means I came here with a purpose that did not include talking to you, and since I am clearly not engrossed in our conversation, you should be able to infer that I'm just not interested and leave with some dignity.

But I guess that's just not what they do here. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I? I certainly won't miss it though.



In other more positive deportivo news, I went to watch the Northern Englishman play football today. Not only did no one hit on me (yay!), but we chatted for about an hour after the game, and then he walked me home. I'm just so in love with his the way his pronounces his Os and Us. Oh, Leeds' accents. Le sigh.

I made a pie

Chocolate peanut butter cream cheese pie. For desert tomorrow.

Yum!

Double standards come doubly standard

Obviously, Mexico is a very different place from the United States. And even after three months, the amount of double standards imposed on relationships is still jarring.

Mexican guys are incredibly jealous.* Once a girl has a boyfriend, she better not even think about looking at another guy, because her boyfriend will get jealous. Guys here have that macho sense of pride, and they simply can’t (or are conditioned to not be able to) take any indication that their girlfriends might be noticing something other than them.

But Mexican guys are also two-timing assholes.*

Seriously, while a girl in a relationship can’t step a toe out of line, Mexican boys will flirt with anyone (especially white girls) even if they’re already engaged (something I experienced on Saturday). But if you tell them you’re not interested because they have a girlfriend (which I have done**), they still think there’s nothing wrong with their behavior. A guy who was trying to convince me to… well, probably just fuck him (who had a girlfriend in Puebla**) said, “We’re young. We should be living in the moment!” Yeah, that is not sound moral reasoning for cheating on your girlfriend. I’m still not interested.

But guys here in Mexico can get away with this, and they do get away with it.

Probably the best example of this was this girl Monica that started talking to Melissa and me one night while we were walking around near Santo Domingo. When Melissa told her she had a boyfriend back in the states, the girl asked, “And he doesn’t cheat on you, even though you’re in Mexico?”

No, he doesn’t, Melissa responded, and not just because I would kill him. Because being in a relationship, theoretically, means a tacit agreement to respect your partner, and that means not cheating on them.

But maybe that's just my silly, American perspective.


*Obviously there are exceptions. There always are. So for every generalization I make here, just take that as a given, because stating it every time I write something is stupid.
**His first hint should've been when I saw him again and asked pointedly, "How's your girlfriend doing?", but he kept trying nonetheless.

The imminent end

So I leave Mexico on Saturday.

I want to go home and see my friends and family, but I don't want to leave. This place, even with all it's flaws, is so wonderful and fucking awesome and I feel at home here. It feels like so long ago that I arrived, that the five of us went on our trip to Monte Alban and took the most awkward photo on the face of the planet (above), not touching each other or anything, and then the next group photo (a whole forty-five minutes later) with our arms round each other, looking as friendly as can be. There are five copies on that super-awkward photo, one on each of our cameras.

Going on trips to foreign countries with a large group, I've done before. And you feel really close, but they only last 10 days, or 20 days, and then you send messages on Facebook occasionally but essentially forget about them. But you realize how superficial that is when you have a three-month long experience to compare it to. I think it's impossible to share a trip like this one with four other girls and not actually remain friends.

It's strange to think about the life I'll be going back to; how quickly it will seem normal again. How even if I wanted to recapture this trip, I never could, not even by coming back here.

What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.

Last night she said, "Baby, I feel so down."

Getting free Mezcal is natch, y'all.

And yelling the words to "Last Night" in between songs to get the band to play the Strokes? Drunken joy.

And pictures of me smiling with a lime rind for teeth? Well, that's just class with a capital K.

Mexican Thanksgiving

They don't have Thanksgiving here. Obviously. But we did Thanksgiving anyway. Or at least, we tried.

I never did find cranberries (fresh or frozen) for my cranberry sauce, so I bought to-go mashed potatoes from Chedraui, which were actually delicious.

Ashley couldn't find regular cornmeal, so she had to buy blue corn tortilla flour. It was too fine and the consistency of the cornbread for the stuff was off. By the time we ate, she was a bit tipsy and kept calling her stuffing "the blue shit" and apologising for ruining Thanksgiving with it. And there ain't nothing funnier than a pissed Southern girl doing the Stanky Leg and going on about her blue stuffing.

But the turkey she made was delish, and that's the most important part.

Mentira no, tíralo, pásalo písalo

I never listened to reggaeton back in the states. Not that I have any particular prejudice against it; no, I got over feeling superior to any type of music (except Christmas music) a long time ago. But I just didn't listen to it, or pay it any attention.

But, y'all, I love reggaeton now. And also possibly gangsta' rap? (That one is all Catherine's fault.)





Is it sad that this is probably the song I would consider most definitive of my experience in Mexico? Because they play it freakin' everywhere.





Is this song technically reggaeton? I'm not sure. But it's really amazing.



Okay, this is just Spanish pop music. But I'm addicted.

When time stands still

Something Ashley said over the weekend, when discussing how unusual beach weather is for us in November: "It feels like time is standing still here. Like I'll get back to Tennessee and it'll be August 23."

