Feliz Navidad, Prospero Año y Feliz Edad

"Today does not feel like Christmas. We didn't decorate the tree, we didn't shovel the driveway, and we didn't have sausage soufflé for breakfast. No, the Grinch didn't give us a late night visit. We're just in Mexico."
I wrote this snarky beginning of a blog on Christmas Evening, but I didn't mean it, promise. Although RedlineFam Christmas 2010 was not its usual self, this did not mean that it was not excellent. We were up with the sun on Christmas Eve to head towards Orizaba, Veracruz, Mexico with my host family. My host mom's parents live in Orizaba, where she grew up, and my host dad's parents and siblings live in Córdoba, the next town down the toll way. They graciously invited us to spend the holidays with them, an option which turned out to be infinitely better than spending it in a sterile hotel room. After a tour of Orizaba, a second breakfast at a street taco stand, a brief hike, and a nap, we headed off to our first dinner with the warning that this was "just a snack."
The Córdoba grandparents had other ideas, however. The table was covered with pastas, chicken, potatoes, beef, vegetable dishes, salads, bread, refried beans, and of course, tortillas. Mexican grandmothers are the best Food Pushers there ever were and we ended up eating a meal-sized snack. Oy vey. Although the room was a bit tense and quiet when we first arrived, we soon fell comfortably into a broken Spanglish conversation which leaned (this sounds incorrect…) towards Spanish más translation. Although I've previously spent whole weekends speaking Spanish followed by English-heavy weeks with the ND crew, I've never done so much rapid language switching. This previous sentence probably gives you a pretty good idea of how strugglesome my English has been this week. I had to ask my mom for multiple basic words, such as tusks, unload, and orchid. As Charlie said, "she doesn't speak well English." Despite the language barrier, we managed to have a great time. I braided abuela's hair because her ponytail was causing a headache, sampled some of abuelo's fancy tequila, and secretly made jokes about my family with my host family. After exchanging hugs, Feliz Navidad's and some small presents, we moved on to the next set of grandparents.

This is where the real dinner began. The menu included hammed (there's a Spanish word for this, maybe not English though) turkey, cheesy potatoes, quiche, pasta, fruit salad, spinach salad, chicken, fish, and deviled eggs. Not to mention the dessert table. Mama Olivia and Mama Redline spent a good half-an-hour circling the table and sharing food vocabulary. Considering that neither speaks the other's language, it took some very patient, open-mindedness. ¿Qué preciosa, no? While post-dinner chatting with some host cousins, I had a realization. I am comfortable in Mexico. Six months ago, I would have been sitting with my family, afraid to speak Spanish or sit with people I didn't know well. Now, I don't flinch at rattling off imperfect Spanish to a stranger or sitting down to platicar with someone I just met. I am no longer afraid of conversation. This seems silly, but I honestly used to avoid talking with people I didn't know well enough. This included vague elementary school acquaintances, friends of friends, and customer service employees at Target. No más.
This newfound confidence is exaggerated by my family's newness to the whole Mexico thing. I didn't realize until now just how much I've learned over the semester; everything from how much a bus costs to safe drinking water etiquette to the difference between ahora and ahorita. My classes were not what I would describe as rigorous, but that doesn't mean that I wasn't learning. As my mom pointed out after reading my previous post, I under exaggerated the depth of their culture shock. We're talking post traumatic syndromes here. (Was that off-color?) The foreign language and the traffic and the crowds and the smells and the constant noise were enough to drive any Idahoan-grown gringo to tears. Or in Sam and Jackson's cases, the barfs and the shits, respectively. While I feel bad for the pobrecitos, it really wouldn't be a Mexican adventure without someone yacking into a trashcan because the toilet is occupied. This might make me a hard-hearted, horrible hermana (couldn't resist the bilingual alliteration there). On the bright side, having 2 sickies back at the hotel has really cut back on metro, bus and entrance fees.
Anyways, here's a brief summary of our whirlwind adventure through central Mexico:
Day 1: Pickup from bus stop. Nap. Nap. Nap. Brief wanderings through the Puebla centro. Definitely not up for the rough crowd at the lucha libre arena.
Day 2: Africam Safari with Mama Olivia/animal vocabulary review.

Day 3: SUBIMOS. Climb Tepoztlan. Dad probably insults David with his backseat driver inclinations, exclamations, and under-the-breath comments. Sorry David! You're still our favorite driver (although I can't speak for Malia)!
Day 4: What up Cholula! Successful navigation of the bus system, more subiring, a leisurely stroll through the zócalo, and dragging the boys through a healthy amount of Cholula's 365 churches, followed by a Tour Guide Libby tour of the UDLAP campus and a visit to La Suprema Salsa, my 2^nd favorite taco haunt on Camino Real. We didn't go to Tacos Israel because it was closed, not actually out of regard for my family's delicate constitutions. By this time the fam was feeling a little braver and we ended the day with another visit to the Puebla centro, this time in tourist and not survival mode.

Day 5: Christmas Eve (see above)
Day 6: Christmas Day and return to Puebla
Day 7: morning adventure into Puebla in search of a mass and some souvenirs. Double success. Afternoon bus to DF after a quick visit to the fayuca, or black market. Scariest taxi ride of Dad's life from the DF bus station to our lovely hotel near the zócalo. It's a good thing we eased into the Great Mexican Adventure by starting in Puebla because I think someone's head would have exploded if thrown straight into the streets of DF.

Day 8: This is where the itineraries split. Shortly after Sam ate "the best hamburger of his entire life," it made a second appearance. Charlie and Sam stayed home to closely supervise the television while the rest of us explored the subway system, joined the throngs at the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe, and strolled down Paseo de la Reforma, the "most beautiful street in all of Latin America".

Day 9: Jackson got jealous of all of Sam's special attention and developed an ailment of his own. Similar problem, other end. Luckily our fayuca visit had left us with plenty of movies that needed to be "tested" and Jackson & Sam were more than willing to help out. Under skeptical looks and WikiTravel instructions, I led the rest of the troops on a "we'll just wing it" adventure to the Teotihuacán archeological site. Yep, you guessed it. Subimos. Unlike my last visit to the pyramids, today was crowded, sunny and FREE! My secretly expired UDLAP student ID has gotten me into everything for free. Gracias UDLAP.
Day 10 (this part of the itinerary is requiring some psychic powers): We'll hopefully have time to hit up the Diego Rivera murals in the Palacio Nacional before loading into a taxi and heading to the airport. Due to Notre Dame booking and rescheduling my return flight, I am on a separate airline in a separate terminal from my family. But I think I'll be fine. I have 4 chick flicks, 2 best-sellers, some snacks, and, when I reached Salt Lake, a cell phone to keep myself occupied. It's going to be so strange to use a regular phone again. I'm dreading the time sucker that I know my cell phone will return to be, but this dread is overshadowed by my excitement to be connected again. As Eminem says, back to reality. Knock on wood, fingers crossed, 11:11 wish all will go smoothly, Salt Lake will not be snowed in, and I will be sleeping in my warm bed in my cold basement within 24 hours.
So if you have a minute, say a little prayer for the Redline Fam's international travels tomorrow and we'll try to send a little Mexican sunshine in your direction!

¡Bienvenidos Familia!

 The much-awaited day is finally here. The Redline Fam has fled the country, under cover of darkness, and is in MéxicoMéxico (as compared to CancúnMéxico). As you can see, they are thrilled to be here.

But really. This is so exciting. Despite the fact that this is my 5^th semester away from home, I still haven't gotten used to that adrenaline rush of seeing my family waiting in a terminal. I always think that I'll maintain my composure, walk calmly towards them, and not make a scene. I always end up skittering across some slippery tile floor and crash into the nearest family member, my coordination completely lost in the flood of emotion and joy.

