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.

End of the Beach

Leaving Chacala was really difficult. We considered transplanting there, but for various reasons, we don't think that will be likely. However, we really hope to revisit the town before heading home.
Before we left, we did have a few more adventures:
First, one day, Peter decided to try to go fishing. He borrowed the family's boogie board, bought an inner tube, some fishing line, hook, weights, an onion bag for his catch (well, I kind of think they just gave it to him) and calamari for bate, as well as ice, a cooler, and beer, and set out to the water to try to fish while getting to enjoy cold beverages. I swam out to him and we brought the whole enterprise back to shore where Peter regrouped. He downsized the plan to just one floating device (the inner tube), putting a couple beers and his fishing gear into his onion bag, and went and found a stick (actually the dried base of a palm frond without the leaves on it). Back he went. Meanwhile, I read and drank a pina colada. Eventually, he walked up the sand and lo and behold, he had caught something - a problem. He explained that he had started bludgeoning the fish before he realized what it was, and besides which, he had not liked to bludgeon it. The thing is, it didn't start puffing up until he started hitting it...and yes, the puffer fish was a bit puffed up in his bag. "You can't eat that." Said some people at the neighboring table. Yes, but what do we do with it. Peter took the fish and went to rinse off in the outdoor shower. Then he came back, possibly with a solution: "It moved a bit! Maybe it's still alive." Immediately, I jumped on that: "Then throw it back, quickly!" Oh, and did I mention that this puffer fish had teeth like a human baby? Ack! Peter waded into the surf and waved the onion bag around in it, setting the fish free, and off it swam. It must have just been stunned. Well, and maybe brain damaged...we hope it is more or less ok.

Another day, maybe the next, we went back out on the boat with Alberto, his teenage daughter Erica, and the Canadians also staying at our Casa, plus their 4-month-old baby, to go to Isla de Coral, where there was supposed to be good snorkeling. Unfortunately, the water was not really clear enough that day (I thought maybe from the rains that we'd had a few days before, but Alberto told me it was just a matter of the currents), so mostly, I saw fish that I could then picture in my mind, if that makes sense. However, I did see a really big puffer fish through clearer water (where it was shallower), with a little yellow fish hanging around its back -- seemed to be eating something off of it. I went up to Peter and said, "I saw a puffer and he said to tell you, 'I'm gonna get you.'" The beach was nice, though, and we ate lunch. On the way back was the real treat. Alberto brought the boat close to shore at one point to show us another beach and some water-caves. As we were heading back to seat to get home, I glanced up and saw a whale jumping. I shouted and pointed, and off we sped to try to catch up with it. We found a baby and a mother humpback. And we got close, and they came up and went down, spurting their air and then submerging a bit before coming up again. It was much better than on the cloudy day, because they didn't go deep the whole time. I had been so excited to see baby whales, but really it was the mama that blew my mind -- she was SO big! We didn't see all of her, of course (though Katie and I tossed around the idea of jumping in the water with the snorkels), but Finally, we turned back towards home. Peter was still looking behind, and got a treat -- the baby jumped clear out of the water.

When we got back to the dock, Peter and Alberto decided to go back out and fish. They took a break to eat, and Peter bought more calimari bait, and off they went. Peter reports that he noted they had no poles -- it was local style fishing. They tied up to a buoy, threw some lines over with bait, and pulled in fish after fish. It was sunset, and they talked (Peter got a good practice of his Spanish), and when they came back, Alberto and Aurora pushed all the fish on Peter. He brought some of the fish (there really were several) down to the beach to meet me and we went to a restaurant to ask them to cook it for us. The grill was turned off, so it would all have to be fried. We learned the fishes' names (Peter relearned): one was a bota, one chile verde (of which he had more back in the fridge at the house), and two were small fish that were similar to red snapper, but not the same thing. The waitress scolded him for catching a baby fish. All except the bota (Aurora had told Peter to get the bota filleted, and the kitchen said it was too small to fillet, so he just kept it and we gave it back to Alberto and Aurora along with the rest of the chile verdes) were fried up, served with tortillas, beans, rice, and limones. The two small fish were great -- a lot like red snapper -- and the chile verde was ok, but not as exciting as the name had led me to believe.