It's strange how true that is. My whole time here has felt like a huge vacation, even with the few days I had actual coursework. Maybe it's because half the courses won't actually count for anything, or because the ones that do are really easy. But everything is so carefree and easygoing, and I don't feel like I'm doing any work.

And it's not just the relaxing state of mind here. Everything is so different, yet I've settled into my routine and this city like anything else. It doesn't feel foreign, but the fact that I know it is only adds to its unreality. This is not my real life; therefore, my real life must be on pause. I will go back, as I have before with every other vacation, and not much will have happened in my absence.

Of course, my second longest vacation was only three weeks. When I got back, it was still summer, and the things that had happened didn't seem very important. It was still summer, the sun would still set late, my friends and I would still stay out until 3 a.m. every night. Life picked up pretty much where it had let off.

Now, when I go back, it will be winter (though that might not mean much in LA) and all my friends will still be in school. They will have spent an entire semester without me, and maybe they missed my presence, but more than likely they adjusted long ago and forgot to even notice.

I think the reason time seems to be standing still, even more so than the unchanging (okay, barely changing) weather and surreality of it all, is the fact that we, as humans, are inherently selfish and unable to comprehend most things bigger than ourselves. And our worlds, my world, revolve around us. What happens when we can't see it, aren't there it experience it, well, it ceases to exist. We know that's not really true, but it's how we I perceive things anyway. My normal life and everything it entails are not here, therefore I can't imagine how the things in my normal life are getting on without me.

So that world is standing still.

And it'll be waiting for me when I get back, right?

Eating popcorn on a piano

Jillian, Melissa, and I were walking to school this morning when Jillian suddenly exclaimed, "Guess what I did last night!"

I thought it might be something saucy, as the other night we went lingerie shopping (at the Mexican equivalent of TJ Maxx's, no less) and were talking very loudly about her boyfriend and which teddy would make her boobs look bigger, etc., and we really hope no one in that store spoke English. So I thought it might be something like that.

No, it wasn't.

"I stayed up 'till 1 a.m. watching 'Hamster on a Piano'," she says.

I just don't even know what to say.

Like high school

I can't help but feel just a little bit giddy.

This is from the sixteen-year-old, by the way. Who is now seventeen. Yeeeeeep.

No hay honor más grande que ser un charolastra

Huatulco is much, much better than Puerto Escondido. There are a lot more beaches, especially tiny bays that are only accessible by boat and are therefore much less crowded. We went on a boat ride (I'm on a boat!), went snorkeling, held puffer fish, ate a fish that Ashley caught for lunch, went to a ridiculously lame club that charged a ridiculous cover of 100 pesos and was so not worth it, and flirted with a cute Northern Englishman (okay, that last one was just me).


And look! It's the beach from Y Tu Mamá También! Our visit to which actually led to an argument about whether or not one of the characters fucked the other character's mom, because Justine was adamant that this is what happened, because that's the title of the movie. But that was just a joke he made. I think. If anyone knows the answer, please do tell. This is a matter of some importance that needs to be resolved, for the good of mankind!

We had the day off school today for 20 de noviembre, which is Friday. (I know, it makes perfect sense. It's just, like, logic.) So I've sat around all day, not really doing anything, and now I must get back to the real world and finish the two short stories I've been putting off all weekend.

Something not related to how sick I am

I went to the doctor yesterday; it turns out I have an intestinal infection. Yay! That's always super fun. (It's never super fun.) So the past four days have been wholly uninteresting, with me mostly sitting in my room, clutching first my head (it was really bad the first two days), then my stomach, moaning as the evil bacteria and my immune system had a battle to the death. Which is still going on by the way, but I think the bacteria are losing too many men and can hardly call for re-enforcements from inside my intestines, so they are attacking less frequently, relying on the element of surprise. But my immune system is like, WHAT. WE HAVE ANTI-BIOTICS NOW. SUCK ON THAT. It's like unleashing the A-bomb. (No, it's not.)

Why am I humanising my illness? I'm so weird.

Anyway. Some stuff about last week that is actually interesting and doesn't involve my digestive tract:

1) The Optometry Clinic!

Isn't this little old lady adorable? I swear, she kept changing outfits and coming in every 15 minutes. (She obviously did not do this.) But a lot of the old people tend to look alike. Well, there are types. And it's like, DUDE, YOU WERE HERE YESTERDAY. But they weren't.

And this cutie!


Aw!

It was a really great experience. Glasses don't really seem like such an expensive deal, but for most people here, it's either get glasses or eat. Guess which one usually wins out.


2) Chiapas!

As I said before, Chiapas was great, even if there were a lot of problems with our pants. First, on Friday, they got really wet in the rain and our hotel was being a bitch about letting us dry them, because we hadn't washed them first? Whatever. We ended up waiting for two hours and paying 10 pesos to put them in the dryer for ten minutes. But then they were dry and toasty, so that was nice.

Then, on Saturday, we went horseback riding, which was awful because a) cheap saddles are uncomfortable and bruise your inner thighs and b) my horse was retarded and kept falling into pitholes and my pants were COVERED in dirt. But other than the Epic Pants Fiasco, we had a lot of fun.

Horsey!

A typical street in San Cristobal de las Casas. It's a very cute little town, even though the centro is super European-looking. Well, Mediterranean-looking.