After recovering a bit from their long journey and dumping the luggage at the hotel (which happens to be right on the bus route to our favorite Wal*Mart and favorite hospital. Win.), I shuffled my poor bewildered family off to my host family's house, where breakfast awaited them. We had a surprisingly successful conversation featuring Mama Olivia's limited English, Mama Redline's limited Spanish, Charlie's complete lack of language skills (don't worry, he has been officially dubbed Carlos), and Sam's Latin contributions. Who knew that the Spain-Spanish word for swimming pool comes from the Latin for pond? Sam did. Despite huge plans to wander through Puebla and take in a night of lucha libre, the travel-weary Redlines had other ideas. Between Dad's stomach ache + chills and everyone else's 3 hour nap, we didn't roll out of the hotel until the sun was gettin' low. Not unlike Flo Rida.

The Redline Fam should get Purple Hearts for Bravery because they followed me all around Puebla, rarely doubting my navigation. Even after I admitted that I wasn't really sure which bus we should take home, took them to a sketchy market to score some cemitas, and marched them right past some riot police. After 5 months in Mexico, this all seemed pretty cotidiana to me. Not until we got back to the hotel and I saw their shocked faces did I realize that this was quite the immersion experience. Over super cemitas we replayed the events of the last few hours and I joined in their wonder over the friendliness of Pueblans, the strange contents and arrangements of mini-shops, and the whole pig's head that we saw in the market.

It's a completely mind-boggling experience to share this city that I've come to consider as a home-away-from-home with new guests. Not only have they never been here, but they don't speak the language. The bossy big sister in me is loving every minute of it. The exhausted traveler in me keeps looking to my parents to make decisions, only to find them looking back at me expectantly. The itty bit of mexicana in me never wants to leave.

And the homesick little girl in me is subconsciously counting down the days until I can open that front door, drop my bags, and breathe in the scent of home.

The Beginning of the End

I'm not sure whether it was the chest-rattling cough, the sweats, the chills, the headache or the nausea that woke me up. Regardless, I was awake on a bus at 5AM, trying not to throw up every time I coughed, wishing I could just die and get it over with. This was NOT how I had planned to begin my relaxing week in Playa del Carmen. Fever and the Black Lung are not conducive to sunbathing and snorkeling. The bus seemed to move in slow motion, as did the taxi to the hotel and the hotel employee who checked us in. All I wanted was a bed, a blanket (or maybe an ice pack- it changed every 5 minutes with my fever), and to stop. traveling. Luckily, this was the low point of the week and it just got better from here. Which is good, because the only way it could have gotten worse is if I had actually coughed up a lung or thrown up on my bus buddy. Luckily, I was traveling with 14 pre-med students and I was offered ample advice, sympathy, and access to everyone's personal mobile pharmacies.

Due to some divine intervention and a saintly mother, we spent the last week in the nicest hotel I have ever seen, much less slept in. The Maya Palace Riviera was just that: a palace. It took us a few days to adjust to the Americanized Cancun area. The only Mexicans to be seen were hotel employees, everyone spoke English (yes, the taxi driver can understand you when you are doubting his navigation in the backseat…whoops), and everything was expensive/listed in USD. It was a marvelous opportunity to sit back and relax by the largest pool in Mexico and a gradual transition back into American culture, but I found myself missing the "real Mexico". We knew that we had definitely left Mexican Mexico when the bus driver told us that the bus was full and no, we could not stand in the aisle. Whaaaaa?!?!?! Since when can you not stuff a Mexican bus with twice as many passengers as its design intended? Nevertheless, we continued to go about our business, speaking Spanish to the hotel employees and chuckling when they threw out a no mames güey or pinche _____, crude phrases that most guests didn't notice. My family might disagree in favor of beachtime, but I'm glad that they are going to see the "real Mexico", eat real Mexican food, and be fully immersed in the language. Even if they don't like chile and don't habla español. Don't get me wrong, the Mayan Riviera is gorgeous and sunny and vacation-y. But it's not Mexico.

After laying low for a few days to nurse myself back to health, I was ready to leave the hotel complex. I had opted out of an earlier trip to Chichen Itza, a choice that I might regret later in life (it is one of the 7 Wonders of the World, afterall), but like I said before, I am all pyramided out. On our second to last full day in Playa del Carmen, we hired a driver to take us to the ruins of Tulum. Yes, this meant more pyramids, but these were beachside pyramids. Like I said, the Mayans were all about location.
These were by far the touristiest (I wanted to say most touristy here, but Word SpellCheck suggested touristiest. Definitely not a real word, Word…) ruins we had visited, but it was also the best maintained site we had visited. The pyramid sits on a cliff overlooking the aqua blue ocean and the surrounding jungle is slowly creeping around the ancient stones in a valiant attempt to reclaim the site. After getting our daily dose of pyramids, we continued on to Paamul, a little paradise hidden between Playa del Carmen and Tulum. We rented snorkel gear from an American-turned-Mexican couple and flippered into the ocean. I have this thing where water makes me feel very squished and claustrophobic and I never quite grasped the idea of face-in swimming, so I was nervous about this whole snorkeling thing. Not to mention the fact that my sinuses were filled to capacity and I was still coughing like I had been smoking 6 packs a day for my whole life. Once I got over the weird feeling of breathing through a tube and stopped hyperventilating, I had a great time. Paamul is not home to the world's most breathtaking reefs, but that was alright with me. I was having enough breathing struggs without having my breath taken away. It was surprisingly easy to just float along over the reef, giving a few kicks once in a while to avoid a sea fan or a coral outcropping. We spent a relaxing afternoon spotting tropical fish, laying on the beach, and playing follow-the-leader through the reef.

This seems like enough adventure for the day, but it was only half over. We returned to the hotel just in time to form TeamPuebla for beach volleyball and spent the next hour and a half throwing ourselves around the beach, laughing, and occasionally making contact with the volleyball. Despite our obvious lack of serious dedication or team cohesion, we managed to be Queens of the Court for quite a while. Even if we hadn't won however, I had a great time and left the court with a laughter-induced belly ache, a swimsuit full of sand, and a big smile. We rushed through the showers and donned our favorite red, green and white clothing in preparation for a Mexican Christmas party. We had gone shopping the day before for hot chocolate, apple cider, cookies, and decorations in preparation for one last Shabang before heading back to the wintry tundra. Over steaming mugs of hot cocoa and Bailey's (early Christmas splurge) we revealed our Secret Santas and put on a mini talent show. The youth group classic "Christmas Carol Trivia" game was a huge hit and inspired an impromptu caroling outing to spread a bit of Christmas cheer throughout the hotel. Although we were all missing our families, garland-decked homes and snowboots, it was a great way to end our semester together.

On Friday morning we did some last minute packing, turned in our keys, and had a rushed goodbye group hug before everyone headed their different directions. Some members of the group headed towards Cancún for a few days, others prepared their passports for US customs, and I got on a plane towards Puebla, by way of Mexico City. Sitting in the airport, I suddenly felt completely alone. I had spent every single hour of the last 2 weeks in close contact with the same 16 people and they were suddenly gone. I didn't realize until that moment just how much they had defined my semester here in Mexico and how much I was going to miss them. Sure, we'll see each other back at ND but everyone will have own friends, do their own thing on the weekends, and probably not share frequent updates on the state of their digestive tract.
Malia, Erica, Marisa, Alexxis, Kelsey, Regan, Amanda, Shelly, Patrick, Mitch, Pat, Stella, Maggie, Cara, Andy and John: Thank you for an unforgettable semester. ¡Nos vemos pronto!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes and Chiapas

Disclaimer: The following entry should be considered a brief summary with generous omissions and forgotten pieces. Unfortunately, there's a lot to share and NOT MUCH TIME.

I've decided that the best way to sum up the last week is to tell it in superhero comic book style.

Our hero's (this is my blog so, yes, I can make myself the hero) adventure begins at the Puebla bus station, surrounded by her comrades, the last Pueblans she would see in a while, and some suitcases. The reader should see some and read monstrous pile. It turns out that the "we'll just bring our semester's worth of luggage on a crosscountry adventure" was much easier said than done. But that is said and done. Once the said luggage was safely stashed in the underbelly of the bus, it was time to go to Chiapas. SHAZAM!!

