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.