We hiked all the way up to that church.

And all the way up these stairs. At the top of which there was another church. Naturally.

Jill stepped on a candle in the church in San Juan Chamula (pictured), a tiny town about half an hour out of San Cristobal, where they have no pews but instead candles and pine needles everywhere whilst they perform 'exorcisms' with Pepsi from the 80s (they believe you can expel bad spirits in burps). You're not allowed to take pictures inside the church. They have a tendency to smash cameras.


And then there was the jungle in el Cañón de Sumidero!

An actual crocodile, in the wild!




Lions and tigers and bears Jaguars and toucans and parrots, oh my!

And now I'm off to Huatulco for the weekend. I know, brilliant idea to go to the beach when I'm sick. Whatever. Some relaxation (in the shade, as the doctor told me to avoid the sun) will be nice.

I hope I don't have swine flu

Chiapas was great, and I would've done a nice, long post about it much, sooner, but I've been (and still am) very sick. I have a tension headache that is in its third day, so I pretty much want to kill myself. Seriously, I walk up and down the stairs so slowly that my family mocks me. I AM PITIFUL.

Nearsighted

I spent the past three days translating for a free optometry clinic in Zimatlán. And I would post all about it, but I have to leave for Chiapas in two minutes.

Although it turns out I am very slightly nearsighted.

Catch y'all on the flip side.

Deep-fried fun

Jill and I went to the fair outside the Panteón General last night. I just have to say that Mexican carnivals are 394395734857 times better than American ones, because they let you stay on the rides much longer and they jump on to the moving platform to shake the car and spin you round.

It would be an OSHA nightmare. But it's awesome.

Plus if you want a milkshake sugar milk-water to go, they put it in a plastic bag which I find hee-larious.

No one on the corner has swagger like us

This weekend has been pretty freakin' amazing, and I promise I will post pictures soon someday. But for now I have just a few tidbits.


Last night, at one point, we (Catherine, her friend Tara, and I) were in a bar in the seediest part of Oaxaca. We were going to leave soon, but I was already quite fed up with the place. This guy comes up to me with a bottle of something neon green and asks if I want a shot.

"No thanks," I say.

"Come on, it's only water."

"No mames,*" I said, because, Fucking seriously?

"Okay," he says, "it's water with lime."

"No mames," I repeat, and then turn away.

Half an hour later, we finally left that bar to meet up with Jill, Carlos, and Dulce. We walked in to the band playing "Last Night" and it made me so happy, I completely forgot to care about that stupid bar. And we all sang along, really loudly and obnoxiously, because that's what the Strokes do to us white girls.


Then after that bar, around 3 a.m., on my way home with Carlos, Jill, and Dulce, Jill and I started singing "Paper Planes" in our attempts to be gangsta'. Dulce and Carlos found this very funny, even though I don't think they understand the lyrics (they don't speak English). But I'm sure thug stares translated perfectly.


*Don't bullshit

I ain't your guera

Last night I was at the Panteón General, waiting for my host sister, when some random, middle-aged guy saw me, yelled, "Guera!", tried to put his arm around me, and indicated to someone in his party to take a photo.

I was like, Um, no, I am not a display in a museum.

Bitch, I ain't your white girl.

Sugar & spice

Sugar & spice, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Día de los Muertos festivities kicked off yesterday. We all went to Ashley's apartment to build an altar, which turned out awesomely. For right now, you'll have to make due with only a picture of one of the sugar skulls (you can't eat them until November 2, when the holiday is over, otherwise los muertos will come and paint your face at night), but hopefully I'll upload many more more pictures. Because Oaxaca goes crazy for Muertos. We already went and saw a danza de los muertos last night at the Casa de Cultura, and the holiday isn't technically until November 1.

And I know I've posted this already, but because it's Muertos and it's so fantastic, I'm just gonna go ahead and do it again.

Shit

"Me gusta ver a ti," me dijo.

Oh dear, I think but don't say, you're sixteen. You're sixteen. You're sixteen.

But damn, you're fucking cute.



When I got home, I opened the door to find Daca asleep on the stairs. My entrance woke up him and he seemed really fucking terrified for a minute, so I asked him what he was doing, you know, sleeping on the stairs. He didn't really have an answer, other than, 'I just sat down there for a sec' and denied being drunk. But the loud stumbling up the stairs and running into walls begged to differ.

Fish of the day

Between writing papers about Mexican economics (in Spanish), going to the gym five days a week and ballet class two, finding time to go out and absorb as much 'culture' as possible, and flirting with cute (possibly underage) Mexican boys, I have sort of neglected blogging. I apologise. I know I have a hundreds, possibly thousands, of people reading this blog, constantly checking for updates only to be disappointed when they are short and sparse.* I'm sorry. I really am.

It's just that when life is really exciting, or at least closer to exciting than it usually is, I become impatient with writing about it and instead just want to live it. Which is, I know, a crazy notion, and you must be thinking, Damn, that girl is original. Carpe diem!

But even though I want to live in the moment, I would also like to remember the moment. So I am going to try and be better. Also, NaNoWriMo starts in two and half days, so hopefully I'll be writing for a good portion of every day and it'll just flow over into my blog. Or I'll be so sick of writing that I'll write even less. Either way.