We woke up the next morning as the bus pulled into the station in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas. This superhero story is now going to take a brief intermission in favor of some background & history.
Chiapas is the southernmost state of Mexico that shares the border with Guatemala. The state is important because of its various products: coffee, hydroelectric power, and Zapatistas. The Zapatista movement is based on the original Revolution movement led by Emilio Zapata, who demanded political and land rights for indigenous groups. While it was not originally a violent movement, the conflict between the Mexican government and the Zapatistas has led to some (see definition above) tension in the area. To protect their identity, Zapatista rebels often wear black ski masks, ninja style. Ever resourceful, local vendors have taken advantage of this imagine and sell dolls, keychains, earrings, and postcards portraying Zapatistas.

BAM! Back to the batcave. We soon got on another bus and faster than a speeding bullet, headed towards Sumidero Canyon. We hired a great guide to take us on a boat tour through the national park, where we saw iguanas, turtles and cormorants. We were pretty thrilled with this in and of itself. Then the guide said, "Mira, un cocodrilo! Ya lo vieron?" WOWZA! Our heroes came face-to-face (well not quite) with a hugeass crocodile just chillin' on the beach. As if this wasn't exciting enough, the boat guide knew about our favorite Tule Tree guide! Small world? After narrowly avoiding a crocodile-induced death and fighting off a couple of bad guys (not really), we dashed back to San Cristobal to browse the markets and make plans for the next day.

If I had to choose one sound effect to describe the next day it would be clipclop clipclop. Yep, you guessed it: horseback riding. I have never ridden a horse for so long and my sitbones have never been so sore. Under the skeptical guidance of a local horseman we rode through backroads and forest trails to the small town of San Juan Chamula. We left our loyal steeds to enjoy a break in the shade while we wandered through the local market, ate some mandarin oranges, and took in the pueblo. Then WHUMP WHUMP WHUMP we trotted back to the homestead. I patted Flash, my newest equine friend good-bye and hopped on yet another bus, back to San Cristobal, the luggage, and the prospect of yet another long busride. Next stop: Palenque.

I cannot say that Palenque, Chiapas is on my list of favorite cities in Mexico. Although it is surrounded by beautiful forested mountains and is home to some of Mexico's most breath-taking Mayan ruins, it is not a pretty place. The town is dramatically divided between the fake-jungle hotel district and the slightly sketchy main part of town. Luckily, we had enough on the agenda to avoid spending much time in this less-than-lovely town. We were finally able to cross a very important and long-awaited item off the community To Do in Mexico list while in Palenque: WATERFALLS. The Agua Azul and Misol Ha cascadas had been sneaking into conversations, guidebook articles and travel suggestions all semester. After visiting, I can see why these waterfalls are the talk of the town. Not only were the waterfalls beautiful and refreshing, but the drive through the jungly mountains offered ample scenery and TeamPuebla bonding time.

No day is perfect, however, and we ended ours with a visit to Mexico's 2^nd worst restaurant (we had already found the worst one, it's in Guanajuato). KATHOOM Palenque:1 TeamPuebla:0… We'll just say that we made a Dinner Round Two trip to the grocery store to make up for the disappointing chicken salad and stale bread. To be fair, we should have known to call it quits when there weren't any other customers, the kitchen was nowhere to be found and there appeared to be 2 employees in the whole joint. Ah well, you win some, you lose some.




The next morning, after a slow start, we reluctantly hopped on a bus towards the Palenque ruins. By this time, we were more than a little travel weary and not terribly enthusiastic about seeing yet another pyramid. Nevertheless, we felt obligated to go and I'm glad that we gave into our tourists' guilt because these ruins turned out to be my favorite in Mexico. Nestled in the rain forest, the Palenque complex looks like the set of an Indiana Jones movie and the view from the top of the pyramid is stunning.
After subir-ing this Mayan marvel and purchasing our obligatory Mayan calendar souvenirs, we headed back to the hotel to prepare for our last epic Mexican busride of the semester: next stop, Playa del Carmen. KATHOOOOM! But that's another story.

Amor Oaxaqueño

Whew. I'm going to warn you in advance, this is going to be a doozie of a blog post. Brace yo'self.

We'll start with Turkey Day. All Thursday, I was actively trying to avoid thinking about how I wasn't in Idaho and wasn't sitting in Grandma's kitchen and wasn't sleeping in a strangely shaped attic room. Notre Dame pulled through, however, and didn't leave us unfed on Thanksgiving. Our angel of a coordinator, Lisette, had been planning a Thanksgiving Fiesta for weeks and the day had finally arrived. We put on our shnazzy clothes that had been shoved deep in the bottom drawer all semester (Lisette specifically instructed us to NOT show up looking like ruffians), did our hair (Pat Beard even combed his beard), and navigated ourselves to a fancyshmancy Puebla restaurant. Once the nearly 90 guests had arrived, we were all called up to the front for a special presentation. We had prepared a Puebla-specific rendition of "Be Our Guest" from the dining scene of Beauty & the Beast. In practice, this great idea was a little painful, but it's the thought that counts right? Although this Thanksgiving wasn't quite the same as being surrounded by family, the dinner was a great success! Kudos to Lisette!

The next morning we piled into David's van and rolled out. Lisette organized an end-of-the-semester trip to Oaxaca. Not only did we not have to worry about transportation, housing or daytime activities, but the whole adventure was for freefree (not for paypay (although we did secretly pay for it)). Due to some questionable itinerary planning, we didn't arrive at our first stop until the sun was setting and the site was about to close. Monte Albán is an important archeological site in the state of Oaxaca, a ceremonial mountaintop complex that was constructed by the Zapotecas. We were graciously shepherded through the site by a Discovery Channel star-turned-Mexican-tourguide who might also secretly have been Cyclops. He had the patience of a saint and loved to say exactamente and bastante. While I was mostly paying attention during the tour, I don't really have much knowledge to share, so I'll let the picture do the talking.
Lisette is a smart woman and knew what she was doing when she filled the itinerary. By the time we had a walking tour through the city of Oaxaca, ate dinner and settled into the hotel, we were too tired to do much except watch a movie. A great thing about Mexico is that although Netflix doesn't work and Blockbusters are less than common, pirated DVD shops are literally on every other corner. Disaster struck our moviewatch event when I was allowed to pick the movie. Babel is apparently not the light, uplifting film that the group had in mind. Whoops.
We dragged ourselves out of bed at the crack of dawn (ok that's an exaggeration), nommed some nomz and piled back into the camioneta. Our first stop was probably my favorite of the day. The Tule Tree supposedly has the largest tree trunk in the world, by circumference. Secretly, I think that it is multiple trees that grew together, but we'll leave that out for the sake of impressive statistics. We were all thinking, "Ok this tree is impressive, but at the end of the day, it's just a tree". Then Lisette hired a tourguide. This kid could not have been more than 8 years old, but he had his act DOWN. He led us around the Tule Tree, pointing out animal shapes in the trunk with his little mirror. While the subject matter itself was only vaguely captivating, this kid's inflection and phrases were priceless. But you don't have to take my word for it…
This is a fakeout. The video didn't load. I guess to sum it up, I'll tell you that his go-to line was ¿ya lo vieron? which means "Did you see it yet?"


After vieron-ing everything there was to see hidden in the Tule Tree, we moved on to a family-owned rug factory. Apparently the state of Oaxaca is famous for its traditional rugweavers. We learned about the whole process of cleaning, combing, dying, spinning and finally weaving the wool into beautiful intricate rugs. The Zapoteca indigenous group is known for blowing the socks off the newly-arrived Spaniards with their red clothes and houses. This red dye (at least for the cloth) comes from a bug called cuchinillo that lives on the nopal cactus. It's pretty much as Mexican as you can get. By mixing dried, ground cuchinillo with water and varying amounts of salt and ash, the RugMaster can make every shade of red, maroon, and burgundy imaginable. ¡Qué padre!