Again, this side-trip was awesome. We met really nice people, got to see friends, and got to relax on the beach. Peter's tan is now peeling, and I'm about as tan as I have ever been, which is not saying much. It is good to be back in Guanajuato, but also was hard to adjust to being back but not to our real home. Still, good to know where that home really is.

Banking in a Small Town: A More Interesting Post Than It Sounds

Chacala is a very small town, without a bank or ATM. We knew that before arriving, and thought we had enough cash for our planned 2 nights. However, once we started extending our trip, money got tight, and we knew we had to visit Las Varas, the inland town nearby. I volunteered to go alone.

I ended up having to go two days. One was a good transportation day and bad banking day, the other was successful banking, and a transit adventure.

Background on transportation: To get to Las Varas, you hop a ride in one of the collectivo taxis. Basically, a van that circles Chacala honking before driving up the road to Las Varas.

Background on banking: In Las Varas, I soon learned, there are three ways to use your ATM to get cash: there is an ATM at the Oxxo (Mexico's equivalent of the 7-11), there is a bank, and there is a pharmacy where you can pay with your ATM and get cash back.

On Wednesday (easy transportation, bad banking), I walked out of the restaurant's bathroom and immediately saw the taxi. I hopped in, payed my 12 pesos (less than a dollar), and then realized Peter might not realize that I had gone. The taxi was actually going to stop for a few minutes, so I explained my situation and they said I should go tell him and they would head over to the cafe where he was and pick me up there. Done. I was on my way. On the way, I chatted with the driver about the flowers we saw along the way (I wanted to know what Morning Glory was in Spanish, but by the time I asked we had already passed all of them and I didn't see more). I explained that I needed a cajero and he said he would direct me to the bank once we arrived in Las Varas.
As we drove in, I saw a sign on the Oxxo that said it had an ATM, so I decided to first head there. When I arrived, the machine did not appear to be on. I asked an employee and she said that yes, it works. I headed back over to it and finally looked behind to see that it was not plugged in. There were some men doing work on the bathroom and they seemed to have unplugged the ATM to plug in their extension cord. I pointed this out to the same employee and she seemed to have no interest in changing that. So I headed to the bank.
At the bank, my card simply didn't work in the ATM. The message said that it was unable to connect with my bank. Even though this was a large bank in Mexico and even though my bank card has some of those same network symbols on the back, it was a no-go. I even waited in line to speak to a teller, gripped with a sudden fear that my card had become demagnetized. She did not check, but did tell me that probably it was just a problem of connection with my bank.
Someone referred me to the pharmacy. I arrived and explained my situation and asked if I could buy something and get cash back on my ATM card. The clerk thought that would work, except that she didn't have hardly any cash. I wasn't sure if she had changed it to dollars (why?) or someone had paid in dollars, or some other situation, but basically she couldn't help me.
I considered heading back to the Oxxo to beg them to plug in the ATM, but as I passed my taxi driver, he flagged down another taxi that was already heading to Chacala for me and I hopped in, paying my 12 pesos.

