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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)