The next stop on Lisette's Worldwind Mexican Adventure was a "lemonade" factory. The Mexican countryside is covered in agave plants of every shape and size. The smaller plants are commonly known as aloe vera, the HUGE ones are called maguey, and some of the middle ones are used to make fermented & distilled alcohol. The most commonly known product of agave plants is tequila, but this is actually a type of mezcal, a specialty in Oaxaca. So I lied. We didn't stop at a lemonade factory (lemons aren't even Mexican, silly!); we stopped at a mezcal factory. Don't worry, it was a very educational experience, featuring a tour of the entire operation and samples hot off the distiller. Viva. Mexico. Needless to say, everyone was in a great mood by the time we headed to a buffet lunch. Even after 4 months in Mexico, I have still not managed to adjust to the meal schedule here. An 8AM breakfast just doesn't hold me over until lunch at 2 or 3PM and I am always starving once a mealtime comes around.

We were soon hustled out of the restaurant and onward to the next activity. Mitla is a unique archeological site because unlike the large majority of sites in Mexico, it is not a pyramid. Mitla is home to a living residence/palace. The thing that struck me most about this house was the stairs up to the front door. The ancient inhabitants of Mitla must have been very strangely proportioned, with small feet (to fit on the narrow stairs), long shins (to make the steep stairs reasonable) and killer thighs. This family definitely didn't get many trick-or-treaters knocking at their front door. After learning about the site with Cyclops, we were able to wander around the little town and I made an unexpected friend. A little girl, Briana, invited Erica and I into her parents' shop with the greeting, "Hi! I want y'all to be my friends!" Briana didn't take "Sorry, we have to go soon" as an answer and continued on with introductions. By the time we were able to excuse ourselves, we had met uncles, cousins, and parents, with the promise of more introductions to come. This little episode made me realize just how much I'm going to miss the open, welcoming attitude in Mexico. This is related to another realization that I had recently: my Embarrassment Threshold is infinitely higher than it used to be. Previously, for example, I didn't like asking people questions if I didn't know them, but now I'm fine asking just about any random person for directions or information on why there are excessive fireworks on any given day or why there are frogs everywhere or how to say saltshaker in Spanish. This is partially due to general personal growth and partially due to the warm, helpful response that similar questions usually receive.

But back to the plot. Sunday was another busy day in Oaxaca, full of museum visits, mass, souvenir shopping, a barro negro or black pottery workshop "tour" (the tour plan was foiled when the potter was busy filming a documentary on barro negro), and of course, food. En route home on the bus, I realized that I had yet to study for my 9AM Monday final, just in time for the sun to drop out of sight behind the mountains. The Me of 6-months ago would have spent the rest of the busride stressing over said final. The Mexico Adventure Me thought "no te preocupes", took a nap and half-heartedly studied with hot chocolate once we got back to UDLAP. And you know what, it was fine.

Crosswalks and Family Talk

In case the message has not been clear enough in previous posts, I would just like to reiterate the following point: I LOVE MY HOST FAMILY. Saturday was the 100^th anniversary of the Mexican Revolution and our coordinator arranged for us to spend it with our host families. The festivities for the Revolution anniversary didn't appear to be as extensive as those for Independence Day, but it's very possible that I just missed out. Especially considering that I slept in until nearly 11 and didn't get out of my pajamas until 12:30. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

A few of the host moms were nice enough to throw together an October Birthdays celebration on Friday night, complete with Mexican feast, 2 kinds of cake and flan, claro. I keep thinking that I will get used to this Mexican fave that looks and feels a lot like eating blubber. It hasn't happened yet. We played Mafia and PictaPhone until our full bellies hurt from laughing and the hosting host mama kicked us out for the night. PictaPhone, a hybrid of Pictionary and Telephone, is a great game that was recently hijacked by Hasbro™. I take full credit for introducing it to the NDPuebla crew and, by the associative property, for all the ridiculous jokes that have evolved as a result. GoodLord, I'm going to miss these kids. And by kids, I mean mature young adults. We never act like 6-year-olds. Nope. And I guess we'll still see each other in science classes (Sorry, Pat Beard) and things, but it just won't be quite the same. No more Facebook and Skype threads, 7-year-long busrides, or open sharing about bowel movements.

"Libbyyy, stop being nostalgic and get back to the story." Fine. On Saturday afternoon we (me + the host fam – host brother) drove to Orizaba, Veracruz which is about 2 hours away from Puebla. And yes, I still measure distances in time. I couldn't tell you how many miles it was, much less how many kilometers. My host mom grew up in Orizaba, my host dad grew up in Cordoba (about 20 minutes away) and most of their family still lives in area. Both small cities/large towns are nestled in the mountain range that creates a natural border between the states of Veracruz and Puebla. Most of the rain clouds from the Gulf get caught on said mountains, making the area a green wonderland in comparison with arid Puebla. We spent the evening in Orizaba, hanging out in Abuela's shop. My host grandma has a little shop, which seems to be more of a hobby than anything else, in which she sells women's clothing, jewelry, and random decorations. She apparently has an angel/fairy/porcelain baby fetish. I also learned some fun things about Orizaba (yes, another list).

1. The Palacio municipal is home to a mural by the world-renowned muralist Jose Clemente Orozco. He mural-ed during the same era as Diego Rivera and his works have similar socialist/communist themes. Although the mural itself was not my favorite, I could still appreciate it for the artist's historical significance. This was not the first time that I wished that I had paid more attention to the "Important Mexicans" lectures in my Spanish classes. Fun facts are so much more fun when they're relevant!

   

2. Francisco Gabilondo Solver, affectionately known as Cri Cri, was born in Orizaba. As far as I could tell, the guy was the Mexican hybrid of Raffi and Jiminy Cricket. He wrote children's songs for a popular radio program and the nickname is shared with his character, a singing cricket.
3. Unlike the majority of Mexican cities, Orizaba has traffic laws. There's only one stoplight in town and the rest of the intersections operate under a 1x1 rule. (Sound familiar Grangeville crew?) There are street signs everywhere with reminders of this rule and the peaton tiene derecho rule. Pedestrians have the right of way. Si por favor. My other favorite signage in Orizaba were the streetlight banners that said Sonríe, ¡estás en Orizaba! Smile, you're in Orizaba!

My host abuelos´ house was comfortingly familiar in a typical grandparents-have-live-here-for-years-and-years sort of way. Curiously, it smelled just like the Palmers' house. It had strange paint colors and wallpaper, reminding me of Grandma & Grandma Wassmuth's house and strange decorations than seemed to have found their way home from the shop. The highlight decoration was a 3-year-old Canadian Christmas tree that abuela has spray-painted gold to preserve it. She proudly demonstrated how it magically still maintained its needles and piney smell. You've gotta love Mexican thriftiness!

This morning we went to Corboda to brunch with the majority of my host dad's family. Between the four sisters, abuela, great aunt and other miscellaneous relatives, it was a pretty lively scene. Everyone had their important gossip to share, nieces & nephews to gently tease, and old family debates to unbury. Abuelo could barely fit a soft-spoken joke in edgewise. Can you tell that I'm feeling a little homesick for small town Idaho holidays? Cordoba is important in Mexico's history because the Mexican Declaration of Independence was signed there 200 years ago. I cannot tell you why they picked little Cordoba for that, but why not? I guess it's as good a place as any to start a new country. Again, I wish that I had put more academic effort into learning more about Mexican history.
Other highlights of the weekend included ziplining across a river canyon, (accidentally) eating brain tacos, and successfully learning a card game in Spanish. And understanding the majority of abuelo's punny jokes. I. love. Puns. And little old Mexican men. And my host family.
The End.

The Boy Who Viva-ed

The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead.

They are coming.

