When conversation time is over, we walk back to school with the guias. I've rarely walked so much since my days at IU! From school, I take a taxi to my host family's home, because the buses are extra-crowded for evening rush hour and I usually have more "stuff" to carry -- twice a week, mi ropa sucio (dirty clothing) rides the bus with me in the morning, but takes a taxi home in the afternoon, when it's nice and clean, folded and bagged. Having my laundry done is a little luxury I'm going to miss! For just over $2 a kilo, I get same-day service!
La cena, the smaller evening meal, usually is at 7 and often includes either soup of the consistency we consider normal or "dry soup" -- a smaller amount of clear broth with larger pieces of vegetables and meat. One dry soup I plan to make at home is what Olga served me when I was on the bland diet: chunks of very lean ground beef, carrots, zucchini and chayote in the liquid in which they'd been cooked. At home, I'll season it more than I could then, but it was delicious. During cena, Olga, Humberto and I talk over the day's events or discuss U.S. and/or Mexican politics. We all have a pretty low opinion of many on the right wing. (I'm sure you're shocked.)
Before and/or after la cena, there's usually tarea -- homework. Sometimes there's very little -- five sentences in Spanish, using new vocabulary words. But one night, I spent 2 1/2 hours on it and still didn't think I'd done enough. This is not a program for perezozos (lazy people)!
Often, we watch TV -- seldom captioned, unfortunately, but listening helps my accent. Other times, we go to the casino, their favorite recreation. But most nights, I hit the sheets about 10 and if the dogs and roosters cooperate, I'm soon asleep. ¡Buenos noches a todo!
(Next time -- I finally climb a pyramid!)
Friday, October 29, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Un dia tipico (parte 2)
Class runs from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. with a break about 11 a.m. Elizabeth, our teacher, uses games, conversation and interesting items to read that are more or less on our comprehension level. With only Sharon and me in the class, there's no goofing off and hoping not to be called on! We have to be on our game constantly. It's mentally exhausting but exhilirating.
At break time, Sharon and I usually walk about a bloque to a pequeño cafeteria (that's a coffee shop here, not something like MCL). It has coffee drinks similar to Starbucks' but at about half the price. $22 gets me a small mocha cafe. Sharon and I take turns buying a cafe Americano for Elizabeth. We always look longingly at the postres (desserts) in the case, but decide to save the money and calories.
At lunch, we have a choice of a vegetarian restaurant that I still haven't tried and Pepe Grillo's, which puts out a special buffet of Mexican foods for the students in its back room. We eat earlier than local people, for whom 2:30 p.m. is lunchtime. Today, for the first time in a week, I'll be eating from the buffet, not having something special made to comply with my bland diet. The staff there has been a bit clueless, even after Antonio, the school director, explained, but have been very gracious.
After lunch, during which some people struggle to keep using Spanish and some take a "brain break," we walk to the Zocalo, the large central plaza that is the hub of the city, to meet our guias. The guias all are university students who speak English in varying degrees, but use it only to explain things when Spanish fails.
Glenny and Francisco were my two previous guias; both were friendly and helpful. This week, Cecilia, who teaches English part time in a local school, is my guia. Maybe that's why I find it easiest to talk to her, or maybe it's because after 2 1/2 weeks my brain is acclimating to actually speaking in whole sentences without lapsing into too much Spanglish.
Cecilia and I visited the municipal building here to see the ofrenda -- the Dia de Los Muertos offering/memorial. This year, it's dedicated to the heroes of the 1910 Mexican Revolution. It's hard to describe, but very elaborate, with skeletons costumed as revolutionaries, plenty of large sugar skulls, etc.Marigolds are the flower of mourning here, but the silk flowers used in the ofrenda were something else that was the right color but the wrong shape. (Yes, you can take the girl outta the flower shop, but . . . )
If I ever get a chance to add photos to this blog, the ofrendas will be among highlights.
We popped into a couple of bakeries to admire the skulls molded of chocolate, sugar or tiny seeds (maybe amaranth) and the little figurines for Dia de Los Muertos. If I can figure out how to protect them in transit, I want to get several. In one bakery I bought some cookies for my host family; in the other, I bought a small bottle of rompope -- Mexican eggnog with rum. (Elizabeth was shocked to find that eggnog and cider were alcohol-free in the U.S.!)
Finally, we visited the Museo de la Revolucion. It's the home of the Serdans, a prosperous family that was among those most involved in the revolution, and just has been restored to look much as it did on the day that government troops burst into their home and killed most of them outright. A couple of family members hid under floorboards for more than 40 hours before one coughed and they were found.
At break time, Sharon and I usually walk about a bloque to a pequeño cafeteria (that's a coffee shop here, not something like MCL). It has coffee drinks similar to Starbucks' but at about half the price. $22 gets me a small mocha cafe. Sharon and I take turns buying a cafe Americano for Elizabeth. We always look longingly at the postres (desserts) in the case, but decide to save the money and calories.
At lunch, we have a choice of a vegetarian restaurant that I still haven't tried and Pepe Grillo's, which puts out a special buffet of Mexican foods for the students in its back room. We eat earlier than local people, for whom 2:30 p.m. is lunchtime. Today, for the first time in a week, I'll be eating from the buffet, not having something special made to comply with my bland diet. The staff there has been a bit clueless, even after Antonio, the school director, explained, but have been very gracious.
After lunch, during which some people struggle to keep using Spanish and some take a "brain break," we walk to the Zocalo, the large central plaza that is the hub of the city, to meet our guias. The guias all are university students who speak English in varying degrees, but use it only to explain things when Spanish fails.
Glenny and Francisco were my two previous guias; both were friendly and helpful. This week, Cecilia, who teaches English part time in a local school, is my guia. Maybe that's why I find it easiest to talk to her, or maybe it's because after 2 1/2 weeks my brain is acclimating to actually speaking in whole sentences without lapsing into too much Spanglish.
Cecilia and I visited the municipal building here to see the ofrenda -- the Dia de Los Muertos offering/memorial. This year, it's dedicated to the heroes of the 1910 Mexican Revolution. It's hard to describe, but very elaborate, with skeletons costumed as revolutionaries, plenty of large sugar skulls, etc.Marigolds are the flower of mourning here, but the silk flowers used in the ofrenda were something else that was the right color but the wrong shape. (Yes, you can take the girl outta the flower shop, but . . . )
If I ever get a chance to add photos to this blog, the ofrendas will be among highlights.
We popped into a couple of bakeries to admire the skulls molded of chocolate, sugar or tiny seeds (maybe amaranth) and the little figurines for Dia de Los Muertos. If I can figure out how to protect them in transit, I want to get several. In one bakery I bought some cookies for my host family; in the other, I bought a small bottle of rompope -- Mexican eggnog with rum. (Elizabeth was shocked to find that eggnog and cider were alcohol-free in the U.S.!)
Finally, we visited the Museo de la Revolucion. It's the home of the Serdans, a prosperous family that was among those most involved in the revolution, and just has been restored to look much as it did on the day that government troops burst into their home and killed most of them outright. A couple of family members hid under floorboards for more than 40 hours before one coughed and they were found.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Un dia tipico
On a typical weekday, I get up about 6:15, finish my tarea (homework), get dressed and go downstairs for a desayuno of toast, coffee and fruit. A little before 8, I go out the front door, through the patio and out the gate, pulling it hard so it locks. If it's chilly, I cross to the sunny side of the street to walk less than a block to the bus stop, passing the textile factory, which has been clickety-clacking since 6 a.m., and the scrapyard, which usually is enclosed, but this morning is open because a loaded truck is arriving. Just as I reach the corner, the 44 bus arrives and is stopped for the light. I hop aboard, pay my 5 pesos and sit in the only available seat, beside a rather hefty man who moves over just a tad.