Thursday (hard transportation, successful banking): Thursday we woke up early go whale watching (see previous post) and upon arriving back at our room, we both promptly went back to sleep and slept until mid-afternoon. I actually dreamt that I had successfully gone to Las Varas and gotten cash and was disappointed to wake up and find that not true.
This time, I waited for a while at one of the corners where the taxi passes and none came. Peter and I took a break to eat a late and much needed lunch then I headed back. The hammock seller who came by, after I told him I didn't have space for a hammock, told me the taxi was parked over there, and I should go over so they see me. I went over and waited until the driver was ready to leave. We drove around town and picked up nearly a full van. In Las Varas, he drove a block further away from the Oxxo than the guy had the previous day, right near the Pharmacy, but I decided to start with the Oxxo. I walked in, the ATM screen was lit up, and everything worked smoothly. I bought myself an ice cream bar and headed back towards the taxi area, triumphant.
I had passed a small (regular car size) taxi on the way and when I walked by again, I asked him if he was going to Chacala, and would it cost 12 pesos. The answer was yes, but we would have to wait for 3 more people to make a full car. He told me that I had been near the collectivo stop when I was at the Oxxo, but those collectivos usually stop at 3pm. It was about 5pm now. I asked about the other taxi stand I had seen and he explained that the taxis there would not be able to drive me into Chacala, they were not allowed to drive in. Or I could pay a "special" taxi to drive me, but that would be "expensive". He pulled me up a chair to sit and wait. After a minute, I suggested that I pay him 30 pesos, or even 36, the equivalent of three people (about $3), and we could just go. He thought about it and countered with 45 pesos. I flat-out refused, and we finally agreed on 40 pesos, but I added a clause that if we did pick up other people, I would pay less. I hopped in the front seat and he drove first to the taxi stop by the Oxxo. There, the guy who had driven me in was waiting with one passenger. There was a long amused discussion between the two drivers, and my driver hopped out, leaving the car running. I heard the other driver say, "You didn't tell her what's happening?" and my driver was back, leaning in the window to explain the situation: They were going to flip a coin. If my driver won, he would take me and the other passenger and I would pay 30 pesos. If the other driver won, I would have to wait with the other passenger for more folks to come and we would go in the van. I was a little confused about why I couldn't still pay 40 to go with my guy, but I thought the whole thing was so amusing that I agreed. Luck would have it, we won the coin toss. The other passenger got in back and off we went. I had money and I was heading back to Chacala, finally.

Thus ends the banking story. A bit more about being here: Last night we went to a benefit dinner for Cambiando Vidas, an organization that give scholarships to kids from Chacala and surrounding areas so that they can go to high school (you have to pay for high school here!!) and even college. The program has sent 4 students to college so far and has 33 participants. Our landlady's daughter is a participant in the program and our landlady was helping with the dinner. We were given chiles rellenos, enchiladas, and a tamale, as well as one free margarita and dessert. Not bad for 200 pesos each (about $15). The evening also included some baile folklorico by the teens and a game that was sort of like a human cockfight. For the latter, the kids, and some adults, tied two balloons around one of their ankles. The challenge was to stomp on others' balloons and pop them without getting your own balloons popped. The last person with a balloon won. The final dance was one that was from this coast, they explained. It ended with the boys taking a bottle of beer in each hand and shaking it, letting the spray hit them and the girls. A grand finale, you could say. If you are looking for a good organization to donate to, I can't recommend Cambiando Vidas enough -- they have almost no overhead (if any) and have a clear and direct impact on people who need it. It has a U.S. tax exempt status also, so you can deduct your donation.
We keep extending our stay, but our current plan is to head back to Guanajuato, or at least as far as Guadalajara for a few days, on Sunday. Today Peter has gone out on on our hosts' boogie board to try to fish off the board, and tomorrow we hope to go on a boat trip to a nearby island with a pristine beach and good snorkeling, or at least around this coast to another beach (las cuevas, so I assume there are caves there?) which also has some rocks for snorkeling.

Wildlife Sightings

We are on the Pacific coast of Mexico, near Puerto Vallarta. We spent three nights, as previously reported, in Mismaloya, then 4 in Sayulita, and now have been in Chacala. Each is more rustic and off the beaten path than the last, heading north. We had planned to only stay a couple nights in Chacala before heading home, but the rain came the day after we arrived so we waited it out and now have found ourselves delaying day by day. Among the various stops, we have spotted some wildlife, so here it is in list form, to avoid having to create transitions:

1. Iguanas, as previously posted.
2. Geckos, as previously exulted.
3. One night when I went into our bathroom in Sayulita, I found a 2-inch long cockroach hanging out on the counter. It was not one of the more pleasant wildlife sights. After that, I would always reach in to turn on the light, wait a few seconds, and then enter.
4. Some sort of small parrots, 4 of 'em. Ok, we thought these were lovebirds, but I just read that they live in Africa, not Mexico. So we don't know what we saw. They were up in the trees and backlit, so hard to say. Still, it was incredibly exciting.
5. Humpback whales: after putting off the boatride out to see them due to rain, we finally went yesterday. Our host took us out in his boat, along with the Canadian couple and their baby, who are also staying there. We saw the whales come up to breath and saw their tales flip up as they finally plunged below. Most surprisingly, we heard the whales. Their songs seemed to reverberate through the bottom of the boat. We all sat silently and listened, except Lachlan the baby, who seemed to start responding to them with his own calls.
6. Mosquitos: seeing, feeling, ugh. I am bitten all over.

In the flora category, there are groves of Guanabana trees up on the hill, and a bunch of Durian trees on the road here -- they're called Yaka in Spanish (I still have neither smelled nor tasted this fruit, even though it is sold at Berkeley Bowl). Coconuts abound.

Random note about Berkeley Bowl for those familiar: yesterday I was reading an article on the NYTimes Bay Area blog about Berkeley and the author refered to the Bowl as the "supermarket at which I worship" which I thought was a pretty accurate rendition of all of our feelings about the institution.

The Chirps of Geckos are Paradise

There is really nothing so symbolic of heaven to me as the clucking of a gecko. You hear them from outside on the balcony or maybe hidden somewhere in your room. The crowing of roosters nearby, when it wakes you up in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning is not quite as pleasant, though.

We had yet another sudden change of plans when our friends David and Priscilla came to Mismaloya (just north of Puerto Vallarta and where Night of the Iguana was filmed, close to where Predator was filmed), along with their two sons, their friends John and Lauren, and John and Lauren's matching-age daughters. David's mom has a great house above Playa Mismaloya, so we got a great place to stay, a beautiful view, a pool, to learn a new card game, and excellent company.

With them we enjoyed great food and delicious margaritas care of the caretaker Victor. We also went, ostensibly for the kids, on a pirate boat tour. The boat was supposedly modeled after the Santa Maria, and included a pirate-outfitted crew of which our group garnered two "personal pirates." It was their job to escort us to and serve us breakfast and lunch, bring us drinks (from the open bar, though we all waited until after water activities to drink), pose for pictures with the kids, and generally take care of us. The boat ride included about an hour and a half ride out and again back, with the destination of Playa Majahuites. The way there included a play put on by the pirates, with swordfighting, intrigue, etc. It did go on, but was cute. There were also games both on the way there and back. Peter and I hid from some of them on the back deck on the way back. Peter and I chose to snorkel before heading to the beach, and saw a few cool fish, but it was not exactly a goldmine. The beach was great -- they set out chairs and umbrellas and had the bartender set up there. By the time I went back for our third round, he knew we would want Palomas (tequila with grapefruit soda) and was mixing them by the time I arrived. Meanwhile the kids were entertained with a treasure hunt, banana boat (ok, Peter and I went on a ride also), and sea kayaking, and our more athletic friends joined the volleyball game. It's not the kind of thing I normally do when I travel, but I was impressed at the attention and care, and the well-oiled machine (tight ship?) they had developed.