Reason #493 why Mexico is great: The 7th Harry Potter movie came out here 2 days before it did in the US. We relived our adolescent Potter Fever years by pre-purchasing tickets, arriving early and in costume (well, some of us). We arrived at the theater nearly an hour before The Movie was to start, tickets in hand. You'd think that this was our first day in Mexico, arriving early for an event. That's definitely what the ticket-taker was thinking when he told us to come back in 40 minutes. This was alright though because it allowed us to flex our long-repressed HP trivia muscles. Top questions included, "Who is the author of the Harry Potter series?" and "Who's that one guy with the one thing, you know who I'm talking about?" It was a good review session.

After the other kind theater patrons finally showed up, we found our seats (not too far forward, not too far back, not too close to the aisle, leave an even number of seats on the ends), and settled in to stuffing our faces with palomitas (popcorn).

Fun Random Spanish Vocabulary Lesson: palomitas means both "popcorn" and "little doves". Cute, no?
Then it began. We sat entranced, on the edge of our seats. Having just re-read the first half of the 7th book, I more or less knew what was coming and the suspense was killer. At one point, when Ron clicked his Deluminator, the screen went dark. After 5 minutes, we were pretty sure that the dark screen was not just a scene transition. We started scanning the skies for the Dark Mark. Then an eerie whistling noise began to surround us and we mentally prepared ourselves for the Avada Kedavra that was sure to follow.

Besties

Don't worry, we didn't die.

Apparently it's a Mexican thing to make a high-pitched whistling noise when buses leave late, restaurant service is slow, or the movie stops in the middle. Once the theater security guard Expelliarmus-ed all the Death Eaters who were attempting to ruin our viewing experience, we jumped right back into the world of Horcruxes and house elves. The picture was still a little jumpy throughout and the dramatic effect of the soundtrack was slightly diminished by the wavering high notes, but as one wise Puebla Boy pointed out, "It's a mooovie theater in Meeexico. What did you expect?!?!?!"

Overall, the outing was well-worth the neglected homework, late bedtime, and 8 Sickle 10 Knut admission. A similar experience without the complementary intermission would have cost at least a Galleon and a handful of Knuts in the US of A. Just sayin'.

Roadblocks and Tube Socks

Imagine that you live in a small town in Oaxaca, one of the poorest Mexican states. Your newly-elected governor has just run off with all the federal funds that were originally allocated to improve the rough 2-lane highway that runs through your one-horse (one-burro?) town. Seeing as you are poor, indigenous and living in a "free" country, you don't have a whole lot of political power, but you really want that road to be fixed. You decide that the best way to make a statement and to get the road money back is to rally the neighbors and friendly neighborhood semi drivers to stage a roadblock. Seeing as said road is the only means of transportation between the capital (also named Oaxaca) and the popular vacation destination, Puerto Escondido, this is actually a pretty good idea.
Now imagine that you are a Notre Dame student studying in Puebla. You decide to take advantage of a Monday holiday, bite the bullet, and take a 15-hour bus to Puerto Escondido. After a brief panic attack in which there appear to be ZERO seats left on any bus between Puebla and Puerto, a disaster which prompts more than a few Hail Mary's and a last minute trip to the bus station, and a chance encounter with a angel-disguised-as-a-ticket-agent, you are confident that the worst has passed; you have your bus tickets in hand. Well, most of you do.
Lesson of the day: it is, in fact, possible to board an ADO bus in Mexico without a ticket, although this is not the suggested approach.
You board the bus, well-prepared with books, snacks, water, music, Dramamine and a barf bag. Ten of the 15 hours are on serpentine mountain roads. After about 14 hours, you are roused from a restless sleep and told to get off the bus; this is the end of the line. It turns out that there's a roadblock and the bus can't go any farther. You're going to have to take a taxi to the roadblock, trek through town with your luggage and find your way to Puerto Escondido on the other side. You might make another LOOK MAMA GRINGOS scene as you tromp through town in rolled up sweatpants and tube socks. Nice work Tube Socks. But don't worry, the roadblock protest will probably be over by the time you return on Tuesday.
Ok, enough imagining. This is real.

We found the "Hidden Port". Once we got over the initial frustration of the roadblock, we found the humor in the situation and went on our merry way to the beach. Puerto Escondido is known for its beautiful beaches, relaxed atmosphere, and top-notch surfing waves. We stayed in a hotel/hostel located a block away from the beach (kudos to Amanda for organizing!) and the daily schedule went a little something like this:

1. Breakfast on the beach. The sun was blazing at full strength by about 8:30, so it was worth getting up early to take advantage of the few minutes between sunrise and furnace mode.
2. SUNSCREEN. This is an important step and not optional.
3. Play in the waves. I didn't actually try surfing, but got my fill of riding waves on a boogie board and body surfing. My sinuses definitely got cleared out and I think there's still sand in my ears from being tossed around in the ocean.
4. Nap on the beach. This really only lasts for a few minutes before you realize that you forgot to re-apply sunscreen. Hello, skin cancer!
5. Cool off in the ocean.
6. Order a drink (lemonade, of course. Don't worry Mama Redline).
7. Nap in a hammock.
8. Repeat until the sun goes down.
9. Dinner on the beach.
10. Ice cream. Of course.

This weekend wasn't terribly eventful as far as recounting an epic tale goes, but it was fantastic. The end of my time in Mexico is rushing towards me and it was nice to have a weekend without an itinerary or plan. We were able to relax and just enjoy each others' company. Although the roadblock was not, in fact, gone by Tuesday, it had mysteriously moved 15+ miles down the road and we were able to pass without too much trouble. Life lessons of the weekend include:

• Mexican street dogs, like Mexican teenagers, find no shame in making sweet, sweet love on the public beach (this is only a slight exaggeration). On a related note, you should not feed said stray dogs crackers and peanut butter unless you really want a shadow for the rest of the day that will rub it's greasy self on you and chase off would-be vendors for free.
• Don't pick the seat near a slightly obese elderly man on the 15-hour bus. He WILL snore.
• Don't expect mainstream movies on the bus. Instead, you should expect bizarre movies about Russian roulette, mountain men, Valentine's Day, old men enrolling in university literature classes, and Hannah Montana.
• Oye. Abre tus ojos. Mira hacia arriba, disfruta las cosas buenas que tiene la vida. (Translation: Listen. Open your eyes. Look up, enjoy the good things in life.) Disclaimer: This is secretly stolen from a cumbia song. But it's relevant, so I stole it.

The City of Frogs

Until fairly recently, this past weekend was the final unplanned weekend left on the schedule this semester. This was partially because we have a lot of plans for November (the agenda features Puerto Escondido, Revolution weekend, Thanksgiving/Oaxaca and Chiapas/Cancun), but also a reminder that my semester in Mexico is coming to an end. When did it get to be November?!?!!? As I lay here in my bed, wrapped in a blanket and fleece jacket and nursing a mug of tea, I should make a sidenote to comment on the unexpected turn that the weather has recently made. It turns out that it gets cold in Mexico during the fall months. Really cold. Which wouldn't be such a problem except that there's no heating system in most buildings and my room is positioned such that it has never EVER seen a direct ray of sunlight. Luckily, the sun warms everything up during the day and I have enough layers, blankets, and Sleepytime tea to stay warm at night.


