The Return: Reverse Culture Shock, Rental Cars, and Spinach

I am sitting here with the central heating on, eating a big salad (with spinach!), two things I hope never to take for granted again, and I thought it might be time.

I am back in the U.S. Not in my home, Berkeley, but in this limbo place of Stamford, CT. Limbo because I am here for a month between Mexico and California, and limbo because Stamford itself is largely a bedroom community for New York.

I have been through reverse culture shock before. Most notably, I spent my junior year of college in Spain and had to go through it twice -- once when I returned to Berkeley and again when I headed back to Columbia for my senior year. So, I recognize the signs. In reverse culture shock, you are back home, and you are familiar with your surroundings, but you have gotten used to the place you were (where you experienced some sort of culture shock, probably) that now you have to readjust. You also mourn for your other location. You feel out of place. People are happy to see you and you are not sure how you feel, or you feel happy to see them but torn because at least part of you wishes you were still away. You might miss how things are done where you were, and maybe at the same time you rejoice in the return to your home's customs. You have changed, but your home has not, at least much. It can be kind of funny, kind of sad, and usually disconcerting, but people around you don't see it, because you can play it off.

This time around, it is a mix of culture shock and reverse culture shock. I am back in the U.S., but not somewhere I know. I have to adjust to a new town while knowing some of the basics of American living, and also adjust back to the U.S. culture and all that comes with it.

Little things kind of make me chuckle but also feel confusing. I keep pausing on the toilet -- my body wants to throw the toilet paper in the trash, and I have to consciously stop myself (twice I didn't) and put it in the toilet. Funny, but confusing that it still happens a few days in (I always have this adjustment back and forth to Mexico -- I suspect most travelers do). The first time I owed someone $5.33, I felt like I should recount the five 1-dollar bills I pulled out and felt a mental block when I handed over $5.50 -- was this right? I felt giddy when I used a $20 bill to pay for something inexpensive and the clerk didn't ask if I had something smaller (as they nearly always do in Mexico), but also sad. I still prepare in my head when I have to speak to a stranger, even though it's my native tongue (sometimes I translate it to Spanish just for fun).

And then there are the politics -- I saw two Tea Party protesters on a street corner here. They were in front of a library and I wondered how they felt about their hard-earned money going to pay for such "houses of learning". Would they have a sign that said, "We Hate Libraries!"? They did not. It was a hard-to-read sign that said something about Income Tax and "Healthcare Tax" (though I seriously doubt either of them is going to get hit by the taxes to pay for the healthcare bill). We listen to NPR on the way to and from work and I feel overwhelmed sometimes.

I both love and hate that I am driving again. I wanted to keep up my walking, and was planning to take the bus and walk home from work every day (David drives us there, but then he and Peter stay late every night). After doing this twice, we rented a car: a cute little blue Nissan Versa. The thing is, the walk is BEAUTIFUL. I love it. Running streams, blooming trees, giant lovely houses, big grassy fields -- all very East Coast scenes. However, there is no sidewalk and there is one small stretch where that feels very dangerous. You have to walk really in the car lanes on a busy stretch next to some freeway on/off ramps. Both times I have done it, I mentally begged the cars not to hit me. Not ok. Plus, the car gives us much more flexibility -- the only shop on the way home from work is expensive and not very good, and with a car I can go to the regular supermarket with better prices and a decent organic selection. Stamford is not made for pedestrians, really. Welcome back to the U.S. Oh, and the driving feels so good!

When I was leaving Guanajuato, I just didn't feel like I was really leaving. I could not answer people who asked how I felt. I knew I really needed to get to Peter again, but apart from that, I wasn't sure. Now that I am here, I am mourning it. Mourning the slower (and unemployed!) lifestyle, having our dollars go a lot farther, my friendships there, hearing Spanish all around me, and the Mexican culture.

And, of course, now that I'm back in my home country, there are things I rejoice in. The aforementioned spinach and greens, grassy areas, the ease of all-in-one shopping, the lack of roof dogs (it is so silent and dark at night in our cottage! I sleep like the dead.), a comfortable bed and down comforter, seeing Jews around (there are some black hats here) and the diversity of cultures and races, Asian foods (which I will get to enjoy all over again when we get back to the Bay Area, with the better restaurants), a great all-clad pan in our kitchen here, having an oven again (plan to use it tomorrow night), earning money, and - best of all - being back with my husband, and supporting him while he works really hard.

Oh, also, if you want to see what we are working on, check out fed-tax.net

The photo is me on the day I "graduated" from Escuela Mexicana, with many of the teachers (between us, Peter and/or I had all of those teachers).