After saying goodbye at the airport on Thursday, we took the bus from across the street up to Sayulita, where we are now. Sayulita seems to be the hip new place to go outside of Puerto Vallarta. It has a surfing beach with a bit of swimming opportunity on the sides, though the storms two weeks ago left the water rocky and the drop-offs steep. The town is interesting. It has boutique-y stores and restaurants next to mom-and-pop grocers and street tacos. Last night I discovered the woman who sells cake slices on the main plaza. I have already warned Peter that I will need to return for another slice of her flan tonight. Much of the town is full of foreign visitors and some expats. Aging hippies and young surfers seem to be the main expat residents, while others looking for beach but slightly off the beaten track (like us) make up the visitors. The beach has a lot of beginning surfers, which I find inspiring and welcoming. Not that I'm going to try it, but today I chatted with a couple and their friend who were taking turns paddle surfing for the first time (picture someone standing on a surf board with a paddle, not riding the waves, but just heading over them out pas the breakers), and we all agreed it was a friendly beach for beginners.
We were not sure what we were going to do next. Yelapa seemed like a good option (which Anne and Joshua and I visited 3 years ago, right afte I met Peter, and which Peter had visited for a day), but it turns out the places to stay are a little expensive for us. Our friend Erika has just been in Chacala, which is north of here, and so we looked into that a bit more. There, an organization called Techos de Mexico, in partnership with Habitat for Humanity, has helped families build extra rooms or apartments onto their houses for tourists to use. They are reasonably priced and help support the families.
Oh, I almost forgot: Iguanas! The closest either of us has been to seeing wild iguanas was in Zihuatanejo where a restaurant put out food to attract them. While we were on the pirate beach, we saw our first truly wild iguana: huge and black, and sunning on a rock until we got closer, when it ran and hid. And, of course, we didn't have our camera. However, this morning, after reading a hint online, I guided us to a restaurant for breakfast that backs onto an iguana preserve where, not only did we see a whole ton of iguanas, we saw a major life event: iguanas mating. At first, peter thought the large one was attacking the smaller one. In a sense, I guess he was, but after seeing them not move much once he clobbered (what we realized must be) her, and that he had let go of his bite on her neck and they were just lying there, we decided it must be a different story. Indeed, without going into much more detail and realizing that this already will be TMI, I can say that within days I went from seeing my first wild iguana, to seeing my first iguana's private parts. Yes, we have pictures of the lovely couple, no we don't have pics of that last part.

Thanks to my high school chum, Audrey, who was here about a year ago, we have good recommendations of where to go and what to eat. Last night we checked out her favorite restaurant, Chile Relleno Feliz -- a place we would have never stumbled upon ourselves. It is essentially in a family's front yard, where they have also built and outdoor kitchen. My Chile Relleno was delicious, and I think Peter enjoyed his shrim and steak quesadillas too.

The whales are in town. Humpbacks and their calves can be seen on boating trips that sometimes also include snorkeling and fishing. We were interested but ran into the barrier that you really need a group to go. Having decided to head to Chacala, we plan to try to make it happen once we are there, where we think it will cost less. I have never been whale watching and am pretty excited and hopeful to see them. Plus, I would like another snorkel fix before heading back to my land-locked city of choice.

It's sunset now and all the birds are gathering in the trees to mark their territory with song. Another neat part of the tropics.

What I Miss From Home

My friend Jennifer recently asked me what I miss from home, and right now I'm listening to my brother-in-law, Steve's band playing live on the radio thanks to online streaming, so I thought I'd use this moment to share my list of things I miss:

Comfortable furniture. Our bed is hard and our couch isn't horrible, but not great and small (really a loveseat). Back home I have my wonderful purple couch, and our memory-foam covered bed. Here, sometimes we linger in the Bagel Cafetin because their couches are more comfortable than ours, but it still isn't acceptable to recline on them.

Zachary's pizza, all Asian foods, especially Chinese, Korean and Thai, San Francisco Sourdough bread (thanks to Beth who brought us two loaves of Acme!), Arizmendi pastries, Berkeley Bowl

Our families. Big time. We are so lucky to live near our families most of the time.

Our friends, big time. Meeting new people is great, but nothing compares to a shared history.

So many friends expecting babies and so many babies growing and changing. Our niece, Simone is running and dancing and last time we were there she was just getting her land legs (though she was already a great dancer). It's hard to be away from all that.

The ease of language.

The ease of not standing out.

The Jewish community. Not many Jews here at all. I joked to one of my teachers whose girlfriend is Jewish, "Since you know both the the Jews in town..."

Our cats. Jack is becoming more and more feral without us there to trust, and Bean is at risk of being kidnapped by any member of my family or torn apart by them fighting over him. I still hear a sound or see a slight movement out of the corner of my eye and think it's one of the cats causing a ruckus or settling in to the bed.