A block up from the bus stop, there's a food "truck" (actually, a mini-truck body on a 3-wheeled motorcycle chassis), selling donas (doughnuts) to the government workers heading for a nearby oficina. Nearby, a woman is selling what looks like postres (desserts) in clear plastic cups. I don't know whether the trabajadores (workers) will eat them for desayuno or save them for almuerzo about 2:30 p.m.
There seems to be no such thing as zoning here. Many merchants and food vendors live over their shops, in second- and third-story additions that sometimes look a bit precarious despite being built of concrete, brick and/or stone. Attractive buildings with prosperous businesses share a wall with derilect places that haven't seen paint since 2000 or so.
But if you want to be in business, you don't really need a building. You can string a tarp across a sidewalk every evening and dish up your specialty -- cemitas, mermelas, tacos, etc. Or you can get a 3-wheeled tricycle with a box between the two front wheels and pedal around the city, selling anything from food to toys to craft items the tourists (there aren't many here) like. Or you can put your lawn mower on the back of your bike and pedal off to mow the grass hidden behind someone's high patio wall. No bike? No problem. Vendors galore make do with their feet and a bag or basket or box of their wares.
The bus jolts down the streets, stopping every block or so, changing lanes unpredictably, lurching through the dogleg turn and crawling through the jammed-up cars, buses and taxis dropping kids off at a large (and probably expensive) private school. We pass the Russian bakery, cross Avenida San Francisco (a broad, smoothish modern street) and rumble two more blocks. "Esquina, por favor," I tell the chofer, and get off at 11 Oriente y Calle 2 Sur. From the corner it's a half-block walk to the school, where I press the doorbell and am admitted.
(More later -- time for class.).
A block up from the bus stop, there's a food "truck" (actually, a mini-truck body on a 3-wheeled motorcycle chassis), selling donas (doughnuts) to the government workers heading for a nearby oficina. Nearby, a woman is selling what looks like postres (desserts) in clear plastic cups. I don't know whether the trabajadores (workers) will eat them for desayuno or save them for almuerzo about 2:30 p.m.
There seems to be no such thing as zoning here. Many merchants and food vendors live over their shops, in second- and third-story additions that sometimes look a bit precarious despite being built of concrete, brick and/or stone. Attractive buildings with prosperous businesses share a wall with derilect places that haven't seen paint since 2000 or so.
But if you want to be in business, you don't really need a building. You can string a tarp across a sidewalk every evening and dish up your specialty -- cemitas, mermelas, tacos, etc. Or you can get a 3-wheeled tricycle with a box between the two front wheels and pedal around the city, selling anything from food to toys to craft items the tourists (there aren't many here) like. Or you can put your lawn mower on the back of your bike and pedal off to mow the grass hidden behind someone's high patio wall. No bike? No problem. Vendors galore make do with their feet and a bag or basket or box of their wares.
The bus jolts down the streets, stopping every block or so, changing lanes unpredictably, lurching through the dogleg turn and crawling through the jammed-up cars, buses and taxis dropping kids off at a large (and probably expensive) private school. We pass the Russian bakery, cross Avenida San Francisco (a broad, smoothish modern street) and rumble two more blocks. "Esquina, por favor," I tell the chofer, and get off at 11 Oriente y Calle 2 Sur. From the corner it's a half-block walk to the school, where I press the doorbell and am admitted.
(More later -- time for class.).
Friday, October 22, 2010
Dos casas en Puebla; Montezuma redux
My hosts, Olga and Humberto, live in an older part of Puebla, a short bus ride from the Centro (Downtown). Their house is in a mixed-use area, and is in what I think of as a classic Mexican/Spanish style -- a high wall enclosing a patio and garden areas, high-ceilinged rooms, stucco walls, tile roof, etc. Inside, the floors are mostly of patterned tiles in designs reminiscent of Oriental rugs. The walls in the kitchen and dining room are tiled in white, with accents of patterned tiles. The house is about 75-80 years old, and has been lovingly restored and updated without harming its charm.
About half an hour's drive away live their daughter, Olga Elisa, her husband, Roberto, and their two darling children, Ximena (hee-MAY-nah), 2.5, and Jose Emilio, 8 weeks. Ximena is very bright, and is a little charmer, and Jose Emilio is adorable. Their home is in the modern Mexican style, with a high-walled, grassy patio at the back and sides -- with a rectangular fountain -- and much use of stone and tile. It was night, so I didn't see much of the exterior, but the inside makes it obvious that Olga Elisa shares her mother's sense of design, though they prefer different styles. The decor is sleek, with light-colored floors of large tiles, white walls, and comfortable seating in pale shades. The living room tables and the dining table and kitchen cabinets are of dark, warm-hued wood. The kitchen counters are of white stone flecked with warm browns. What makes it special is that the accessories are so well chosen and placed, but the home isn't stuffy, it's lively, just like her parents' home. She and Roberto are very charming and hospitable, and it was a special treat to get to visit with them in their home.
*******
Wednesday, I gave in to the inevitable and scheduled a visit from the doctor recommended by the school. I wrote out my list of medications and my symptoms in Spanish, and had my teacher review them, before he arrived. A good thing, since he speaks only Spanish. But he was very thorough, taking my blood pressure, asking questions, checking my heart, eyes, ears and skin, and finally making an exam table out of three chairs in the conference room so he could poke and prod my belly. He seemed unsurprised to learn that I had not eaten or drunk anything obviously unsafe, but surprised that I cook foods at home that are much spicier than anything I've encountered here without problems. With nothing concrete to attribute my misery to, he blamed it on the stress of changes in food, altitude, environment, etc. (Or, in other words, _ _it happens.)
He prescribed Cipro, another antibiotic and lactobacillis acidophilis tablets, along with the dullest diet this side of bread and water: Bread, white rice, potatoes and pasta; carrots, zucchini and chayote (a pear-shaped Mexican veggie with a taste and texture similar to plain zucchini); chicken or beef; apples, pears and bananas; Gatorade, herb tea or water. All steamed or boiled or grilled. No condiments. Like the medicines, the diet is to last for a week.
Luckily, the expense hasn't been too great -- M$300 (about $28) for the "house call" at the school, and M$360 ($34) for the medications. My travel medical insurance should cover some or all of it, but if not, well, it's about the same as my Medicare copays would have been, because at least one of the medications is non-formulary. And with luck, I'll lose a pound or two.
The best news is that I've been symptom-free since Wednesday, and am looking forward to an all-day field trip Sunday. Our homestay families provide our lunches, and Olga and I have figured out what I can take in a 6-pack-size cooler so I can stay on my diet safely.
I'm loving it here, and thinking seriously of coming back in a year or so, but at a different season/holiday, or of going to the sister school in Merida, Mexico.
About half an hour's drive away live their daughter, Olga Elisa, her husband, Roberto, and their two darling children, Ximena (hee-MAY-nah), 2.5, and Jose Emilio, 8 weeks. Ximena is very bright, and is a little charmer, and Jose Emilio is adorable. Their home is in the modern Mexican style, with a high-walled, grassy patio at the back and sides -- with a rectangular fountain -- and much use of stone and tile. It was night, so I didn't see much of the exterior, but the inside makes it obvious that Olga Elisa shares her mother's sense of design, though they prefer different styles. The decor is sleek, with light-colored floors of large tiles, white walls, and comfortable seating in pale shades. The living room tables and the dining table and kitchen cabinets are of dark, warm-hued wood. The kitchen counters are of white stone flecked with warm browns. What makes it special is that the accessories are so well chosen and placed, but the home isn't stuffy, it's lively, just like her parents' home. She and Roberto are very charming and hospitable, and it was a special treat to get to visit with them in their home.