Ok, off that rabbit trail and back to the main point of this: the weekend in Guanajuato. Mexicans and exchange students alike have been raving about this city for months and we finally found a weekend to go. Unfortunately, this specific weekend was also the final shebang of the annual, monthlong Cervantino festival hosted by the city in honor of Cervantes. You might be thinking, "What is a city in central Mexico doing having a festival to celebrate a 17th century Spanish author?" I will answer your question with another question, "Why not?" Although the festivities made it mucho más difícil to find a hotel and to navigate the city, it was exciting. We mysteriously managed to always be walking against the crowd and had a significantly lower piercing-and-dread per head quota than the typical MexiHipster festival attendee but enjoyed the colorful town nevertheless.
In order to save a fistful of pesos, we decided to travel early (think 4:30AM departure) Saturday morning and avoid a Friday night hotel fee. This seemed like a great idea (we´d just sleep on the bus, right?) until I ended up in the backseat over the shockless rear tires for 5 hours. I never thought that I would miss my stonetable of a mattress at UDLAP, but it turns out that even that is possible. We definitely took advantage of the whole day and hit up Guanajuato´s main attractions:

1. Don Quixote museum. If you´re going to dedicate a whole month in a Mexican city to a Spanish author, you might as well dedicate an entire art museum to said author´s fictional character.
2. Diego Rivera museum. Although I didn´t end up seeing the Diego Rivera mural in Mexico City, this was almost as good. Diego Rivera´s childhood home has been turned into a museum of some of his early works and preliminary sketches of several murals.
3. A historically important building-turned-museum that had something to do with Fr. Hildago, a massacre, and a turning point in the Mexican Revolution. By this point I was feeling that 4:30 wakeup and not really registering much information.
4. The kissing balcony, the setting of Guanajuato's version of Romeo & Juliet. Guanajuato is famous for its winding streets and complete lack of city planning, which leads to some strange intersections and narrow alleys. One such alley used to be home to a rich española on one side and a poor, indigenous man on the other. Their balconies were close enough to facilitate some shenanigans, until the tragic couple was caught in the act by Juliet´s short-tempered father, who stabbed her in the back to preserve the family´s pride. ¡Qué romantic!

This brings us to the lesson of the day. The first mini lesson was "don´t tell a caricature artist that you want to be portrayed with a weightlifter body unless you are really serious". The second was "don´t eat in a hotel restaurant called Restaurant". If they didn´t take the time to name the place, they probably also won´t take the time to fully microwave your soup or to fully cover your tostada with American cheese. Not that you wanted microwave soup or an Oscar Meyer ham & American cheese tostada in the first place. Needless to say, we did not go back for lunch today. We were all pretty exhausted by bedtime and enjoyed a relatively calm evening of Toy Story 3, PictaPhone and order-in pizza (to make up for Restaurant).
I knew Sunday would be a good day when there were Oreos on the breakfast table. Ok, so imitation Oreos, but still.* We went on a tour of La Mina de Valenciana, one of the world's most productive gold mines still in operation. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what our guide said. He was apparently on a tight schedule and talked like it was going out of style. The mine was interesting and stumbling down the narrow, uneven steps made me appreciate that I was born into modern middleclass America and not into the 16^th century Mexican semi-slavery. After emerging from the mine shaft, blinking in the brilliant sunlight, we hit up the obligatory souvenir area before heading off to our final attraction.

The Mummy Museum.

This museum's name is a bit misleading because, as the tour guide pointed out, mummies are purposely embalmed and preserved bodies. The specimens in this museum were buried in regular old coffins in the Guanajuato cemetery but the hot, dry climate preserved them. Upon running out of space in the cemetery, city officials began exhuming bodies to make room and discovered that the bodies were almost perfectly preserved. The logical next step was to put them in a museum: typical Mexican ingenuity. As far as I gathered, they have been gradually adding bodies to the collection over the years and at one point had to start over because the first batch wasn't encased to protect against temperature, humidity or visitors' oily hands. Again, I can only answer your "Why would you touch a 200-year-old body?" question with another question, "Why not?" Highlights of the mummy cast included a morbidly obese woman, a HUGE man who must have been the tallest, strongest guy in the whole pueblo, a newborn baby, and a woman who was accidentally buried alive. It was interesting to see how perfectly the skin, hair and clothing of the mummies were preserved, but my stomach was definitely starting to turn by the end of the tour. Also, it's a good thing I don't believe in zombies or this museum would have scared me to death (ha. Mummy pun.)
*If you have not figured out by now that my mood improves directly with quality food, you haven't been paying attention.

N200

This weekend was a bit of a fail for the Get Out Of Puebla campaign, which was a mixed blessing. On Saturday I took the bus into Puebla with my favorite bearded Puebla-ND friend to check out the Saturday markets and the preparations for Día de los Muertos. I think I already talked about this celebration a little bit, I can´t really remember so I apologize for any repetition. In a quick summary that doesn´t do the tradition justice, Día de los Muertos is an opportunity to celebrate the memory of deceased relatives, friends and heroes with ofrenda altars. Popular offerings include fruit, alcoholic beverages, religious images, and of course, marigolds. Apparently marigolds are the flower of choice because A) they are in bloom right now (Mexicans are so practical sometimes!) and B) the yellow color is supposed to attract the souls of the dead. I think. In a spur of the moment decision, five of us decided to cram into a taxi and visit Huaquechula, a small town outside of Puebla that is famous for its intricate and numerous ofrendas.

Although we arrived just as the crowds were leaving and the ofrenda-ers were closing up shop, we were still able to visit a few. One woman offered to send her daughter with us as a tour guide and she took us through the town. It´s tradition that the family who arranged the ofrenda provides food and drink for the visitors, a fact we should have taken into account before eating dinner. It´s rude to not accept offered food so we were stuffed to the brim with chocolate, horchata, and tamales by the time we crammed back into the taxi. I didn´t do as much studying last night as planned and it was a little uncomfortable making a LOOKAGRINGO scene every time we arrived at an ofrenda, but I´m glad that I decided to go. It was a very different experience than the typical stroll through Puebla's zócalo and was definitely worth the long taxi ride.
The other aspect of this mixed blessing was that I spent a lot of time in my room. On a normal travel weekend, I would leave on Friday afternoon or early Saturday morning and not return until Sunday night and I am always busy during the week so this weekend was an anomaly in this respect. Spending all of this time in my room led to the formation of the following list:
REASONS WHY ALL Y'ALL SHOULD BE JEALOUS OF MY SUITEMATES

1. They are obviously used to taking care of themselves, cooking logical meals at reasonable hours, and cleaning up nicely afterwards.
• There are never mysterious dishes left on the table for days.
• There are never large chunks of unidentifiable food in the sink.
• This never causes the kitchen sink to plug and refuse to drain.
• The leftovers of these logical meals are always promptly stored within the week, never allowing for more than a slight covering of mold to develop.

1. No one ever "does their business" in the toilet that can only handle liquids.
• Because of this, we never have to share one toilet between seven girls.
• Also because of this, the bathroom never smells like open sewage is in the other stall.
• In the unlikely event that the LIQUIDS ONLY toilet is plugged, the RA will probably not blame the non-Mexican residents for flushing toilet paper.
• No one writes anonymous rude notes about proper bathroom etiquette.
2. The television is never left on loud, senseless channels for hours on end. (Clarification: truly senseless, not just because it´s in Spanish) In fact, no one ever watches television.
3. Quiet hours are carefully observed.
• Running, screaming, door slamming, and Reptar interpretations are rare events, but are especially avoided after bedtime.
• These are the quietest, most well-spoken roommates imaginable. I have not learned any swear words from them. Not. One.
4. My roomie listens to very normal music, ¡gracias a Dios! It would be creepy if she listened to Bjork´s Halloween Album or watched a serial killer series religiously.
5. Makeup, hair dye, fake nails, trash and long dark hair are never strewn about the living room.