Dia de las Flores (Day of the Flowers)

Dia de las flores is a regional tradition (possibly local only to this city, I'm not sure), that takes place the day before the Friday before Holy Week (Friday, today, is the Friday of Dolores). My dad thinks the dia de las flores is a celebration of the annunciation (when Mary learned she would be giving birth to that famous guy, and by learning, becomes impregnated), and my sister-in-law, Sara, pointed out its similarity to rites of Spring.

That all said, my dia de las flores was a bacchanal of party with a great group of gay men. To back up, the city is on vacation today, and spring break for the University began yesterday. I wandered around during the afternoon with my friend Megan to see the decorated eggs (yes, like that, only really different: see the pictures. They are filled with confetti, and you break them over your friends' heads) for sale everywhere. Some flowers were starting to be sold, but mostly those made of corn husks so far. In the Plaza Baratillo, the normal flower venders had more flowers than usual, and also small tubs or plastic bags with grass growing in them, like wheatgrass is sold back home. Megan and I both speculated about their purpose, and all I came up with was maybe you put them in your Easter basket. That would be kind of cute, but actually, I later saw that they are used as part of the altars to the Virgin Dolores (more on that later).

Late last night (late for me: 10:30pm), I met my friend Erika and we went to a party at the house of one of the teachers from the language school. This is where the gay men come in. We were probably about 15-20 people in all, but by the third time Lady Gaga came on, I was up and trying to learn the moves with everyone else. Oh, and I might have been the oldest person at the party, which is rare for me. At about 2, there was movement to go to Whoopees, the gay bar in town. We headed over, through busy streets full of revelers, and upon arrival, discovered that Whoopees was packed and people were not exactly forming a single line to enter.

Erika went in ahead with one of the guys, who seemed to be a regular. I had been walking with a 20-year-old (shocking!), and I grabbed his hand behind me, so I wouldn't lose everyone I knew. Some of the rest of the group seemed to have disappeared behind us, maybe discouraged by the cover, or gone off to get cash. I had the luck to know one of the guys at the door, an acquaintance whom I often see at the Bagel Cafe, and that connection got me and my buddy in faster. I felt pretty proud to have connections at the bar, when I generally feel pretty checked-out of the nightlife here. Coming in, I found Erika again and then I lost her. The place, as I said, was wall-to-wall bodies. Mostly men, but some women in couples, and some straight couples. Pounding music and lights that, well this sounds cheesy, but reminded me of the club scenes in Queer as Folk (I am not sure if this is specific to a gay bar or due to my lack of experience going to clubs or watching other tv shows with club scenes in them). I managed to find a few of the other guys, but everyone looked a bit dazed. I realized, also, that the point of the evening may have shifted now for many of them, and I was no longer a fun sidekick, but rather, in the way. Not that anyone was rude or unfriendly, just that there was a lot of looking past or over me. I found my friend Megan, or really, she found me, and after not too long there, we both decided we were ready to go. Though tempted to just hang out longer, I decided it was time. The heat, lack of movement space (there's that way you dance when you can't move, that isn't really that fun), and late hour were all motivation. Texting Erika a goodnight (last I saw her, she was heading for the bar), Megan and I headed out. Whoopees is really close to my house, so it was a nice short walk home.

This morning, as planned, my mom woke me up early to go see the actual flores part of dia de las flores. We walked down to the center, where tables selling natural cut flowers had sprung up everywhere. In the Jardin de la Union (Garden of the Union, like the central plaza), people of all ages were strolling around, dressed in nice clothes, carrying flowers they had received or were about to give to there sweeties. We also passed people still drunk and heading home or to breakfast. At the Teatro Juarez (Juarez Theater, right next to the Jardin), there was a large altar set up to the Virgin (the Virgin Dolores, or Virgin of Sorrows, is Mary as she knows her son is dying or going to die, or something related to Easter - how interesting that the calendar day comes one day after she finds out he will be born). Tables were set up for the government to give out the traditional nieves (sorbets) and aguas frescas. Also, government representatives were handing out carnations, and my mom and I each received one.

We went and found our own breakfast, and on the way back home, the streets had grown much more crowded with the crowds. Many people had nieves, which private homes and other institutions also give out today (we even saw evidence of that at the mini-super when we shopped much later - there was a canister of strawberry ice cream in the doorway).

Our landlords have also built their own altar to the Virgin this morning (see picture). They put up candles, branches, flowers, and a pretty painting of her.

No, I didn't bring my camera out last night, but pictures of the egg figures, flowers, and altars can be found here.