Just knowing how to do simple things. Here, we have to buy new gas when the canister runs out. A couple days ago I told our landlady that our gas was low and could she call the guy to replace it? She asked if it was all the way gone and explained that that's how it's done. You wait until it is entirely gone before replacing it. So, I asked, you just don't have gas for a day? Yep. She conceded to our request to call anyway, but then I felt a little like a spoiled brat, not using the canister up the last breath.

I was missing English books, but we just got a whole bunch as visitors left theirs behind for us or brought us requests.

Our home. At times it drives me crazy, keeping up with it, but I do love it so.

I was missing good shampoo, but Beth and I found some in a salon and now I'm happy.

My big fluffy bamboo terry robe that Peter gave me. And my flannel pj's. Peter had beth deliver a robe he ordered for me and it's great but not the same.

Down comforter. We bought big fuzzy blankets that we call, appropriately, the fuzzies. Peter's has deer on it, mine is turquoise and has a Pegasus and the one we share has pandas. They're that kind. And they are not as good.

Potable tap water, though that's not a huge deal.

Our new good knives and all the other wonderful luxuries of our new wedding gifts.

Having an oven (we don't have one), and all the things I can make in it: Chicken Marbella, Lasagna, cookies, etc.

The community at East Bay Arts, the school where I worked the last two years. I get tastes of it on facebook, which is so nice to have, but it's not the same as being a part of it.

Things I don't miss: working, so much more stress, costs of things, American politics (not really avoidable, but a what year already), my messy house, being so busy.

Things I rejoice in here:
Mexican food, the wide availability of sweetened condensed milk, the eggs -- so delicious and deep yellow yolks!, figuring it out, the sun of late, having so much time, relaxing, traveling, seeing new things, meeting new people, learning more Spanish, Vermilion flycatchers, there are bees everywhere right now, sipping cappucinos or cortados, the wonderful choices of drinks like aguas frescas, licuados (milk-fruit drinks), and juices, the recent discovery of delicious Eggs Benedict at the french restaurant and their yummy buffet, street ice cream, street tortas, street food in general, our domed ceilings, the lovely balcony, spending hours solving mind puzzles or logic problems, sharing all this with our visitors, the chirpy voice of our landlords' grandson and his hugs, so much opportunity, having so much time with my new spouse, the joy of missing people and the appreciation of their places in my life.

No Water Today

Guanajuato is in a drought. As a result, there is water rationing. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, we don't get new water. Some other area of the city misses out on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. For the most part, this does not impact us a lot, actually, because our apartment building, like most around here, has a reserve tank on the roof. When I lived in Oaxaca, the water was actually delivered in a truck to that tank and they ran a hose up to it to fill it each time we ran low. Here, they have more advanced plumbing but still have the tanks. Most days, we don't run out of that. Maybe twice we have late in the night, and just after midnight, you hear it running back into the pipes. I can't imagine this happening in the United States. For all the droughts we have had in California (and maybe the big one that happened when I was a baby was different), the response has always been encouragement to decrease your water use, incentives, etc. But our country, with our value of independence so strong that we don't even realize it sometimes, would never just shut off the water three days a week, I think.

Late last night, we heard noises. It sounded like someone was in the unfinished apartment above us, though when people walk on the callejon (alley) outside our room it sounds pretty similar. However, my brother and I both were sure we heard someone on the new metal staircase outside. Then a bang, and suddenly water was pouring out of one of the PVC pipes that comes down from the roof reservoir. Peter went to wake the landlords. They think someone threw a rock from the callejon, but our reports of noises may have convinced them otherwise. Water poured out for a while, until it ran out. So today, a ration day and without the reserve water, no water in the taps. It is not a big deal, really. We have drinking water, because that's not what we drink anyway. I happened to shower and wash dishes yesterday. We can't flush, but as long as the landlords fix the pipes by tonight, we can manage for one day without.

Other bits:

1. My brother, Mark was here for about 5 days. He just left. It was great having him here, and he really liked the city. He is the last of our long stream of visitors for now.

2. Did you know Kinder Eggs are illegal in the U.S.? We learned this from Rahel, who says the U.S. does not allow any food with non-food items inside it. We have kinda gotten into them here. Silly, junky toys inside a chocolate shell that is designed to give kids a little more milk? Awesome.