And finally, the most amusing chocolate milk you will ever see:


Remember, it's only racism when white people do it!


*I don't not have hundreds, much less thousands, of followers. I have four. And they are not checking constantly for updates.

What happens in México

"Fermin just texted me, 'te portes bien'," Catherine said at the beginning of class one Friday. "What does that mean?"

"It means 'behave yourself'," I told her. "Good advice for you."

"Te portes bien? No, no, no. Eres joven; debes portarte mal," said our teacher, Ana Maria.


Well, if our teacher says so, we should listen to her.

Five-day weekend

I have gone out every night since Wednesday.



When did I become cool?

That was awkward

I was at the deportivo today, waiting for my intercambio who was running late, and this guy starts talking to me, like, whatever, it's all good, I'm used to it now. Anyway, we chat for a bit, he doesn't seem that interesting, but that's okay, because look! Sara is here now.

I try to give him the brush off and he asks for my phone number, like any decent, persistent Mexican would. But I have still yet to actually learn my Mexican cell phone number, and he lost his phone. So he asks for Sara's number, and says he will text her and she can send him my number.

I find this a bit weird and borderline offensive (to Sara, not to me), but apparently people in Mexico do this quite often? Ah, cultural differences. Those white girls' numbers are valuable, y'know!

New vocabulary

We spent the weekend in pequeñito town of Benito Juarez in the Sierra Norte Mountains. And when they say 'mountains', they are not fucking kidding around. Look at that picture! Pine trees! Heavy cloud cover! Really cold weather! Very high altitude!

We went ziplining and hiking to waterfalls and making s'mores in our cabin fireplace (and roasting the marshmellows on actual sticks instead of metal pokers; my mum would have a heart attack). For lunch I had trucha (trout), but not a filet; no, the actual whole fish, skin and bones and head and eyes and all, and it was delicious as well as insanely amusing. I nearly died laughing as we explained Twilight and taught the word 'clusterfuck' to Justine, our Belgian director.

We should go camping more often.

Estoy bromeando

"Ah, ¡me gustan tus aretes! Son muy bonitas. Yo recuerdo cuando mis hijas eran niñas y les compraba cosas como estas," mi maestra me dijo.

"Puedes comprarme estas cosas, si tú quieres," yo dije.

We're not from here

It's never surprised me much that the United States would have a holiday celebrating the beginning of the end for countless millions of Native Americans. We are a nation made up of, primarily, the very white people who did the raping and pillaging and spreading of highly contagious diseases and enslaving and murdering. And we won, in the end. We got rid of most of those pesky indigenous people who were in the way of our land, our resources, our purple mountains majesty, whatever. It's only fit that we celebrate Columbus Day.

But it really surprised me that they celebrate it here in Mexico.

But I suppose I shouldn't complain too much, because we got the day off for it today.

Melissa and I went shopping on Alcalá, a street with the nicer shops, and maybe it's just because I'm usually not out in the Centro at that time or maybe we're approaching the high traffic season here in Oaxaca, but there were a lot of middle-aged and retirement-aged white tourists.

Y'all can probably already tell that I hate other tourists.

I know I'm technically a tourist, but I like to think of myself as better than a tourist, because I'm studying here, and living with a family, and I actually speak Spanish. So, I tell myself, I'm not really a tourist.

But the reason I really hate tourists is because seeing them reminds me exactly of what I am. And when trying so hard to reason that I'm not a real tourist, that's not the kind of reminder I like to have.

We met (well, Melissa met) these two women in this shop, La Mano Mágica, one of whom was from the same town in Florida as Melissa is. And as we wound our way through a couple shops, we kept running into them, as is wont to happen when you're shopping on the same street. They did not speak Spanish at all, which I actually relish, because it means I get to feel superior. And I as I was speaking Spanish to the owner of a jewelry store, feeling very superior, I told him that we were studying in Oaxaca until December, and he said we should come and help translate for a clinic of American optometrists that is going to some nearby pueblos to give out free glasses the first week of November.

See? Trying to be superior is a good thing.

Hogar de las Niñas

We had them draw their favourite animal and (at the behest of the Doña, who insisted the activity had to include some component where they could practise writing) write the name of the animal and their own names.







We also gave them chocolate. This photo was actually taken by one of the older girls; she's 13 and she actually took some pretty good shots. I told her she should be a photographer.

Molé Chile Ancho

We actually took this cooking class ages ago (September 17, to be exact) and I'm just now getting around to making the recipe post. I KNOW, FOR SHAME. Oh well.

So, to begin: molé is the pre-hispanic word for sauce. There are about a million different types of molé because there are a million different types of chiles, not to mention every Dick and Jane (what would the Spanish equivalent of that be? Ricardo y... Jane? Hmmm, things to ponder) does their own thing with molé (of course). Each type of molé has a specific type of meat it's served with, usually with rice and tortillas on the side. And the spiciness, bitterness, sweetness, whateverness of the molé varies wildly by recipe. The molé we made was hardly spicy and very smoky with only a hint of bitterness (the good kind of bitterness; yes, such a thing exists).