My Morning

This morning, a Sunday, I woke up at about 8:30 to the sounds of drumbeats down the hill. I jumped out of bed, dressed, grabbed my camera and a book, and headed down the hill in search of the source.

I should interject here that, by now, Peter and I don't usually go in search of parades -- there are so many and many of them are small affairs, just the young military band, sometimes with a religious icon, and we just don't muster the same excitement as we did 5 months ago. As I read on another travel blog, Mexicans like a parade, and any excuse is good enough.

So, why did I wipe the sleep from my eyes and go running this morning? Today is the first day of Spring. I had read that in Guanajuato, and perhaps in other cities, there is a traditional parade for the first day of Spring, that includes the town children dressed as bees, flowers, and other Spring-like creatures (ok, our landlord's grandson said he was going as a rat, but still). There are also some mini queens and kings of the Spring -- small children selected (and even campaigned for by their families and friends), somewhat like a pageant, but I think without all the scary associations we have back home. I had heard the parades happened this year on Thursday and Friday, because it's part of school, and so I missed them (I caught a glimpse Thursday of a little girl dressed as a butterfly in the back of a truck that was decked out with some decorations).

I headed down the hill. Whatever was going on had already passed my area of the center, but I could hear the drums afar. I was encouraged when I passed first a child and then a grown man carrying homemade yellow tissue paper pompoms. I headed up to the central church in town, where there was a crowd. When I got there, I just saw adults carrying yellow and white balloons and the same pompoms, slowly making their way into the basilica. One had one of the traditional banners with a saint and probably the name of their town or church. Not a cute little bee or butterfly to be found. You see, this is why we don't go chasing parades anymore.

Today is also the birthday of my favorite president of Mexico, Benito Juarez (I am far from alone in this love: he is considered to be the Abraham Lincoln of Mexico). His birthday was observed last Monday, with a national holiday.

More Smells

We got back to Guanajuato and Spring was here. The fruit trees outside our apartment are in bloom, the tree across the canyon is the brightest, leafiest green you can imagine, and the mercado is full of mangos, with the first ears of corn and guanabanas beginning to appear. These days, as I climb the arduous hill+steps to the apartment, I get to look forward to the drifting odor of the lemon tree on the property. And I get to check out the new leaves on the tiny fig tree. There is a plan that grows out of the stone walls on the property that has smallish, yellow, tubular flowers. The weather is warming -- days can be downright hottish, and nights are more comfortable. Plus, I get to look forward to a series of culture events: the first day of spring is celebrated here with children's parades, costumed as bees, flowers and other Spring reminders (our landlords' 4-year-old grandson tells me he's going as a rat. I suppose that kind of counts?). A few days after that is Dia de las Flores, which is attached to holy week, and during which young people give each other flowers. Then there is Semana Santa (Holy Week) with religious processions and passion plays. On top of all that, my parents arrive in a week and I can't wait for them to get here.
Peter has arrived in Connecticut just fine, and has already started work. It sounds like he has had a very generous offer of a place to live, and is glad to see David and his family again.

Bathroom

I think the bathroom in our language school frequently smells bad because the school is full of tourists who are more prone to la turista (aka Montezuma's revenge, aka traveler's diarrhea).

Back in Guanajuato Again

We returned early this morning from our latest adventure. I have a plan to create a separate, private blog about it. Contact me if you would like access to that and to our photos from this trip (this only applies to people who actually know me, not strangers).

Meanwhile, while we were gone, Peter got word from our friend David that he has work for him to do in the U.S. We quickly booked him a ticket and Peter leaves this Monday for Connecticut where he'll be working for David for about a month. I will stay in Gto during this time, mournfully missing him and hosting my parents, who will be here for Passover/Easter and then take off to travel the nearby areas. I am so excited to see my mom and dad!

Back in Guanajuato, In Which We Actually Go Out

Ok, I have to admit it: Peter and I are not exactly party animals here, or barflies (there is actually a bar here named Bar Fly, and greetings to all who might have been searching for information about it). Many of our classmates seem to drift into class, complaining of how little sleep they got or how hung over they are, bragging about how great a night they had or how much they drank. However, many of our classmates' average age is about 22. Many of our evenings are spent at home, reading, watching tv over the internet, or doing doing stuff on this here internet thing. That said, this weekend we actually went out a fair amount (though no bars included, Bar Fly searchers, if you are still reading: why hello there! Really, no info here, though I will tell you it's next to the Casa Mexicana near the Teatro Cervantes).