3. I did complete two more days of cooking class: Chiles Rellenos and Crema de Chayote (Cream of Chayote, which is a squash) on one day and Mole Verde on the other. I loved the green Mole!

4. We enjoyed more tortas from the street yesterday. Delicious. Mark had hoped to go back today, but we didn't really have time in the rush to get a few more items for him to take home and I don't think the stand opens until evening.

5. Mark and I discovered that the Southern French restaurant, where Peter and I had sampled the lunch buffet before, has delicious Eggs Benedict. Awesome Hollandaise sauce! I asked the owner if she could make Eggs Florentine and Blackstone (the latter I had to describe) in the future and she said she would be happy to if they have the ingredients around.

Cooking Class, Day 1: Flautas de Papas con Salsa Roja

The children didn't wash their hands and were closer to the stove than I liked.

That was one impression after my first day of cooking class. Another was: yum.

I finally have started taking the afternoon cooking classes that our language school offers. I say "finally" because I meant to a while ago but between cancellations of the class and wanting to have afternoons free for our onslaught of visitors, actually doing it has waited until this week.

The class is taught in the school's kitchen by a local woman and my classmates this week are three adults and the three children who go with a combination of them: one of the families is from Oregon and the other from Colorado. I liked them, but tomorrow I might suggest, "Let's all go wash our hands before we begin!"

Today we made Flautas de Papas con Salsa Roja (Potato "Taquitos" with Red Salsa). I learned about a chili and about a cheese, two things I feel pretty ignorant of here, apart from some familiar basics (there is a ton of unappealing processed cheese choices, and I know the delicious Oaxacan Quesillo, which is all I feel confident to buy, plus anaheim, poblano, jalapeno and guajillos chilies, but that's just the tip of the chili iceberg).

As the person who clearly washed her hands, I was given the task of cutting up the lettuce, tomatoes, and onions that would go on top fresh -- not a great challenge, but not so bad to be using a sharp knife again (I miss my good wedding knives!). Then, I took over frying the flautas.

Meanwhile, others toasted the dry pullo chilies one at a time over the flame, then pulled off the stem and dropped each one in the blender. The children took the peels off the tomatillos and cut each one in half. Those were then fried in a little oil and added to the blender, along with garlic "dientes" (teeth! that's how you say cloves! how cool is that?), a little water, and some salt. Blend, and voila, you have some good red salsa with a little kick.

The filling of the flautas was made from boiled potatoes, peeled then mashed with queso ranchero (like farmer's cheese back home: blocky and bland). The kids got to mash this up and spread it with spoons on the corn tortillas before one of us adults fried them up.

Spread on top some crema (I always think of it as like sour cream, but it's more like creme fraiche), the salsa, and the tomatoes, lettuce and onion so carefully sliced by me, and there you have it.

Meanwhile, because I had some ideas already, I set the menu for the rest of the week, even as I said I was not sure how many days I would be there. Tomorrow we will make chiles rellenos and sopa (soup) de chayote, something I am excited to work with. One day we'll do mole verde, and another will be chiles en nogada. I told them I probably won't be in class on Friday (my brother arrives Thursday night), so I don't remember if they chose a dish for that day or not.

I have actually never taken a cooking class before, and was not sure there was much value to it. Honestly, I mostly just choose a recipe for something I like and make it. So far, I think the advantages of today's class were the social part (it was fun talking to the other adults in class), and the experience of making something as a group which makes it appear much easier (especially when there is someone there whose job it is to do the dishes afterward, as was the case today). I also learned that tomatillos are called "tomates" here (I already knew that red tomatoes are called "jitomate"), and hope to learn more kitchen vocabulary.

Pics up

Pictures of our Hanuka party, Christmas, visits from Jesse and Eli, Beth, and beginning of Rahel and Caroline (click me).