We started by going to the market for, you know, a real authentic experience. Of course, our cooking instructor was the one buying all the ingredients while we were relegating to standing around and holding random things as he handed them to us, but we did get to watch our chicken filets get pounded!


I have to admit that all in all, I did very little of the actual cooking, as we had one pot of molé and eight people to cook it. But even though I have heard all about the painstaking process that is preparing molé, this seemed remarkably easy. So easy that I'm pretty sure any gringo can do it on their own, although you might need to go to a Hispanic or specialty food market to find the chiles, as I've never seen dried chiles at Ralph's.

Without further ado, the recipe!

Molé sauce:
125 grams chile ancho
6 tomatoes (chopped)
1/2 onion (chopped)
5 garlic cloves (chopped)
1 roll of bread (cut in halves)
1 large stick of cinnamon
oregano
pepper
sugar
vegetable oil

Rice:
1/2 kilogram rice (2 cups)
3 garlic cloves (chopped)
1/4 onion (chopped)
salt
vegetable oil

Chicken:
9 fillets
1 clove garlic (chopped)
salt

Directions:
Take seeds and veins out of chiles. Fry all molé ingredients separately in vegetable oil, then let sit in pot of water until soft. Add pepper and oregano.


Put rice and vegetable oil into pot and cook over stove. Blend garlic, onion, and salt in blender, then pour into the pot with rice.

Boil the chicken, garlic, and salt in a pot of water.

Take all molé ingredients from pot of water and blend with water from the chicken. Fill the blender up about halfway with the molé ingredients and use 1 cup of the chicken water. Repeat until all mole ingredients have been blended.

Use a strainer to filter the blended molé and remove all big chunks of ingredients. (This is very important, as some of the chile fibers can upset your stomach.) Filter sauce into a large pot cooking over stove on very low heat (it takes awhile to strain, and you don't want it to burn). Add sugar and salt to taste, but keep in mind it should be a bit bitter. To make the molé thicker, add pieces of bread blended with a little water. Once you've achieved the desired taste and viscosity, let the molé come to a very gentle boil if it hasn't already done so.

Serve mole sauce over the chicken with rice on the side.


¡Qué sabroso!

Streetwalking

So I was out and aboot last night with my friends, and we were walking to some bar or another, when I suddenly hear someone yell, "ARIELLE!"

I think, Oh shit, who could that be? because it's probably someone I met with the intention of never seeing again.


It was Daca, our new student.

"Mi hermana!" he calls out in his bad Spanish accent.

I hope he was drunk.

La eterna feminina

Right about now, I should be writing an essay on 'la mujer'. That is just the general topic I was given; I can write about anything I please so long as it pertains to women.

Don't you love specific, focused topics? They make everything so much easier.

But here's the real kicker: the class this is for ended exactly a week ago today. I see the teacher every day, so she told me not to worry and turn it in whenever.

I feel as though I might be 'pushing it', so to speak.

Daca (pronounced de-gah)

Naomi left today at 7 a.m. and before 5 p.m., we had a new student! It's like exchanging something at Target: easier than pie!

I am kidding.

His name is Daca (pronounce de-gah; he's Vietnamese) and he's from Vancouver. Which means I get to make lots of lovely Canada jokes. And I already started, with making fun of the "soory" and the "eh" thing when we were chatting with Margarita. Anyway.

When I first met him, I introduced myself in Spanish, of course, not realizing then that he barely speaks Spanish. We went down to the kitchen so he could eat something, and as we sat down, he worriedly asked, "Do you speak English?"

It was the biggest compliment I've received thus far.

Oasis

Hierve el Agua, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Today we went to Hierve el Agua, which is a bunch of mountain springs and petrified waterfalls. I guess I (okay, most of us) missed the mountain springs part, because I (we) forgot to bring swimsuits. I have no idea why that went over my head, because I am always up for some swimmin' and chillin' in temperate water (everyone said the water was cold; whatever, it's warmer than the water in LA) but it did go over my head.

Anyway, we complete our hike around the petrified waterfalls, and it was unexpectedly grueling, with lots of uphill-ness and stairs and generally tiring things. And it was hot. Really hot. It's been hot here all week, but it felt especially hot after that hike (duh).

So I jumped in. In my bra and shorts. And it felt soooooo good.

I needed to wash this bra anyway.

Puerto, Pt. 1

We took the last camioneta out of Oaxaca, at 11.30 p.m. We were all prepared for a long, windy ride, but somehow we didn't realise just how bad it would be until one of the other passengers put a bag of chapulínes in the back and Ashley complained that it smelled like gerbil food.

Like I said, that was just the beginning.

The road to Puerto Escondido winds through the mountains for seven to nine hours, during which it will most likely rain at some point (especially at night) as you are trying to traverse very narrow roads full of rocks at 70 mph. Not to mention the fact that there are topes (speed bumps) every time you pass through a pueblo, apparently to stop you from hitting people/animals? I don't know exactly. All I know is that about half an hour in to our journey, we had all started to settle in, trying to find a comfortable way to sleep, when our driver went way to fast over a tope and we all bounced at least a foot into the air.