*******
Wednesday, I gave in to the inevitable and scheduled a visit from the doctor recommended by the school. I wrote out my list of medications and my symptoms in Spanish, and had my teacher review them, before he arrived. A good thing, since he speaks only Spanish. But he was very thorough, taking my blood pressure, asking questions, checking my heart, eyes, ears and skin, and finally making an exam table out of three chairs in the conference room so he could poke and prod my belly. He seemed unsurprised to learn that I had not eaten or drunk anything obviously unsafe, but surprised that I cook foods at home that are much spicier than anything I've encountered here without problems. With nothing concrete to attribute my misery to, he blamed it on the stress of changes in food, altitude, environment, etc. (Or, in other words, _ _it happens.)
He prescribed Cipro, another antibiotic and lactobacillis acidophilis tablets, along with the dullest diet this side of bread and water: Bread, white rice, potatoes and pasta; carrots, zucchini and chayote (a pear-shaped Mexican veggie with a taste and texture similar to plain zucchini); chicken or beef; apples, pears and bananas; Gatorade, herb tea or water. All steamed or boiled or grilled. No condiments. Like the medicines, the diet is to last for a week.
Luckily, the expense hasn't been too great -- M$300 (about $28) for the "house call" at the school, and M$360 ($34) for the medications. My travel medical insurance should cover some or all of it, but if not, well, it's about the same as my Medicare copays would have been, because at least one of the medications is non-formulary. And with luck, I'll lose a pound or two.
The best news is that I've been symptom-free since Wednesday, and am looking forward to an all-day field trip Sunday. Our homestay families provide our lunches, and Olga and I have figured out what I can take in a 6-pack-size cooler so I can stay on my diet safely.
I'm loving it here, and thinking seriously of coming back in a year or so, but at a different season/holiday, or of going to the sister school in Merida, Mexico.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Los Combis
Combis, the smaller buses that hold about 30 sitting people plus however many more can cram in as standees, are the least expensive way to get around other than walking. For 4.5 pesos (about 40 cents), I can get from "home" to school in less than 15 minutes. Some days, I wish the ride lasted longer so I could observe more of the people.
It's been a little chilly here -- probably 50s in the mornings -- but you'd think it was at least freezing.
There are no school buses here, so parents and kids ride together, all of them bundled up against the cold. The kids wear light parkas and gloves, and often have scarves wrapped over their faces so only their bright, curious eyes show as they sneak looks at the gringa vieja. When the gringa winks at them, they usually smile (though all you can see of the sonrisa is the crinkles around their eyes). The parents wear heavy sweaters, often with a shawl or poncho thrown over that, and sometimes a hospital-style paper mask over their noses and mouths to protect them from the low temperature. (Is it any wonder that Indianapolis Public Schools has to close when it's zero out? Too many kids lack warm-enough coats, and the Hispanic kids' parents don't realize right away what a threat the cold is to kids waiting on a school bus.)
The combi rockets down the street, from one traffic light or stop sign to another, and the driver never brakes until he really has to. In a few places, there are speed bumps, but they're more like speed humps -- they often come in pairs like a camel's humps. For those, even drivers of the big buses slow down. On the routes I take, the 44 Yellow or the 55 Red, there's an extreme dogleg that the driver takes at what feels like great speeds. Hang on or else!
Because I live in an old district, Colonia Azcurate, and go to school in the Centro (Downtown), which is even older, most of the streets are cobblestoned and rough. So much for the idea of knitting on the bus!
One of my few qualms about this trip was the energy consumption to get here and back. But I've since realized that for a month I'm not driving my car or running my TV, and probably not my furnace or AC either, since I left it set low and the cats can't reach the thermostat. So, since I walk or take the bus almost everywhere, and ride with 1 to 4 more people if I am in a car, I've concluded that it's more or less a wash.
This morning, before climbing onto the combi, I stopped at the OXXO, a Mexican version of a 7/11, and bought Kleenex (they didn't have small packets so I had to settle for a small box for 10 pesos), a liter of water (6 pesos) and three packs of gum (didn't see the price) and got back a $100, a $50 and a couple of coins from a $200 bill. The clerk was a little upset over such a "big" bill, and appeared to have very little change. Since my other objective in going there had been to break the 200, I wasn't too sympathetic. Sometimes it's really hard to spend money here!
Off to class, where I'm still luchando (struggling) but enjoying it.
Hasta luego,
Elena
It's been a little chilly here -- probably 50s in the mornings -- but you'd think it was at least freezing.
There are no school buses here, so parents and kids ride together, all of them bundled up against the cold. The kids wear light parkas and gloves, and often have scarves wrapped over their faces so only their bright, curious eyes show as they sneak looks at the gringa vieja. When the gringa winks at them, they usually smile (though all you can see of the sonrisa is the crinkles around their eyes). The parents wear heavy sweaters, often with a shawl or poncho thrown over that, and sometimes a hospital-style paper mask over their noses and mouths to protect them from the low temperature. (Is it any wonder that Indianapolis Public Schools has to close when it's zero out? Too many kids lack warm-enough coats, and the Hispanic kids' parents don't realize right away what a threat the cold is to kids waiting on a school bus.)
The combi rockets down the street, from one traffic light or stop sign to another, and the driver never brakes until he really has to. In a few places, there are speed bumps, but they're more like speed humps -- they often come in pairs like a camel's humps. For those, even drivers of the big buses slow down. On the routes I take, the 44 Yellow or the 55 Red, there's an extreme dogleg that the driver takes at what feels like great speeds. Hang on or else!
Because I live in an old district, Colonia Azcurate, and go to school in the Centro (Downtown), which is even older, most of the streets are cobblestoned and rough. So much for the idea of knitting on the bus!
One of my few qualms about this trip was the energy consumption to get here and back. But I've since realized that for a month I'm not driving my car or running my TV, and probably not my furnace or AC either, since I left it set low and the cats can't reach the thermostat. So, since I walk or take the bus almost everywhere, and ride with 1 to 4 more people if I am in a car, I've concluded that it's more or less a wash.
This morning, before climbing onto the combi, I stopped at the OXXO, a Mexican version of a 7/11, and bought Kleenex (they didn't have small packets so I had to settle for a small box for 10 pesos), a liter of water (6 pesos) and three packs of gum (didn't see the price) and got back a $100, a $50 and a couple of coins from a $200 bill. The clerk was a little upset over such a "big" bill, and appeared to have very little change. Since my other objective in going there had been to break the 200, I wasn't too sympathetic. Sometimes it's really hard to spend money here!
Off to class, where I'm still luchando (struggling) but enjoying it.
Hasta luego,
Elena
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Montezuma and me
If you've ever doubted that it's nearly impossible to avoid turista, take my word. My host family is very clean and careful, and the group eats lunch only in two approved restaurants. The only "street food" I've had has been bought from trusted sources by Olga, my hostess. Nevertheless . . .
But I'm recovering with the aid of te de yerba buena (spearmint tea -- tasty!), boiled rice, plain toast and oral rehydration salts -- a fancy term for a liter of purified water with 4 tablespoons of sugar and a half-tablespoon of salt mixed in. Yeah, it tastes as great as it sounds, but it's effective.
Sunday night, I felt good enough to go back to the casino -- Olga and Humberto's favorite recreation. We went with their good friends Miguel Angel and his wife, Letty, a very friendly couple. I broke exactly even (unlike winning $130 and $340 -- that's pesos, folks, not dollars!) on previous trips. Olga and Humberto each won a bit, but Letty and Miguel Angel were the big winners -- 1,500 pesos apiece at bingo.
This week, only Sharon and I are left in the class: Hapa, from Vancouver Island, B.C., left Friday. She had spent most of her time on Level 2, but moved up for her last week to cover the pluperfect subjunctive. (Yeah, a term only a grammar nerd could love.).