Now, let´s discuss how the Pope is Protestant…

Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos

This weekend served as a bit of a reality check in my la de dah playing in Mexico semester. Five of us spent the weekend at an orphanage near Cuernavaca called Nuestros Pequeños Hermanos (Our Little Siblings, NPH). NPH is home to about 600 orphaned, abandoned, neglected or abused children ages 3 yrs. to about 20 yrs. The goal of the orphanage is to provide food, housing, education and a stable family structure for the kids until they are old enough to take care of themselves. Every Pequeño is required to do 2 years of service for NPH after finishing high school. After their 2 years, Pequeños can choose to go on to university on a full-ride scholarship through NPH. The kids are grouped based on age and gender and each group has a cargador, or caretaker, who is often a former Pequeño. There are also NPH orphanages in Nicaragua, Honduras and El Salvador, but the organization was originally started by a priest working in Cuernavaca. The Mexico NPH is located on an old sugarcane plantation, with all the old stone buildings, cobblestone paths and open fields.
In addition to its 600 residents, NPH has an on-site farm that provides the basics for the cafeteria. They have a large corn field, tomato greenhouses, a fish farm, at least 350 pigs, a sheep herd and a goat herd. They employ a few people to maintain the farm but most of the labor comes from the 2 yr. service kids. Each child is personally sponsored by a family or individual, many of them international, who provide them with basic clothing, shoes and necessities. The orphanage has an on-site dental and medical clinic and the NPH school is considered the best in the area. The thing that struck me the most about this organization was just that: the organization. All the kids seemed to know their group's schedule and the rolling plantation style dispersed the 600 kids so it didn't seem crowded. Chores such as sweeping and kitchen duty rotate through the groups to serve 2 purposes: to prevent paying many employees and to introduce a sense of ownership/responsibility/work ethic. NPH seems to do a lot with their limited resources and the kids seemed overall healthy and happy. The younger kids were less than shy in asking for hugs, piggyback rides and candy and the older kids were also very talkative (at least within the confines of our conversational Spanish).
We were asked to bring an activity for 25 kindergarten-aged kids, preferably with an American culture theme. Obviously, fingerpainting mini pumpkins was the most logical solution. We hauled a bagful of mini pumpkins all over the Mexican bus system and scrambled to translate Halloween-related words into Spanish. While half the group painted pumpkins, we attempted to wrangle the other half into playing games. We should have expected that it would be a significant challenge to occupy 16 six-year-old boys for half an hour. The circle for Duck Duck Goose ended when everyone wanted to sit in the middle. Simon Says was cancelled when one niño strategically directed his saliva onto Mitch, our token ND boy, while he was stuck under the ¨Simon Says Hug Mitch¨ pile. Simon did not in fact say ¨Spit in Someone´s Hair¨. Pirate Ship ended in a scraped knee and a few tears. Erica´s valiant attempt to teach a funny camp song was foiled by the significant language barrier. Overall, I´d say it was a success.

After getting up for a 7AM bus and spending all day in the hot, hot sun with the niños, we were exhausted by about 8PM and all slept nearly 10 hours. Our bus ride back to Puebla was not as smooth as it could have been. Apparently a car accident had closed the main highway between Cuernavaca and Puebla so we had to take an alternative route featuring every pothole and speedbump that Mexico had to offer, a lovely bus tour of several cornfields and a cheesy Nicholas Cage movie. We eventually made it back, a little bruised and nauseous, but full of a week´s worth of hugs.

I spent a lot of time this weekend considering how different my life would have been without my parents, siblings, and extended family. Not to mention a stable home environment and education. So this is a ShoutOut to the Redline Fam: Thank you. I miss you and I love you more than bees love honey!

Oooo ooo, we’re halfway there!

This weekend was relatively calm; I spent Saturday and Sunday at my host family's house. We drank coffee, watched movies, chatted with visiting relatives, and of course, ate. It was great to have a weekend without a schedule or an early wake up time. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've slept past 9:30AM since the end of July. Is this what it's like to be an adult? I wonder. Considering that this past Tuesday was the 50% mark for my time abroad, I thought that I'd take this opportunity to summarize some lessons that I've learned while in Mexico.

1. Don't play in the street. Vehicles have the right-of-way and crosswalks do not exist on most streets in Mexico. It is left to the pedestrian's discretion and agility to cross the street at whichever point seems least dangerous. I have found that speedbumps are a good place to cross because the driver will at least have to slow down to save the undercarriage of their vehicle, if not out of concern for the pedestrian. This "each man for himself" attitude extends to the driver's seat of each and every vehicle in Mexico. Despite the general disregard for traffic laws (or perhaps lack of traffic laws?), I have only seen the aftermath of one fender-bender and one single car accident. The average American driver would be donezo after 5 minutes of driving in calm Mexican traffic. My host mom explained to me that it's all about the attitude. American drivers tend to focus only on where their own car is headed and don't notice other vehicles until something is going wrong, and then it's too late. Mexican drivers are constantly watching the taxis, buses, bicycles, exchange students, and stray dogs that are wandering into their path. They are expecting the unexpected and so it is no longer a SLAMONTHEBRAKES emergency when a Notre Dame girl plays deer-in-the-headlights.
2. Do not put toilet paper in the toilet. It doesn't matter if you are in the nicest hotel in the country or the shittiest (haha.pun.) restaurant bathroom. Put it in the trash can, por favor. This takes a bit of getting used to because most of us have been throwing the TP in toilet for the last 20 years and the idea of all that sitting around in the trash can is not exactly pleasant. But the consequences of angering the Mexican plumbing system are less pleasant. On a related note, we were all originally outraged by the idea of paying five pesos to use a bathroom on our first trip out of Puebla. This has now become the usual fare and we've becoming pros at taking advantage of restaurant bathrooms, bringing our own tissues, and just holding it. And we have also learned that sometimes, you just have to cough up $5MX. You would not believe how much drama $0.40 can sometimes cause.
3. Count your change. This habit serves a triple purpose. The first is to make sure that the cashier didn't accidentally or purposely cheat you out of $5MX (you might need that later for the bathroom!) The second is to avoid a situation in which you want to pay for something (like a public restroom) that costs $5MX and all you have is a $500MX note. No one in all of Mexico will give change for a 500 peso note, including most banktellers. The third purpose is to conserve your precious Notre Dame stipend. While we are definitely spending less of our own money than any student studying in Europe, thriftiness is still highly encouraged. I could whine about this stipend drama some more, but it could be much worse and it's more important to appreciate everything we DO have. This is an exercise of prioritizing costs, pinching pesos, and occasionally shelling out some pesos with a smile.
4. Greet everyone. It is irrelevant that you don't know that bus driver, security guard, or random old lady on the sidewalk. Just smile and say "Hola, buen@s días/tardes/noches." You should also not think too hard about why "Good afternoon" is the appropriate greeting for anytime between 11AM and midnight. You cannot know. The one exception to this friendliness rule is the Mexican catcaller. When confronted with a foreign girl wearing anything besides a burqa or baggy sweatpants, construction workers and truck drivers cannot control the urge to whistle or make a crude comment. You should in no circumstance acknowledge these advances. This includes giving them the finger. Bad idea.
5. Public displays of affection are never frowned upon. No one has actually told me this word-for-word, but based on the sheer number of couples (not just teenagers; also middle-aged adults) practically making babies in public, I feel pretty safe drawing this conclusion. For example, we went on a night tour of Puebla that featured dramatic reenactments of Puebla's most popular ghost stories. The appearance of 25 gringos, a screaming ghost woman and a suicidal ghost man did not discourage the couple from mackin' it on their bench 2 feet away from the crowd. A less scandalous embodiment of this "friendly" attitude is the greeting (see Lesson #4) accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. You always kiss the other person's right cheek and this ritual can be applied in nearly any social situation, including with doctors at the hospital and friends of a friend of a friend. Again, it is irrelevant whether you have even met this person. Just go ahead and kiss them. No te preocupes. If I'm completely honest with myself, I would have to admit that these public displays of excessive affection seem excessive to me because Americans are relatively cold in the middle of their laaaarge personal bubble, in comparison with the rest of the world. There's not really a problem with this, it's just different and takes some adjusting of personal bubble radii.
6. Pre-medicina is not the same as medicina.This is a double-edged sword (I'm not sure that I'm about to use this phrase correctly). When asked for the 700^th time what I study, there are two choices.
   1. Answer, "medicina." This can quickly backfire as the questioning doctor next question will be something like, "Well then you know how to put in a catheter, right?" Wrong.
   2. Answer, "pre-medicina." This leads to a chingo of questions, mostly revolving around why in the world one would want to spend so much time in med school. I could explain the differences between medicina en México and pre-medicina en los Estados Unidos in my sleep. In fact, I may have done that in my dream last night. This answer may also lead to a lecture from a medicina student about how we're not learning anything by observing and that it would be a much better use of our time if we actually did anything. No shit, Sherlock.