It turned out our driver was crazy, because he let the guy who brought the chapulínes drive through the mountains, and he was driving entirely too fast with a fogged up windshield, and Melissa kept yelling at him and almost lost her shit.

Anyway, after nine grueling hours (I probably shouldn't complain because I was asleep for most of them, punctuated by waking up randomly and saying things in Spanish to Melissa) we finally got to Puerto Escondido and found a hotel (yes, we left having no idea where we were going to stay--we are so cool and spontaneous!) and everything was peachy. We got a ghetto cabaña with a toilet, shower head, and sink for a bathroom and mosquito nets for $8 each per night.

And then we went to the beach.

Open up your plans and then you're free, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Totally worth it.

Speaking the English

One of my teachers was ill today, so after my first class I went to the Zócalo with Ashley. We were approached by this group of girls in school uniforms who asked us, in broken English, if they could talk to us for a school project. Of course, that meant that they would film our 'interview' for their class project. Which, okay, whatever, it's all good.

They ask us if we like Oaxaca, where we've visited, if we like the food, if we like Mezcal. When we say, Yeah, Mezcal is okay, they give Ashley a shot of Mezcal. And she takes it. AT ELEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING.

We did interviews for another two groups, but we both passed on the Mezcal they offered.


I hope their teacher enjoys watching the same two white girls three times in a row.

What happens in Puerto Escondido stays escondido

Puerto Escondido was amazing, if not extremely touristy in all the worst ways, and I'm going to post a more detailed account later, BUT.

My host mom was wearing a NEON PINK TRACKSUIT THIS MORNING. I feel like this is of paramount importance. I am currently trying to find out the reason behind this outfit, and I will report back a.s.a.p.

Also, I have a cough and can barely talk which makes the way I like living my life (with a lot of talking) very difficult.

Knocked up

The university teachers have been on strike since Wednesday, so they've been taking us on "excursions" to various villages outside Oaxaca City, like this organic paper mill and an art school at Vista Hermosa yesterday and various artesian shops and a market in Ocotlan today.

We also had a surprise baby shower for one of our directors, Layla, who is due in October. It all went really smoothly and even though we hired a clown (yes, A CLOWN), he was crazy and hilarious.

And we're off to Puerto Escondido at 11 p.m. tonight, and I won't be back until Tuesday morning. Have a nice weekend, everyone!

Those bad idea jeans don't even fit

You know what's a bad idea? Going to an hour and a half long ballet class after not dancing for a month, and then going to yoga the very next day.

My shoulders are going to fall out of my neck. My legs can barely move in my hip sockets. GOD, I AM SUCH AN OLD LADY.

Mexican "lasaña"?

Mexican "lasaña"?, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Doesn't this look delicious? BECAUSE IT WAS.

This is what we had for lunch on Sunday at this super-expensive*, trendy, gastronomic-type restaurant. This was the Mexican "lasaña", and it was just layers of smoked salmon, tomato, and avocado.

Not lasagna, technically, but still quite tasty.



*Expensive is relative. It was the most expensive place we've eaten at by far, but I just looked at my bank statement and I only spent $18 there.

I love the smell of AK-47s in the morning

A few weeks back, we were taking a taxi home at 1 AM when we saw a guy standing on a street corner in Ashley's neighborhood, holding a semi-automatic weapon.

"Holy shit!" I yelled. "What the fuck is that?"

"Oh, my host mom told me about him," Ashley said. "He's just political."

"Those must be some strong politics."

Later, when we were all more sober, Ashley explained that people standing on street corners in residential neighborhoods with guns were actually bodyguards for people involved in politics. Oh, that makes more sense, although it's hardly comforting because THEY STILL HAVE SEMI-AUTOMATIC WEAPONS.


Tonight Catherine and I were walking home around 11:30 p.m. and saw a bodyguard, which doesn't surprise me anymore. Only he was wearing a bandana over his mouth, and it was the first thing I saw and it FREAKED MY SHIT OUT. Because you know who I've ever seen wearing bandanas over their mouths? Guerrillas. I'm just sayin'.

My silly Spanish ramblings

Feel free to point and laugh.

La memoria es una parte del cerebro donde se almacenan los eventos que ocurren, las caras y los nombres de las personas las cuales se conocen, los datos, las ideas sobre el futuro, y todos los otros pensamientos. No es un lugar físico, pero es una conexión de nervios la cual puede procesar y guiar la información que recibe desde los sentidos. La información que la sinopsis nerviosa recibe desde las experiencias personales son los recuerdos. Un recuerdo es un evento el que ocurre, una persona la cual conoce, o un lugar el que ha visto, pero no es un dato el cual se lea en un libro. Cuando se piensa sobre un recuerdo, la sinopsis le da una foto de la cosa que se quiere reconocer. Por ejemplo, tiene recuerdos de mamá, y cuando piense en ella, el cerebro produce una imagen de ella. Cuando la sinopsis no puede obtener la información de un recuerdo, dato, o pensamiento, se vuelve un olvido, y no lo tiene en su memoria al presente. Las fechas las que no se pueden recordar durante un examen de historia son olvidos.