Friday night we went to the orchestra. Guanajuato has one, and our friend Marie plays the oboe in it. We had not yet been, and it was great fun. The orchestra plays most Friday nights at the Teatro Principal when they are not on the road. They played some Dvorak and part of Beethoven's 6th. It was nice. All very springy. One of the things I like a lot about the Guanajuato Orchestra is how much it feels like part of the community. The musicians come from all over, but there are certain informalities that I appreciate. For example, when we were waiting for our friend Erika to meet us to buy tickets (before going to the nearby plaza to grab some tacos for dinner), we watched the musicians arrive, some on foot, some dropped off from cars or taxis, and some by bus. Similarly, after the show (and I think during the intermission, as well, though I didn't go outside during it), the musicians are out on the steps with the audience, chatting with their friends and getting ready to go home, but wearing their formal black (women) or tails (men). Also, how cool is it that a city this size supports a professional orchestra? The name suggests that it is part of the university, but none of the participants are students (well, none of them appeared young enough to be, and I know our friend is not) so I wonder how that works.

One fun sighting when we were waiting for Erika (though I mention it twice, that is not meant for emphasis or blame -- it was only a few minutes!): There was a guy selling donuts out front. The donuts were on a tray, propped up on a folding base. Attached to the front was a piece of paper that said, in our initial translation, "I am on the internet" and then gave something, though it clearly was neither a website nor an address. I pointed it out to Peter and he suggested that what it actually meant was "I am in the internet" aka, the internet cafe, and was a note to someone from a friend. Yes, that did seem more likely (especially since the part that was not a web address seemed to say "atte" and then a name), but we both like the idea that he might have a little sign telling us his donut tray website. And then we expanded it to the idea that the Bay Area's (and other regions'?) twitter food carts are also in Guanajuato...maybe you have to have been here to realize how absurd that last idea is. I really wished I had my camera to take a picture of the whole dealy, but no such luck.

Saturday night, we went over to Erika's apartment, which she shares with her nice roommates, Claudia (of Switzerland) and Claudia's boyfriend Juan (of Mexico). I finally got my good Asian food fix when we convened our Asian Food Symposium. Erika was already making green curry chicken and veggie sushi rolls when we arrived, and we jumped in and cooked somen noodles, fried tofu, and stir-fried some vegetable. Everything was delicious, and Juan enjoyed his first sushi. After, we talked for a while, then taught Erika to play a card game we learned in Vallarta.

Sunday was Valentine's day, but we abstained, though it was cute watching our buddy at the Bagel Cafe, Chui, exchange gifts with his boyfriend (whose name, incidentally, is also Chui - when I learned it, I felt like I was in a "Who's on First" sketch: "Yes, he's Chui. And your name is?"). That, and after closing, Bere and Sandra made us stay and join them all for Bere's homemade gorditas, with (store-bought, because they didn't have time) nopales and salsa. Yum.

This week, I am back taking 2 hours of grammar class and one hour of cooking. I already know my grammar classmates (all 2 of them) and teachers (this week there are 2!). In cooking, there are three other women. One of them has been at the school for some time, but I didn't know her well. I found her a bit annoying, but tried to get over it. I have met one other person like her here, and I just don't get it -- she is taking Spanish classes, indeed has been for 12 weeks, but she pretty much refuses to speak Spanish. Now, I can totally understand it if she tries and then struggles and gives up for a moment then tries again, as one of our other classmates so nobly did. However, she just doesn't seem to even try. Now, again, that would be ok just with us other classmates, who were all English speakers, but our teacher does not speak English at all, and this woman would just speak to her anyway. I guess she has also been taking cooking for a while (she shot down my proposal that we make Pozole Verde this week, as she has already made it 2-3 times in this class), so the teacher, Anna, knows her well enough to encourage her to use Spanish. By the end of class, I was encouraging her to, also, -- You have to practice! -- even as I continued to translate between the two of them. At one point, Anna and I were talking across the kitchen as we worked on something, and she walked into the middle of the space and loudly interrupted in English, as though we weren't talking. And yes, it didn't help that she was kind of domineering during the time when we choose what else we'll make this week, and kept choosing things that I thought were just a little too easy, and shooting down my proposals, or not listening (well, after all, she couldn't understand) to Anna when she was saying that I had some ideas of what we could make. However, I did get my ideas in in the end (we're making Chiles en Nogada on Wednesday!). I was not sure I could handle more classes this week with her, but once I got a little space from the initial situation (I immediately got Anna to let me grill the poblana chiles at the stove, while the others cut stuff up, and it was as if Anna understood why I would need that), and was able to appreciate my other two lovely classmates, I felt better. Oh, and today we made Alambres. It's something you can get in many taquerias here and is pretty simple to make and super yummy. And, um, thanks for allowing the rant.