I struggle with the pluperfect subjunctive, but it always reminds me of a joke. (Nieta, if you're reading this, don't bother asking Mommy to explain.):
A Bostonian who loves seafood and hasn't been back home for 20 years flies into Logan Airport and grabs a taxi. "Take me someplace I can get scrod!" he orders the driver. The cabbie looks him over and says, "Mac, I bet I get told that 20 times a day, but you're the first person ever to put it in the pluperfect subjunctive."
Recently I've been riding the combis -- short buses (no jokes, please!) to school because they are lower and easier to get into than the regular buses. As a bonus, the fares are cheaper -- 4.5 pesos, not 5, a savings of roughly 4 cents at a 12:1 exchange rate. Not a big deal to me, but I'm sure it matters to some of my fellow passengers.
Una gringa vieja gets some strange looks on the combi, but nobody is hostile. Sometimes I strike up a conversation with a young mom about her niños. Usually, I take a taxi "home" in the afternoon.
The way the streets are named here -- odd numbers on one side of the dividing point and even on the others -- still confuses me, but I like how well the street names are identified. Tile plaques are set into buildings on almost every corner; buildings or the high walls of their patios almost always come right up to the edge of the sidewalk.
Uh-oh -- es la hora de mi clase. Adios por ahora.
Besos y abrazos
Elena
But I'm recovering with the aid of te de yerba buena (spearmint tea -- tasty!), boiled rice, plain toast and oral rehydration salts -- a fancy term for a liter of purified water with 4 tablespoons of sugar and a half-tablespoon of salt mixed in. Yeah, it tastes as great as it sounds, but it's effective.
Sunday night, I felt good enough to go back to the casino -- Olga and Humberto's favorite recreation. We went with their good friends Miguel Angel and his wife, Letty, a very friendly couple. I broke exactly even (unlike winning $130 and $340 -- that's pesos, folks, not dollars!) on previous trips. Olga and Humberto each won a bit, but Letty and Miguel Angel were the big winners -- 1,500 pesos apiece at bingo.
This week, only Sharon and I are left in the class: Hapa, from Vancouver Island, B.C., left Friday. She had spent most of her time on Level 2, but moved up for her last week to cover the pluperfect subjunctive. (Yeah, a term only a grammar nerd could love.).
I struggle with the pluperfect subjunctive, but it always reminds me of a joke. (Nieta, if you're reading this, don't bother asking Mommy to explain.):
A Bostonian who loves seafood and hasn't been back home for 20 years flies into Logan Airport and grabs a taxi. "Take me someplace I can get scrod!" he orders the driver. The cabbie looks him over and says, "Mac, I bet I get told that 20 times a day, but you're the first person ever to put it in the pluperfect subjunctive."
Recently I've been riding the combis -- short buses (no jokes, please!) to school because they are lower and easier to get into than the regular buses. As a bonus, the fares are cheaper -- 4.5 pesos, not 5, a savings of roughly 4 cents at a 12:1 exchange rate. Not a big deal to me, but I'm sure it matters to some of my fellow passengers.
Una gringa vieja gets some strange looks on the combi, but nobody is hostile. Sometimes I strike up a conversation with a young mom about her niños. Usually, I take a taxi "home" in the afternoon.
The way the streets are named here -- odd numbers on one side of the dividing point and even on the others -- still confuses me, but I like how well the street names are identified. Tile plaques are set into buildings on almost every corner; buildings or the high walls of their patios almost always come right up to the edge of the sidewalk.
Uh-oh -- es la hora de mi clase. Adios por ahora.
Besos y abrazos
Elena
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Mas aventuras
After La Iglesia de San Francisco, the next stop was the simpler, but also beautiful, Iglesia de Santa Maria. Our guide described how the Catholic Church co-opted the indigienous peoples' gods and goddesses. In the Cholula area, the most important deity was female, so it was only logical to focus on Mary when converting the locals.
Like San Francisco, Santa Maria is ornate, but has much less gilding, because the area wasn't as rich. But the decorations inside are interesting because, when local artisans were working on it, they managed to sneak in symbols of their deities. A person or animal that symbolized a Christian concept might also double as the symbol of the goddess of water, for instance. Also, the angels and saints of Santa Maria are darker-skinned and have features more like the indigenous artisans' families than like their conquerors. And like their brothers down through the ages, the carpenters left items concealed inside their work -- objects and symbols of their religion inside the altar, for example.
Photography is forbidden inside or outside Santa Maria "for reasons of security," but in reality, reasons of securing income from visitors. As in the States, a good job is hard to find these days, and often a lousy one isn't easy to get either.
(As Antonio Prado, the school's director, explained on Monday, anyone who can afford to come to the institute for even one month is "upper class" in comparison to almost everyone here. Many Poblanos y Cholulanos are surprised when a visitor attempts to speak Spanish with them, and often they feel a bit flattered. On the other hand, I feel flattered when a local person responds patiently and politely to my mangled Spanish. I seem to be trying to express ideas far too complex for my vocabulary most of the time.)
Cholula is the scene of an archaeological/architectural wonder, an immense pyramid, much of which remains unexcavated, with guess what on top of it? Right! A Catholic Church. It's a long, strenuous climb to the top, the only way to get there, and I decided "no vale la pena" -- not worth the effort (and risk of injury) for me.
So instead of climbing, I visited a cafe with a 20-something insitute student who is Japanese but has a Mexican esposo and an adorable niña named Yodi, who is 2.5 years old. (I really miss the 1/2-1/4 keys on old typewriters sometimes.) Yodi and her mamacita y papi live in Puebla because it's halfway between Mexico City and another city where papi's job takes him part of the time.
If you want to see the wonders of the Cholula pyramid, check it out online. If I ever have a chance to post photos here, all I have are pix of a large model of the area and a replica of a mural painted primarily with crushed insects (cochineal) mixed with oil, plus a couple of shots from a great distance.
Today, my guia for the week, Lenny, and I must have walked 2 or 3 miles, exploring a museum of artifacts, paintings and more, from pre-contact and colonial eras to the years from independence in 1810 to about 1910, and then checking out an open-air market full of items mostly appealing to children and tourists. I saw quite a few things I liked, but almost nothing has a price tag, and the scarf I liked best was labeled "hecho en India." Somehow, buying a scarf (bufanda) made in India doesn't seem like the best way to spend money in Mexico. I'd rather aid the local artisans.
Uh-oh! Time to either brave rush hour on a bus or call a cab . . .
¡Hasta luego!
Elena
Like San Francisco, Santa Maria is ornate, but has much less gilding, because the area wasn't as rich. But the decorations inside are interesting because, when local artisans were working on it, they managed to sneak in symbols of their deities. A person or animal that symbolized a Christian concept might also double as the symbol of the goddess of water, for instance. Also, the angels and saints of Santa Maria are darker-skinned and have features more like the indigenous artisans' families than like their conquerors. And like their brothers down through the ages, the carpenters left items concealed inside their work -- objects and symbols of their religion inside the altar, for example.
Photography is forbidden inside or outside Santa Maria "for reasons of security," but in reality, reasons of securing income from visitors. As in the States, a good job is hard to find these days, and often a lousy one isn't easy to get either.
(As Antonio Prado, the school's director, explained on Monday, anyone who can afford to come to the institute for even one month is "upper class" in comparison to almost everyone here. Many Poblanos y Cholulanos are surprised when a visitor attempts to speak Spanish with them, and often they feel a bit flattered. On the other hand, I feel flattered when a local person responds patiently and politely to my mangled Spanish. I seem to be trying to express ideas far too complex for my vocabulary most of the time.)
Cholula is the scene of an archaeological/architectural wonder, an immense pyramid, much of which remains unexcavated, with guess what on top of it? Right! A Catholic Church. It's a long, strenuous climb to the top, the only way to get there, and I decided "no vale la pena" -- not worth the effort (and risk of injury) for me.