As part of this questioning, there is always the inevitable "where are you from?" which leads to another hard choice.

1. Answer, "Idaho." No response, because no one believes that it's a real state. In the event that someone pretends to know where Idaho is, one can debate explaining the "Famous Potatoes". And upon deciding that this is a good idea, probably confuse las papas famosas with los papas famosos or los papás famosos (the famous popes and famous fathers, respectively). Explain that no one actually lives in Idaho, there are just a lot of lakes, mountains, and snow. Wander away.
2. Answer, "Chicago." This is a flat out lie. Hope that no one asks detailed questions. Complain about the snow, cold and wind. Wander away.

Anyways, that's my life. Take my hand and we'll make it. I swear.

Correction

After much debate among the Notre Dame-Puebla crowd and multiple Wikipedia proofs, I stand corrected. Apparently I should have entitled my blog "Ometeo" or to be even more accurate to the original Nahuatl, "Ometeotl".
Ometeo.

Oma Teo

I spent this week playing University of Notre Dame-condoned hooky and went to Zacapoaxtla and Cuetzalan, mountain cities in the northern bit of Puebla (state). I can´t reasonably give details about everything that we did all week because THERE´S NOT MUCH TIME, so I´m going to pick some highlights and call it a day. First, some background. Cuetzalan is a reasonably famous town tucked up in the mountains near the state of Veracruz. It has been named a pueblo mágico, or magical city, by the Mexican Tourism Dept. and the name is pretty fitting. The region is generally known for its above average preservation of traditional language, dress and culture. This includes the indigenous pre-Hispanic language, Nahuatl, that is still commonly heard in the markets, villages and even radio stations in and around Cuetzalan. The outfit of choice in this area is an all white shirt and skirt/pants with embroidered borders, woven belts, and no shoes. The men all wear cowboy-style hats and the women tie their hair on top of their head.
Zacapoaxtla is a smaller town between Puebla and Cuetzalan. We spent Monday through Wednesday in Zacapoaxtla and the health clinics in surrounding villages before moving on to the larger regional hospital in Cuetzalan. The rural clinics still have to worry about issues that we have nearly forgotten in the United States including malnutrition, intestinal parasites, and lack of education about STDs, etc. The Cuetzalan hospital has a relatively new, government-funded program that allows traditional and modern medicine to be practiced side-by-side. In addition to radiologists, general surgeons and pediatricians, the hospital offers curanderas, parteras and hueseras. These traditional healers, midwives and bone healers (there´s not really a direct translation for this one) use only herbs and natural plant products while attending to their patients. The majority of them are older women who learned their profession from their mothers or grandmothers and walk an hour or more, barefoot, to arrive in town. We were able to spend Thursday and Friday in this unique hospital, chatting with the curanderas through the English-Spanish-Nahuatl language barrier.

Ok, the scene is set. Enter my science-minded self and my affinity for making lists.
MY TOP 3

1. As I said, the first few days of this adventure we spent in rural health clinics. It turns out that this past week was National Health Week, a campaign that focuses on updating vaccinations, administering anti-parasite medication, nutrition education and sexual education. I met some truly inspirational public health workers who spent the week hauling around boxes of desparasitantes, Vitamin A, and condoms. The school I remember most was the first we visited, a government-funded boarding school. It housed kids from ages 7 to 13 years and many of them didn´t go home for the whole semester, either due to travel or financial reasons. Needless to say, these kids were starved for any attention and the appearance of my blond self and my Korean American rotation partner was almost more cultural excitement than they could handle for one day. After assuring the kids that the medicine tasted just like coconut yogurt and checking that they drank it all, we were mobbed with questions and had to be reminded each time that there was another classroom. We were probably slowing the health workers down more than we were helping, now that I think about it. Whoops. Everyone I met in the Zacapoaxtla area was extremely welcoming, friendly and politely curious. One little kid piped up that we were the first Americans he had ever seen. This helped us to understand a little better why everyone kept taking pictures of us as well.
2. So I think I´ve mentioned my theory on intimate touches before, but we can review. The idea is that people need physical (as well as social and emotional and intellectual, less relevant) contact with other people to be happy, I´m pretty sure that it releases a good hormone of some variety. Anyways, I have a habit of blaming my bad moods on not giving or receiving enough intimate touches that day. You might ask: Libby, how is this relevant at all to traditional medicine in the mountains of Mexico? Well on Friday I was about to give up on that silly traditional medicine hospital because nothing was going as planned, the doctors abandoned us for their lunchboxes, whinewhinewhine. Then a very professional-looking female doctor told me to fill out some paperwork and follow her. I stumbled through the paperwork and followed her to the pediatric ward. After explaining her half dozen patients´ cases, she directed me to wash my hands and directed me towards a tiny, wailing baby in an incubator. This baby had weighed less than three pounds at birth and was not looking great. The young mom had not been around much and wasn´t spending as much time with her new baby as the doctor wanted. I was instructed to comfort him, talk to him, touch him gently, and stay there until he fell asleep. Interpretation: this little guy needs some intimate touches pronto. So I held his itty bitty hand, rubbed his belly, and sang the only Spanish songs that I could think of. This may have consisted of a Shakira hit and the Cordera de Dios (Lamb of God) song from Mass. If I had to pick a favorite 30-minute period from the last week, this would be it. It was all about going with the flow, being patient, and being in the right place at the right time.
3. This is actually going to consist of 2 separate but chronological activities (yes, I realize I´m already breaking my own rule). On Saturday we went to a nature preserve outside of Cuetzalan that doubles as an organic coffee farm. We were guided through the quasi-rainforest by the Mexican equivalent of a forest ranger and stopped often to examine trees, ferns, leaves and lichen. Most of these stops were accented by the command, ¨Cómelo!¨ as the guide handed out leaves. We were pretty skeptical about eating the first piece of lichen that he handed us, but by the end of the hike we were obediently sticking leaves in our mouth, stretching our limited Spanish vocabulary to describe it´s taste and drinking spring water out of a leaf-turned-cup. No te preocupes, don´t worry, we all lived to tell the tale. While this was all very exciting and was sufficient to quench my NATURE ADVENTURE cravings for a few weeks, it was just the trail to the main attraction. Hidden down in a valley was a beautiful waterfall that fell into a deep pool before hurrying off into the rainforest. It was not quite frozen snow, but it was darn close. Nevertheless, we had just tromped through the buggy woods for an hour in shorts specifically to risk hypothermia in this waterfall, so that is what we did.

Other activities this week included: attending nursing school classes, eating pan dulce, lots of market wandering, a group appearance on a local radio show, a Zumba dance class, a visit to the ancient ruins of Yohualichan, several intense games of Bananograms (boardless Scrabble) and Pictaphone (Pictionary/Telephone hybrid), and a few killer workouts up and down the hilly streets of Zacapoaxtla and Cuetzalan. I´m still feeling that one in my calves, for sure.
The last fun fact that I will share before bedtime doubles as an explanation of the title. In addition to massage and herbal treatments, curanderas use temazcal bathes in their traditional treatments. A temazcal bath is the Mexican equivalent to the Native American sweatlodge, in which water and herbs are poured on hot rocks to make a sauna-like atmosphere inside a small dark hut. The rituals of a temazcal bath are based on the pre-Hispanic religion of the area, which focuses especially on the four directions of the universe, the numbers 4, 5 and 13, and the duality of nature. Oma Teo (don´t quote me on the spelling) refers to the bi-gender or genderless deity that was important in a way that I can´t exactly remember. Anyways, we ended up saying ¨Oma teo¨ every time that a new hot rock was introduced, the special tea was served or we entered or left the temazcal hut. Or anytime that there was an awkward silence. So it was said a lot.
In summary, I had an indescribably marvelous week and ironically learned much more than I would learned reading 16th century Spanish literature in a classroom. HA.