And it breaks my heart

We went and visited Hogar de Las Niñas, a local girls' orphanage, to discuss volunteer opportunities with the director, and we've decided we're going to come on Saturday afternoons to sing songs or organise art projects. I can't wait to start working with these girls, because they're all so well-behaved, and apparently very starved for attention, because they only have four regular employees for thirty-five girls.

They are so cute and absolutely heartbreaking. I was talking to one of them, and she said she was born in May or July. It's definitely one of those things that's never even occurred to me--not knowing when you were born. I can't even imagine.

Taking the plunge

They eat grasshoppers here.

Now, that might sound like the start of a rant into all the gross, weird things here that I don’t like, but it’s not.

They’re called chapulínes.

My host mother offered me some on my second day here, and I even though I knew they would be tasty (I mean, they’re crunchy and covered in garlic and lemon; it’s like a potato chip without the trans fat), I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I knew it would taste good (maybe even great), but I looked at them, and they looked like grasshoppers (SHOCKER, I KNOW) and I just couldn’t do it. They had legs. I mean, legs. That could start moving again at any moment. (They could not start moving again at any moment.)

I told my host mother to put them in my food without telling me, and I would eat them.

I’m not good at taking the plunge. Well, that might be a lie. I did come here, knowing no one, on a program I found at a study abroad fair that no one at my university had ever heard of or had anything to say about. And I actually did that before, when I signed up for debate/journalism camp in Italy two summers ago.

I think I’ve digressed.

I’m not usually good at taking the plunge. Especially physical plunges, like just running into the Pacific Ocean (it’s cold!) or jumping into the pool (it might be cold!) or, apparently, eating grasshoppers (I’M SORRY, BUT THE WAY THEY LOOK IS JUST FREAKING ME OUT).

Last weekend we were at this market, and Ashley bought a bag of chapulínes for everyone to share. And I took one out of the bag and stared at it for what must’ve been a second but felt like an eternity, thinking Just fucking do it already, just fucking do it, it won't be that bad, just fucking DO IT, and then just fucking did it.

My host mom said, “Oh, you wouldn’t eat them before, and now you say you ate them at the market!”

This city is smaller than I thought

This afternoon we went to cooking lessons, which were fun and delicious, and I will post pictures and the recipe soon, but I have more important news.

We saw that obnoxious white girl at the Zócalo today! That is the second time we've seen her in public since eavesdropping on her at the café. (I didn't mention it but I actually saw her the same night, walking down the street.)

She is clearly stalking us. (Clearly, she is not stalking us.) I wonder if she still hates Mexicans as much as she did on Saturday.

¡Viva México!

¡Viva!, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Yesterday (and technically today too, because we get it off? I dunno) was Mexican Independence Day. I wore a green skirt, red tank top, and white overshirt. People kept looking at me, as if thinking, "Is she doing that on purpose, or is she just retarded?"

It does feel a bit strange to go to someone else's country and celebrate their national holidays, acting like you actually live there, and I sometimes felt yesterday that I was being one of those white people. But then I remembered that this is really just a big party and an excuse to get drunk. Also, CULTURAL IMMERSION.

First we went to a party our school was throwing (complete with a mechanical bull, totally appropriate) and I finally saw the very attractive teacher from Germany. When the girls finally got him to dance, they basically took turns molesting him and I was like, DUDE, THAT'S YOUR TEACHER, IT'S GOING TO BE SO AWKWARD ON THURSDAY. But, you know, after enough tequila, you really don't care.

In the evening, after Mexican pizza (onions, sausage, chorizo, and jalapeños) at Ashley's apartment, we went to the Zócalo for the Grito, where everyone yells, "¡Viva México!" a lot and then there are fireworks. After that, of course, was the drinking and dancing and being harassed by Mexican guys and hearing "I Want You To Want Me" in Spanish. (Carlos tried to tell me that's not what it was, BUT IT TOTALLY WAS.)

We have today off (to nurse hangovers, I guess, but I don't have one!) and holy shit, it's already 5:30 and I still have an essay to write. So, woooooo, ¡viva la independencia!

White people

It's so jarring how important being light-skinned here is. Wherever I go, I get wolf-whistles, calls of 'mamacita' and 'heeeey baby', and I know it's only because I'm white. Men everywhere are eager to impress us with their sparse English vocabulary. They seem to equate being white with being beautiful. There is a saying that I do not know in Spanish, but basically, if a baby is born with darker rather than lighter skin, they say something akin to, "It's dark skinned, but it could still be pretty!"

I remember when I thought racism was as easy as deciding not to hate people because of their skin color. Sometimes I miss being twelve years old.


On Saturday, Catherine and I were at this café and there was this obnoxious white girl sitting behind us. The kind (of person, not specifically white girl) who talks really loudly about personal things in public places like coffee shops and restaurants where NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW YOUR EX-BOYFRIEND THOUGHT YOU HAD TO WASH YOUR FACE IN THE MORNING BECAUSE THE SANDMAN PEES ON IT AT NIGHT. You think I'm kidding, but I'm not.

