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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.