So instead of climbing, I visited a cafe with a 20-something insitute student who is Japanese but has a Mexican esposo and an adorable niña named Yodi, who is 2.5 years old. (I really miss the 1/2-1/4 keys on old typewriters sometimes.) Yodi and her mamacita y papi live in Puebla because it's halfway between Mexico City and another city where papi's job takes him part of the time.
If you want to see the wonders of the Cholula pyramid, check it out online. If I ever have a chance to post photos here, all I have are pix of a large model of the area and a replica of a mural painted primarily with crushed insects (cochineal) mixed with oil, plus a couple of shots from a great distance.
Today, my guia for the week, Lenny, and I must have walked 2 or 3 miles, exploring a museum of artifacts, paintings and more, from pre-contact and colonial eras to the years from independence in 1810 to about 1910, and then checking out an open-air market full of items mostly appealing to children and tourists. I saw quite a few things I liked, but almost nothing has a price tag, and the scarf I liked best was labeled "hecho en India." Somehow, buying a scarf (bufanda) made in India doesn't seem like the best way to spend money in Mexico. I'd rather aid the local artisans.
Uh-oh! Time to either brave rush hour on a bus or call a cab . . .
¡Hasta luego!
Elena
Aventuras por autobus
Unlike Indy, Puebla has abundant public transit. Like Indy, riding it is an adventure, but for different reasons. The people here are gracious and helpful to visitors, but the bus drivers mostly are like Chicago's were in the '60s and may still be: Their job is to drive the bus, NOT to make you feel comfortable and safe. The streets here mostly are paved in stone, so the ride is pretty rough. Olga's daughter, Olga Elisa, tried to convince me not to ride the bus because the drivers take off like a shot before you've even paid the fare, let alone sat down.
But so far, I've had no real problems with the buses, just my most embarrassing moment so far: When I got on the 44 bus yesterday morning, i dropped my cinco pesos (about 40 cents) into the driver's cup of tea!! He was very nice about it and wouldn't even take a few pesos for a replacement.
When I got off the bus, I very confidently strode down the street. Uh-huh, the wrong way. So I asked a local woman, and either she misdirected me or I misunderstood, probably the latter. Anyway, off I went again . . . and in a minute, here she came, rushing up behind me to tell me of my error and walk me all the way to the school! But the Geography Fairy wasn't done with me yet: At lunchtime, I was the last out of the baño (the ladies' loo), and there was no one to walk with. So off (course, of course) I went. This time, I knew quickly that I'd screwed up, so I ducked into a hotel lobby and got help getting back on course.
After class, instead of going to the Zocalo with my guia, Lenny, I went to two beautiful churches in Puebla and then to Cholula, all with about a dozen other students (and one's darling toddler daughter, Yodi), a bus driver and a guide. The first church, La Iglesia de San Francisco, is phenomenally beautiful. My photos can't do it justice, partially because flash photos are banned, but there are really good ones online. Because the fiesta de San Francisco was last week, there still were pink and silver mylar balloons floating in the sanctuary. The silver ones were star-shaped. Oddly enough, they didn't seem greatly out of place amid the gilded decor.
To be continued . . .
But so far, I've had no real problems with the buses, just my most embarrassing moment so far: When I got on the 44 bus yesterday morning, i dropped my cinco pesos (about 40 cents) into the driver's cup of tea!! He was very nice about it and wouldn't even take a few pesos for a replacement.
When I got off the bus, I very confidently strode down the street. Uh-huh, the wrong way. So I asked a local woman, and either she misdirected me or I misunderstood, probably the latter. Anyway, off I went again . . . and in a minute, here she came, rushing up behind me to tell me of my error and walk me all the way to the school! But the Geography Fairy wasn't done with me yet: At lunchtime, I was the last out of the baño (the ladies' loo), and there was no one to walk with. So off (course, of course) I went. This time, I knew quickly that I'd screwed up, so I ducked into a hotel lobby and got help getting back on course.
After class, instead of going to the Zocalo with my guia, Lenny, I went to two beautiful churches in Puebla and then to Cholula, all with about a dozen other students (and one's darling toddler daughter, Yodi), a bus driver and a guide. The first church, La Iglesia de San Francisco, is phenomenally beautiful. My photos can't do it justice, partially because flash photos are banned, but there are really good ones online. Because the fiesta de San Francisco was last week, there still were pink and silver mylar balloons floating in the sanctuary. The silver ones were star-shaped. Oddly enough, they didn't seem greatly out of place amid the gilded decor.
To be continued . . .
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
¡Hola! de Pueblo
i'm here, i'm healthy and i'm having fun in my class, but i'm struggling to keep up/catch up in level 3. i expected to be placed in level 2, and am finding level 3 a challenge because it assumes i can conjugate present and past, and it ain't necessarily so. learning spanish like a parrot, by repeating dialogues for months on end with only minimal comprehension of the words, put me at ease with speaking, but not necessarily saying what i mean!
my host family, olga and humberto, are very nice. they have a fascinating home in an older area of the city, near el centro (downtown), where el zocalo is. downstairs, their home has beautifully tiled floors that remind me of oriental rugs, upstairs, the hallway also is tiled like that, and so are some rooms. mine has a wooden floor, which is pleasant when i'm barefoot! my bathroom/shower is completely tiled -- floor, walls and ceiling, but the tiles are plain pink. a pattern would be overwhelming in that space.
i ride the bus to/from school, a bit of an adventure, since the drivers mostly seem to be nascar wannabes, squeezing their buses through heavy traffic on narrow streets at what feels like great speed. this morning, we had a driver who didn't try to beat the lights or crowd cars out. it was a great surprise.
el zocalo is a park/plaza with beautiful old trees, iron benches and a bandstand, along with vendors of toys, snacks and more. it is surrounded on three sides by stores and cafes, and the beautiful cathedral on the other. because of its beautiful colonial architecture, puebla is a u.n. world heritage city. on sunday, a brass band was playing sousa and strauss.
the building occupied by the spanish institute is about 370 years old, and originally was a convent. i find it amusing that i'm going to class in what originally was a nun's cell. each classroom's capacity is una maestra/un maestro y seis (6) estudiantes o menos. there are only three of us in my class, so we all get lots of attention.
kids would love it here -- it's slug bug heaven, because puebla is where vw builds the new beetle por todo el mundo (the whole world). everywhere you look are vw beetles old, middle-aged and new. and because it never freezes here, they never salt the streets, and coches probably wear out before they rust out. at lunch today, the director told me that jobs at vw are highly coveted because after working there two years, a worker can buy a vw at cost. usually, he said, the workers have buyers lined up for the cars in advance -- presumably at a premium.
it's almost time to meet my guide at the zocalo, so adios por ahora.
elena
my host family, olga and humberto, are very nice. they have a fascinating home in an older area of the city, near el centro (downtown), where el zocalo is. downstairs, their home has beautifully tiled floors that remind me of oriental rugs, upstairs, the hallway also is tiled like that, and so are some rooms. mine has a wooden floor, which is pleasant when i'm barefoot! my bathroom/shower is completely tiled -- floor, walls and ceiling, but the tiles are plain pink. a pattern would be overwhelming in that space.
i ride the bus to/from school, a bit of an adventure, since the drivers mostly seem to be nascar wannabes, squeezing their buses through heavy traffic on narrow streets at what feels like great speed. this morning, we had a driver who didn't try to beat the lights or crowd cars out. it was a great surprise.
el zocalo is a park/plaza with beautiful old trees, iron benches and a bandstand, along with vendors of toys, snacks and more. it is surrounded on three sides by stores and cafes, and the beautiful cathedral on the other. because of its beautiful colonial architecture, puebla is a u.n. world heritage city. on sunday, a brass band was playing sousa and strauss.
the building occupied by the spanish institute is about 370 years old, and originally was a convent. i find it amusing that i'm going to class in what originally was a nun's cell. each classroom's capacity is una maestra/un maestro y seis (6) estudiantes o menos. there are only three of us in my class, so we all get lots of attention.
kids would love it here -- it's slug bug heaven, because puebla is where vw builds the new beetle por todo el mundo (the whole world). everywhere you look are vw beetles old, middle-aged and new. and because it never freezes here, they never salt the streets, and coches probably wear out before they rust out. at lunch today, the director told me that jobs at vw are highly coveted because after working there two years, a worker can buy a vw at cost. usually, he said, the workers have buyers lined up for the cars in advance -- presumably at a premium.
it's almost time to meet my guide at the zocalo, so adios por ahora.
elena
Friday, October 8, 2010
Leavin' on a jet plane . . .