Anyway, not only was she the regular type of annoying, but she was the racist type of annoying as well! The most ridiculous shit was coming out of her mouth, such as, "I hate the Mexicans here. It's like, all the English they know, they learned from a porno." What an asshole. She also didn't know how to say 'water with ice' in Spanish, and it's like, IF YOU DON'T SPEAK SPANISH, CARRY AROUND A PHRASEBOOK LIKE A GOOD TOURIST. Or if you hate Mexico that much, just leave. The people are wonderful and nice, and even though they holler at white girls, it's only because white people have been imposing racist and unrealistic standards upon them for hundreds of years, so SHUT UP AND GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM.

Things I learned this weekend

Dye job, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

• You can make these two colours by taking a parasite that lives on cacti and mixing it with acid (lime juice) for orange and an alkaline (lime) for purple.

• You can salsa dance to techno electronica.

• Three shots of Mezcal will fuck your shit up. (I think I already knew this, inherently.)

• Chedraui sells goat cheese.

• Mexican police are ridiculous caricatures of law enforcement officers.
  

• 'Mole' is the pre-Hispanic word for sauce, so 'guacamole' is 'mole del aguacate' or, avocado sauce.

• Be wary of those Mexico City boys.

Hasta Los Huesos

A lovely, haunting short film my Spanish teacher showed us in class today.

Truly getting away from it all

You know how, sometimes, you just wanna get away? Like the Southwest commercials, but for real, and completely, not some weekend-trip-to-Philadelphia-get-away, but 3,000-miles-and-a-different-language-get-away.

Well, I love romanticizing this feeling. Which is one of the reasons I choose to study abroad; so I could be away. But, of course, in this modern age of Teh Interwebs, you are never truly away, especially when you bring your laptop with you.

Even so, it's surprising how much you stop paying attention when you get away. I could, of course, read several news websites several times a day to keep up with the things I would hear on TV or the radio or see in the headlines or have people tell me in the course of a normal day while living in Los Angeles. And that would be without even actually reading the copy of The Los Angeles Times that gets delivered to my parents house every morning. But I don't bother. Because that would be a lot of work, and I'd rather spend my time and energy on Facebook.

Of course, they have news here, but it's all in reallyfuckingfastImeanunbelievablyfastlikeatenyearoldboywithADDoncrack Spanish, so I usually try and listen for a few minutes then give up, space out, and congratulate myself when I hear a word I understand. And the other day, the word I heard was Los Ángeles.

So I looked up.

Now, just before the story about Los Angeles, there had been one about floods in Mexico City, was a bit easier to follow because there are very obvious, illuminating pictures of cars with water up to the windows and people standing on rooftops as the waterline creeps up their walls. And then a few minutes later then mention Los Angeles and the word inudación (which means 'flood') and I'm all Huh? Did I just hear that correctly?

I asked my host mom if I heard it correctly, and she said, Yeah, there are floods in Los Angeles. And I'm thinking, um, no, it's September; Los Angeles southern California is being reduced to smoldering rubble, but it is not raining. That does not start until November or December, when all the fires have burnt up all their tinder and there is nothing left to stop the inevitable mudslides. That is how southern California works.

No, she said, the story said there are floods.

I went to latimes.com and searched for 'flood'.


It turns out two water mains broke, flooding Studio City and Valley Village.

I knew it wasn't raining in September.

Molé, molé, molé

On Saturday we went to my host mom's sister's (my host aunt?) for my host mom's mom's birthday (my host abuelita?). Apparently, she has a lot of dietary restrictions in her old age, so all she wants to eat is molé. So I had molé for the first time.

Everyone kept saying it was really spicy, but I didn't think it was anything impressive in the picante arena. Everyone was also very concerned it was going to make me sick (because it was so spicy), but I am clearly a culinary Evil Kinevil and can take anything.*





*Yes, that is what she said.

Sarita

Sarita, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

This is my intercambio. She's 4'10 and completely adorable and very nice about all the awful mistakes I make in Spanish.

When we met up yesterday, she wanted me to teach her some English phrases, so I taught her 'wonky', 'mess up', 'wanker', and 'gag me with a spoon', which was actually very amusing, me trying to explain what 'gag' means and the whole idea of a Valley Girl. Then I started singing "Let's Go To The Mall".

Fabbity fab

During our break between classes, we popped into a café across the street from the Language Center. Usually it's empty, but today there was someone there. He walked in, talking about how much he loves Sex and the City, and seeing us, says, "Hay chicas modernas. Como Sex y la ciudad."

He told us he wanted to practice his English, so we talked to him a bit, and he told us he owns a beauty salon here in Oaxaca and would give us a discount if we came in. When we told him we were from the states, he says, "Oh! Digame sobre el maricon Michael Jackson."


I must've laughed for five minutes straight.

Horario diario

Some pictures from the daily grind.

The courtyard, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

IMG_0292, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

This is Jill, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

This is Jill, always taking pictures!

This is Catherine, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

I thought this was very cute. Also, she looks like Juno.

He's the cute one, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

He is, right? I don't actually know.

Death threats!, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

Someone does not agree.

Santo freakin' Domingo, originally uploaded by sappycoldplaywhore.

This is an ex-monastery and is absolutely HUGE.


The second student my host family is hosting arrived last night. Her name is Naomi, and she'll be here for a month, in a program for learning how to teach ESL. Her birthday is tomorrow! Guess who's getting Mezcal!