Tacos de What? and Other Street Food Adventures

The first time I came to Mexico as an adult, I was pretty shy about street food. I didn't want to spend my vacation in the bathroom, and had heard and read all sorts of warnings. Towards the end of the trip, though, my friend and I were introduced to the street of empanadas of Oaxaca. More like large quesadillas, this food was divine. Large, handmade tortillas put on the comal, with the addition of combinations of cheese, epazote, shredded chicken, and rich sauces, at $15 pesos each ($1.50USD). Two, plus an orange soda, were big enough for a meal. These were also a great discovery for our budgets. Thus ended my ban on street food, though at the time I still would not sample the uncooked greens, though I would look longingly at the cilantro.

These days, I trust that the cilantro is cleaned with purified water, I spread on the salsa after sampling to see whether it's just too hot for me, and I order my meat tacos, my tortas, my tamales, my ice cream, and sit on a nearby bench or a curb to enjoy. Peter and I often use the policy that if a lot of people are eating there, it is probably good (this is actually how we found one of our still-favorite restaurants in San Francisco on our first date).

Beth and I had a day of such sampling around town while she was here. It started when we walked out of my favorite artsy shop and I spotted a bunch of children walking by with something in their hands. "We must go where they came from!" I declared. "I know where it is!" And I led Beth to the wonderful man who sells pineapple ice cream with chili. I got limon and pina with chili, Beth had pina and delicious coconut, sin picante. Later, I went for a slice of the pastel de nata (cream cake) in the mercado. As we exited, we grabbed a bag of fresh, green garbanzos, still in their shells. We elected for only limon and salt on them, and wandered to a nearby square to sit and suck out the beans inside. Some of the beans inside were mature and resembled the white ones we find in cans; others, my favorites, were younger and still green, closer to peas, but with a hint of that starchy flavor. We headed to the next square over, and I saw that a kid of about 13 was selling a drink of some sort out of his family's key-making shop. Next to it was a bowl of white powder. The sign said Cebadina, and I asked him what it was. He explained that cebadina is a mix of agua de jamaica (hibiscus tea), pineapple, and raspberry juices. Then, he said, you add this (pointing at the white stuff) and it gets bubbly. I was in. He ladeled the juice, handed it to me -- who handed it to Beth so I could take a picture -- and brought up a spoonful of the fizzer. He paused and looked at us expectantly. We waited. Finally, he dumped the spoon into the drink, and I started taking pictures -- as the drink overflowed onto Beth's hands. "Drink, drink!" said the boy. So we did, and managed to deal with the overflow problem. Yummy fruity soda was what it was, and it was pretty good, too. Couldn't taste any baking soda at all.

Today was a different story. Rahel and I headed to the Sunday market not far from our apartment. There, the woman from whom I bought used clothes (I think the shirt is a common Target label), told me she got her cafe de olla from upstairs. Upstairs? Peter and I had never known! Rahel and I ventured up. We never found the cafe, but that was ok, because we found the fruits and vegetables! Meanwhile, I started to get a bit hungry. I saw a few taco stands, one that seemed particularly popular. Not sure where to sit, I must have looked indecisive, because an older man working there put together a small serving of a taco and handed it over. It tasted good -- the meat, which I thought looked like beef, was tender. I felt one thing crunch, but decided that was in the salsa he'd poured on. I asked him if this was beef? pork? and he seemed maybe not to hear me, or maybe didn't understand my accent, and waved me off with a smile. Then I spotted two stools, grabbed them, and ordered "dos mas". I had taken a couple bites, when a younger man came to clean near me. By now, there was definitely something crunchy and I was carefully feeling through the rest of the meat to pull out small spiney-looking pieces, along with anything not just looking like muscle. I asked the young man what type of meat I was eating. "Chivitas." I paused. I didn't know this word, but the first thing that popped into my imagination was guinea pig (though I also knew it wasn't that, because I know the word for guinea pig). "What's that like?" I asked. "You don't know what chivitas is?" he laughed. We all laughed. I gave him a big hammy grin and went to take another bite. We all laughed. Just then, I thought, chivitas...chivas...the futbol team!...their mascot is a goat..."Cabra?" I asked. "Si, si. Cabra."