I'm writing this Friday evening. If all goes well, I'll be in Mexico City about 24 hours from now, going through Customs and then looking for the person who'll guide me to the proper bus bound for Puebla.
Somehow, everything fits into a carry-on, a backpack and a large purse. Obviously, I must be forgetting something! No, wait -- this time I'm not carrying extra music, CDs to sell, copies of singers' passports . . . but I'm deeply grateful for having traveled with Indianapolis Children's Choir and Butler's Music Leadership Institute, wonderful experiences that prepared me for my next adventure.
I don't expect to be able to post again at least until Monday, but there should be mucho to tell you by then.
Somehow, everything fits into a carry-on, a backpack and a large purse. Obviously, I must be forgetting something! No, wait -- this time I'm not carrying extra music, CDs to sell, copies of singers' passports . . . but I'm deeply grateful for having traveled with Indianapolis Children's Choir and Butler's Music Leadership Institute, wonderful experiences that prepared me for my next adventure.
I don't expect to be able to post again at least until Monday, but there should be mucho to tell you by then.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Preparando/getting ready
A lengthy trip anywhere takes serious preparation, especially if you'll be leaving your home uninhabited: Tickets and reservations and insurance; someone to tend the pets and plants, mail, and papers while you're gone; shopping/packing; and maybe shots and passport renewal. Gotta return all the guidebooks and travel videos to the library, stock up on cat food and litter, find out whether your phone will work where you're going, and whether using it will cost an arm and a leg or just a finger or two. Pay the bills or arrange to do so online.
But when you're going to another country -- especially one with different infrastructure -- there are a few extra things to do, the last one a little bit gross (fair warning):
First, brush up on your courtesy phrases ("Mucho gusto en conocerle" -- "I'm happy to meet you") and basic questions like "How much is it?" and "Where is the bathroom?"
Get familiar with the currency and the exchange rate. (Right now, $2 U.S. = about 25 Mexican pesos; 1 peso = 8 cents.)
Figure out how to stay healthy. The easiest thing is to find out what maladies you're likely to encounter and pack appropriate over-the-counter and/or Rx meds. In Mexico, turista (aka Montezuma's revenge) is numero uno (insert own bad joke here). Causes can range from unfamiliar spices to parasites. Experience with the latter can make one really cautious from then on.
The best way to avoid or minimize it, by any name, is to drink only bottled water (and be sure the bottle is sealed when I get it), or filtered water from a source you know to be safe. (For me, this will be at the school, and possibly at my host home.) The rest of the time, it's solamente agua en botella para mí. Or a bottled refresco (soda) or cerveza (beer) -- sin helado (without ice). Oddly enough, the other drinks often are cheaper than water.
The other main precaution is to watch what I eat. Uncooked fruits and vegetables are no-nos; dairy products are risky unless sealed and labeled pasteurized. On school days, I'll be lunching with my classmates at a hotel that caters to norteamericanos más ricos que yo, and therefore serves only safe meals. My host family will feed me otherwise. So as long as I avoid the temptations of "street food," or try it only where my student guide says it's safe, I should be OK.
Since I never joined the Stateside bottled water craze, I decided to do as I did when traveling with the choirs: Get in the habit of using only bottled water. Drinking isn't the only use for bottled water, by the way. There's also oral hygiene. So for the last month, I've had a bottle of water at each sink, to be used any time I wanted a drink or needed to brush my teeth. (Never mind that I refilled the bottles with filtered water at the kitchen sink. It was my stand-in for the school water supply.) A couple of times, I absent-mindedly rinsed my toothbrush with bathroom tap water, "contaminating" it and requiring me to sterilize it with boiling water. I'll also wash around my mouth with sanitizer, another way of avoiding "critters."
OK, now for the somewhat gross part: Most Mexican sewage systems (like those in Hong Kong and many other places) are not capable of dealing with toilet paper. Therefore, one places used TP in a waste receptacle. This has been a hard habit to get into at home, but when in Puebla, do as los Poblanos do. More than once, I've forgotten -- which could have dire consequences where I'm going. It won't make me sick, but it could result in a plumbing bill for my school or my hosts.
But when you're going to another country -- especially one with different infrastructure -- there are a few extra things to do, the last one a little bit gross (fair warning):
First, brush up on your courtesy phrases ("Mucho gusto en conocerle" -- "I'm happy to meet you") and basic questions like "How much is it?" and "Where is the bathroom?"
Get familiar with the currency and the exchange rate. (Right now, $2 U.S. = about 25 Mexican pesos; 1 peso = 8 cents.)
Figure out how to stay healthy. The easiest thing is to find out what maladies you're likely to encounter and pack appropriate over-the-counter and/or Rx meds. In Mexico, turista (aka Montezuma's revenge) is numero uno (insert own bad joke here). Causes can range from unfamiliar spices to parasites. Experience with the latter can make one really cautious from then on.
The best way to avoid or minimize it, by any name, is to drink only bottled water (and be sure the bottle is sealed when I get it), or filtered water from a source you know to be safe. (For me, this will be at the school, and possibly at my host home.) The rest of the time, it's solamente agua en botella para mí. Or a bottled refresco (soda) or cerveza (beer) -- sin helado (without ice). Oddly enough, the other drinks often are cheaper than water.
The other main precaution is to watch what I eat. Uncooked fruits and vegetables are no-nos; dairy products are risky unless sealed and labeled pasteurized. On school days, I'll be lunching with my classmates at a hotel that caters to norteamericanos más ricos que yo, and therefore serves only safe meals. My host family will feed me otherwise. So as long as I avoid the temptations of "street food," or try it only where my student guide says it's safe, I should be OK.
Since I never joined the Stateside bottled water craze, I decided to do as I did when traveling with the choirs: Get in the habit of using only bottled water. Drinking isn't the only use for bottled water, by the way. There's also oral hygiene. So for the last month, I've had a bottle of water at each sink, to be used any time I wanted a drink or needed to brush my teeth. (Never mind that I refilled the bottles with filtered water at the kitchen sink. It was my stand-in for the school water supply.) A couple of times, I absent-mindedly rinsed my toothbrush with bathroom tap water, "contaminating" it and requiring me to sterilize it with boiling water. I'll also wash around my mouth with sanitizer, another way of avoiding "critters."
OK, now for the somewhat gross part: Most Mexican sewage systems (like those in Hong Kong and many other places) are not capable of dealing with toilet paper. Therefore, one places used TP in a waste receptacle. This has been a hard habit to get into at home, but when in Puebla, do as los Poblanos do. More than once, I've forgotten -- which could have dire consequences where I'm going. It won't make me sick, but it could result in a plumbing bill for my school or my hosts.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Why?
Reactions to my upcoming trip seem to fall into two categories: COOL! and WHY?
Since I totally concur with the first, let me answer the second.
"Why?" seems to split into two categories -- why Spanish? and why Mexico, given all of its problems?
Why Spanish?
Because a very large portion of the world's population speaks Spanish, including quite a few people now living in or visiting my adopted home town, Indianapolis.
Because I figure I have up to 30 years left on the planet, and I want to spend part of them traveling to places where English is not the primary language. Since I studied Spanish in high school and college, it seems much more logical to improve my command of Spanish than to switch to, say, Mandarin. (I did try that, but struggled with the tones required to say the words properly.)
Because improving my Spanish will broaden my opportunities for meaningful work, paid or volunteer, here at home. For instance, Pike Township Schools has a preschool for Latino kids, and bilingual volunteers are needed. I think Washington Township has something similar.
Because it's good for the brain to learn and practice new skills.
Why Mexico, given all of the bad news we hear these days?
Part of it's economics: When the cost of airfare is added to the cost of schooling, the Spanish Institute of Puebla gives me the most bang for the peso. Airfare, school fees, room and board, travel/medical insurance, shots, a new passport, plus what I'm likely to spend on souvenirs, all adds up to about $3,500 for a month of travel, education and fun (including a visit with Joelle and Phil en route home). I could have gone to Spain, Costa Rica, Argentina or any of several other countries, but not for that good a price.
Part of it's logic: Puebla is a very-low-crime state, and I will have local people showing me around. (I won't be visiting the local dives alone at midnight, either!) Puebla also has a hospitable climate and much cleaner air than Mexico City. And because it doesn't attract the "ugly" sort of American tourist who's there to get drunk and act stupid, I expect to have better interactions with the Poblanos.
Part of it's function: Thanks to "Don Ramon" McGlothlin, my Spanish teacher at Jeff in the '60s, I have a Mexican accent already, and that's also what I'm most likely to encounter in Indianapolis. Most of the Hispanic broadcasters here are from various parts of Mexico, as are the TV programs on Univision, so my ear is most attuned to Mexican pronunciations.
So, yes -- I could get ripped off. But that could happen here in Indy, too. And I've traveled enough internationally to know a few basic precautions: Never wear flashy jewelry, don't wander into areas locals haven't said are OK, and carry as few valuables as possible -- and not in easily accessed places. For instance, I'll be carrying a cheap purse, but it will contain only tissues, a dictionary, a lip balm, a pen and probably no more than 130 pesos (about $10 U.S.). "Serious" money, credit/ATM cards, ID and such will either be left "at home" with my host family or carried elsewhere on my person. I'd much rather have a thief grab my purse and run than confront me.
Since I totally concur with the first, let me answer the second.
"Why?" seems to split into two categories -- why Spanish? and why Mexico, given all of its problems?
Why Spanish?
Because a very large portion of the world's population speaks Spanish, including quite a few people now living in or visiting my adopted home town, Indianapolis.
Because I figure I have up to 30 years left on the planet, and I want to spend part of them traveling to places where English is not the primary language. Since I studied Spanish in high school and college, it seems much more logical to improve my command of Spanish than to switch to, say, Mandarin. (I did try that, but struggled with the tones required to say the words properly.)
Because improving my Spanish will broaden my opportunities for meaningful work, paid or volunteer, here at home. For instance, Pike Township Schools has a preschool for Latino kids, and bilingual volunteers are needed. I think Washington Township has something similar.
Because it's good for the brain to learn and practice new skills.
Why Mexico, given all of the bad news we hear these days?
Part of it's economics: When the cost of airfare is added to the cost of schooling, the Spanish Institute of Puebla gives me the most bang for the peso. Airfare, school fees, room and board, travel/medical insurance, shots, a new passport, plus what I'm likely to spend on souvenirs, all adds up to about $3,500 for a month of travel, education and fun (including a visit with Joelle and Phil en route home). I could have gone to Spain, Costa Rica, Argentina or any of several other countries, but not for that good a price.
Part of it's logic: Puebla is a very-low-crime state, and I will have local people showing me around. (I won't be visiting the local dives alone at midnight, either!) Puebla also has a hospitable climate and much cleaner air than Mexico City. And because it doesn't attract the "ugly" sort of American tourist who's there to get drunk and act stupid, I expect to have better interactions with the Poblanos.
Part of it's function: Thanks to "Don Ramon" McGlothlin, my Spanish teacher at Jeff in the '60s, I have a Mexican accent already, and that's also what I'm most likely to encounter in Indianapolis. Most of the Hispanic broadcasters here are from various parts of Mexico, as are the TV programs on Univision, so my ear is most attuned to Mexican pronunciations.
So, yes -- I could get ripped off. But that could happen here in Indy, too. And I've traveled enough internationally to know a few basic precautions: Never wear flashy jewelry, don't wander into areas locals haven't said are OK, and carry as few valuables as possible -- and not in easily accessed places. For instance, I'll be carrying a cheap purse, but it will contain only tissues, a dictionary, a lip balm, a pen and probably no more than 130 pesos (about $10 U.S.). "Serious" money, credit/ATM cards, ID and such will either be left "at home" with my host family or carried elsewhere on my person. I'd much rather have a thief grab my purse and run than confront me.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Getting there/about Puebla
When I booked my flights on Priceline last May, everything sounded perfect:
American Airlines' 11:40 a.m. flight to Dallas, arriving at Dallas-Fort Worth airport at 1:05 p.m. Saturday (they're an hour behind us); a midafternoon Aeromexico flight to Benito Juarez airport in Mexico City that would arrive about 5:30. There, I'd be met by an escort from the language school who would whisk me through Customs, help me exchange currency and put me on an executive-class (i.e., fancy-schmancy) bus to Puebla, where my host family would meet me.
Then the surprise party department took over. Aeromexico cancelled the flight and put me on the 5:10, arriving at 7:45 p.m. That shouldn't be a major disruption, because none of the other plans is to change, but it means that I won't see much of the countryside from the bus en route to Puebla. It also means that I'll be a little bit tireder when I have to take my placement test Saturday night, and that I hope my host family prefers a mid-morning Mass Sunday, not the one at 0-dark:30.
My host city, formally called Heróica Puebla de Zaragoza, is the capital of Puebla state, and is about 80 miles south and east of Mexico City. The altitude is 5,000 feet -- a bit lower than Denver, and 2,500 feet lower than Mexico City. Puebla is a fairly prosperous city, well away from the narcoterroristas of the Mexico/U.S. border and the places like Cancun where ripping off tourists, legally or illegally, is a major industry.
Puebla has several claims to fame: It's a U.N. World Heritage city because of its beautiful colonial-era buildings. It's where the famed Cinco de Mayo battle was won (though the war was lost a short time later). It's where mole (MO-lay) sauce was invented by a nun trying to impress a visiting bishop. And it's where the beautiful Talavera tiles come from -- and where they form the facades of many buildings.
Puebla is unusual in that it was built from scratch by the Spaniards, rather than being built over or onto a pre-contact city. It's laid out in a grid plan, though that breaks down somewhat in recently-built areas. The focal point is the Zócalo, a large rectangular plaza. Similar to Monument Circle, it has shops and at least one church on its perimeter; at various times, there are concerts and political speeches. Today, it is a city of at least 1.3 million people. A Volkswagen plant (I think it builds Slug Bugs, among other models) is the biggest industry. Average October temps range from 66 to 50, with little rainfall. I chose October because the rainy season usually is over by then.
Nearby is a smaller city with a name to warm the hearts of hot-sauce fans -- Cholula. Yes, that's where the sauces come from. Unlike Puebla, it is built on an area settled earlier by indigenous peoples.
Until I get there, I will know nothing about my host family except that they get a small amount for my room and board, but don't really do it for the money. The photos of typical families show comfortable homes. I'll have my own room, and I hope my hosts have pets, because I'll be missing Ghost and Scruffy, the catboyz who share their home with me in return for my devoted service to them.
The school Web site -- www.sipuebla.com -- has many pictures of the city and the school, plus some historic information.
Next time: Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to school I'll go
American Airlines' 11:40 a.m. flight to Dallas, arriving at Dallas-Fort Worth airport at 1:05 p.m. Saturday (they're an hour behind us); a midafternoon Aeromexico flight to Benito Juarez airport in Mexico City that would arrive about 5:30. There, I'd be met by an escort from the language school who would whisk me through Customs, help me exchange currency and put me on an executive-class (i.e., fancy-schmancy) bus to Puebla, where my host family would meet me.
Then the surprise party department took over. Aeromexico cancelled the flight and put me on the 5:10, arriving at 7:45 p.m. That shouldn't be a major disruption, because none of the other plans is to change, but it means that I won't see much of the countryside from the bus en route to Puebla. It also means that I'll be a little bit tireder when I have to take my placement test Saturday night, and that I hope my host family prefers a mid-morning Mass Sunday, not the one at 0-dark:30.
My host city, formally called Heróica Puebla de Zaragoza, is the capital of Puebla state, and is about 80 miles south and east of Mexico City. The altitude is 5,000 feet -- a bit lower than Denver, and 2,500 feet lower than Mexico City. Puebla is a fairly prosperous city, well away from the narcoterroristas of the Mexico/U.S. border and the places like Cancun where ripping off tourists, legally or illegally, is a major industry.
Puebla has several claims to fame: It's a U.N. World Heritage city because of its beautiful colonial-era buildings. It's where the famed Cinco de Mayo battle was won (though the war was lost a short time later). It's where mole (MO-lay) sauce was invented by a nun trying to impress a visiting bishop. And it's where the beautiful Talavera tiles come from -- and where they form the facades of many buildings.
Puebla is unusual in that it was built from scratch by the Spaniards, rather than being built over or onto a pre-contact city. It's laid out in a grid plan, though that breaks down somewhat in recently-built areas. The focal point is the Zócalo, a large rectangular plaza. Similar to Monument Circle, it has shops and at least one church on its perimeter; at various times, there are concerts and political speeches. Today, it is a city of at least 1.3 million people. A Volkswagen plant (I think it builds Slug Bugs, among other models) is the biggest industry. Average October temps range from 66 to 50, with little rainfall. I chose October because the rainy season usually is over by then.
Nearby is a smaller city with a name to warm the hearts of hot-sauce fans -- Cholula. Yes, that's where the sauces come from. Unlike Puebla, it is built on an area settled earlier by indigenous peoples.
Until I get there, I will know nothing about my host family except that they get a small amount for my room and board, but don't really do it for the money. The photos of typical families show comfortable homes. I'll have my own room, and I hope my hosts have pets, because I'll be missing Ghost and Scruffy, the catboyz who share their home with me in return for my devoted service to them.
The school Web site -- www.sipuebla.com -- has many pictures of the city and the school, plus some historic information.
Next time: Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it's off to school I'll go
Monday, October 4, 2010
Why the title? And why a blog?
When I was in second grade, Daddy hired a grower named Chuck Seward, a kindly middle-aged man. He not only didn't mind having Ed and me hang around, but when he wasn't busy growing beautiful chrysanthemums in the "mum house," or doing other chores, he showed us how to make simple toys like a rubber band gun or a knitting spool, or how to draw. He gave me my first pocketknife.
Chuck could just about make something out of nothing. In the "hot house," a small, heated greenhouse behind the big one connecting the house and the flower shop, he made a "kitchen" out of an orange crate and some oilcloth. He labeled it CHUCK'S LUCK DINER, and used the lower half of the crate to store a few cans of soup, a box of crackers, etc., for his lunch breaks, and the upper half for a hotplate and a pan.
I asked him once why he called it that.
"Because I'm so lucky to have this job."
He seemed like a happy soul, often singing or humming, and sometimes telling us tales of his travels. His favorite song was "Faraway Places." (" . . . goin' to China, or maybe Siam. I want to see for myself those faraway places I've been reading about in the book that I took from the shelf. . . . ")
When I was in fourth grade, Chuck had to go to the hospital. I assumed he'd get better and be back pretty soon. He wasn't old, even to my young eyes. But he didn't get better; he died of cancer that spring. I can't speak for Ed, but I missed him terribly -- all the more so because I had a terrible teacher that year and nobody else had time to listen to my tales of woe.
When I took creative writing in my senior year at Jeff, I had to describe my most unforgettable character (an idea straight out of Reader's Digest). Naturally, I wrote about Chuck, pounding out the story on Mom's Underwood portable, stopping frequently to correct typos. (I never would have graduated without Corrasable typing paper!) As always, I left the finished paper for Mom to look over and critique.
The next morning, it was waiting at my place at the table with a complimentary note that ended:
"P.S.: You're old enough to know now that all of Chuck's 'faraway places' were behind bars." He'd passed bad checks, she told me later.
I think I was interested in travel before I knew Chuck, but after hearing his stories, I was even more interested in foreign lands. I didn't go farther away than California or Canada until I chaperoned an Indianapolis Children's Choir tour to Argentina and Brazil in 1999. But the travel bug bit me hard then, and hasn't let go.
So why blog? Because I can. The option wasn't open to me on earlier trips, though I kept paper journals and plan to on this trip. But I'll have computer access from the school, so I figure this is a more efficient way of letting family and friends know what's going on than trying to e-mail individually.
I leave Oct. 9 and return to the U.S. Nov. 6, but will spend time in Texas/Oklahoma with Phil and Joelle and be back in Indy Nov. 9.
Before I leave, I'll try to blog about the Spanish Institute of Puebla and the city itself. But if you're really curious, check it out at http://www.sipuebla.com .
¡Qué tenga buen día! (Have a good day!)
Ellen
Chuck could just about make something out of nothing. In the "hot house," a small, heated greenhouse behind the big one connecting the house and the flower shop, he made a "kitchen" out of an orange crate and some oilcloth. He labeled it CHUCK'S LUCK DINER, and used the lower half of the crate to store a few cans of soup, a box of crackers, etc., for his lunch breaks, and the upper half for a hotplate and a pan.
I asked him once why he called it that.
"Because I'm so lucky to have this job."
He seemed like a happy soul, often singing or humming, and sometimes telling us tales of his travels. His favorite song was "Faraway Places." (" . . . goin' to China, or maybe Siam. I want to see for myself those faraway places I've been reading about in the book that I took from the shelf. . . . ")
When I was in fourth grade, Chuck had to go to the hospital. I assumed he'd get better and be back pretty soon. He wasn't old, even to my young eyes. But he didn't get better; he died of cancer that spring. I can't speak for Ed, but I missed him terribly -- all the more so because I had a terrible teacher that year and nobody else had time to listen to my tales of woe.
When I took creative writing in my senior year at Jeff, I had to describe my most unforgettable character (an idea straight out of Reader's Digest). Naturally, I wrote about Chuck, pounding out the story on Mom's Underwood portable, stopping frequently to correct typos. (I never would have graduated without Corrasable typing paper!) As always, I left the finished paper for Mom to look over and critique.
The next morning, it was waiting at my place at the table with a complimentary note that ended:
"P.S.: You're old enough to know now that all of Chuck's 'faraway places' were behind bars." He'd passed bad checks, she told me later.
I think I was interested in travel before I knew Chuck, but after hearing his stories, I was even more interested in foreign lands. I didn't go farther away than California or Canada until I chaperoned an Indianapolis Children's Choir tour to Argentina and Brazil in 1999. But the travel bug bit me hard then, and hasn't let go.
So why blog? Because I can. The option wasn't open to me on earlier trips, though I kept paper journals and plan to on this trip. But I'll have computer access from the school, so I figure this is a more efficient way of letting family and friends know what's going on than trying to e-mail individually.
I leave Oct. 9 and return to the U.S. Nov. 6, but will spend time in Texas/Oklahoma with Phil and Joelle and be back in Indy Nov. 9.
Before I leave, I'll try to blog about the Spanish Institute of Puebla and the city itself. But if you're really curious, check it out at http://www.sipuebla.com .
¡Qué tenga buen día! (Have a good day!)
Ellen
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