Vivir en Grande
I’ve come to find that packing a suitcase full for the upcoming four months in a foreign country is almost as difficult as summarizing that life for a solid month. As for me, I’d rather pack.
Throughout my life, I’ve come across individuals that have held an obvious passion for music. Surprisingly, despite my distaste and somewhat indifference towards this passion, these individuals have become my closest friends, introducing me to the many elements of the neon indie rock, “ranchero country,” and the latest Britney hits. I think that I’ve become drawn to the fact that songs really represent our attitudes and feelings and emotions. We love to repeat the same Katy Perry song because we can identify with the lyrics and the ideas that the artist presents. There is a connection with the lyrics that can be made between the singer and the listener, without even coming in physical contact, or knowing that they exist. That is powerful.
In saying this, I would have to summarize the past couple of weeks with my latest favorite songs. I hope that in doing so, it becomes more enjoyable for you, because it definitely does so for me.
I hope They Don’t Offend You, Yeah?
(**This is also a subtle warning for all of those amazing music-obsessed friends of mine… I have purposely failed to place artists names associated with the following lyrics in order to be considerate and cautious with the varying dangerous indie/pop/girl-band mixture**)
“I wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy; grab my glasses, I’m out the door, I’m going to hit the city.”
Of course, I have a slight feeling that when these lyrics were written, they weren’t necessarily directed towards the “city” of Cuernavaca… but regardless, aside from the nearly constant mid-80 degree weather (since finally the raining season has started to end), the weekly pool parties have been a huge hit. After our first adventure, where all three of us (Whitney, Tyler, and I) managed to ride a huge, gigantic inflatable pool turtle toy, we decided to go out and buy our own air mattresses. This proved to be a great idea, especially after someone (names unmentionable) decided to ride the small head of the turtle, clearly made for a small nino, and broke it off completely… all in the name of P Diddy.
Great weather also called for an amazing time in Acapulco. This lyric pretty much sums up the entire experience. After seven weeks of straight Spanish classes, and weekends filled with hilarious nights, long excursions with unforgettable adventures, only to return to more classes, a vacation is definitely in order. And where better than the beaches of Acapulco? Which, I am sad to say, have definitely changed since Neil Diamond’s version of the beach, with “sunny blue waters and the sand is warm and friendly.” I would have to agree that yes, the waters do look blue, from three stories up in our hotel, Copacobana, and the sand is warm, but I would probably go for extremely hot and blistering of the feet. However, with Diamond’s lyrics aside, the beach was absolutely gorgeous, along with the hundreds of palm trees lining the beach, the wonderful wading pools ideal for tanning, the “hot tubs” (actually filled with cold water in the mid-90 degree heat), and the phenomenal daily experiences. Of all the experiences, which I could retell over and over again, among my favorites was our banana experience. After heading to the beach mid-day, ready to soak up all the water Acapulco had to offer, we hear “Gringas! Gringas!” Like most cat-calls in Mexico, we have now been accustomed to ignore most screams or yells in our direction. So much so, that I have had several difficulties with responding to my actual name south of the border (which has changed several times from Que-te-LEEN to Ca – EET to CayEE to Cat-ee, but there is still opportunity for further growth). Regardless, Whitney and I chose to ignore the yelling, until a small Mexican man carrying two life jackets reached us and asked in butchered English, “Do you want to ride the banana?” Confused and somewhat caught off guard, we asked him what in the world he was talking about… “Do you want to ride the banana? It is gratis (free)” … “Why is it free?” “Porque estan bonitas.” (Because you’re pretty)… Why not? All in all, riding in the very front of a banana boat across the entire coast of Acapulco, with seven very drunk Mexican men on the back, standing up, yelling “Mas rapido!” was definitely an experience that I’ll never forget. Thank you, Acapulco.
“I’m feeling rough, I’m feeling raw, I’m in the prime of my life.”
Despite the fact that this lyric is actually ironic, and is mocking the ambition and feelings of the adolescent, I still find it quite appropriate.
We have definitely encountered several times (it almost becomes a daily experience now) where we have come across situations where the sentiment is just that, “rough, raw, and the prime of my life.”
We got the opportunity to attend an Americas vs Chivas futbol (Mexican soccer) game. If you’re unfamiliar with Mexican culture, it’s not that difficult; if you know some words in Spanish, like salsa, drink beer, and love soccer, then you’re pretty much set. Americas and Chivas games (also, the Mexican national team and Pumas teams as well) are extremely popular in every city. The city of Cuernavaca alone hovers around their television sets for games with the entire family, cheering loudly. Every single tienda or convenience store is consistently covered with posters that show the appropriate time, team, and location of the soccer games; traffic is stopped about 15 minutes before the game, filled with people trying to get home to watch it; local bars are packed full with people, waiting for the game to start, beer in hand. So, the opportunity to actually be able to attend one of these games was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The game was held in Mexico City, home to the “Americas” team, contra (played against) the “Chivas” (goats) from Guadelajara (about 12 hours north of Mexico City). As I stated before, it is very important, when considering Mexican culture, to not only like soccer, but to also know a little bit about it. Without knowing much, besides the previous games we had watched at the local taqueria and bars, we decided to head into the massive crowds of people, swarming with booths filled with red and white striped and bright yellow and green jerseys representing the two teams. As we entered the stadium, we were amazed as it slowly filled to around 100 thousand fans, making this stadium (Estadio Azteca), the largest in all of Mexico.
As we sat down next to the red-and-white striped seats, we didn’t realize that we would later regret such a decision. The red-and-white striped Chivas eventually filled less than a quarter of the stadium, since they were the away team. Not only were they the obvious minority, but they were also the loudest, crudest, wildest team between the two. Needless to say, it was not a pretty site when America won 1 – 0. Cups of beer (and eventually we found out urine), empty Domino’s pizza boxes, random articles of clothing, were chucked into the apposing stands. Hundreds of police officers with riot shields were standing guard within the stadium, as well as all along the perimeter and outside as well. As the proud and aggressive Chivas fans stormed out of the stadium, fights started to break out throughout the stadium, outside filled with screams and the flipping of fingers, and the chanting of prideful America and Chivas songs. Despite our attempt to stay out of the turmoil, we were caught standing, waiting for about 2 hours to reach the train, crammed packed together with the other thousands of fans (most of which, at this point, were wearing yellow). In this time, Tyler managed to almost get pick-pocketed, we got slammed against the train wall when the doors opened (Tyler still believes that he left a woman crippled from slamming into her upon entering) and had a great conversation with some Mexicans from Atlanta. After they asked us which team we supported and we hesitated, they informed us to “just say you’re Americas; you don’t want to get into trouble…” They started laughing with us afterwards, but I have a feeling like they weren’t joking.
In keeping with the spirit of being in the “prime of life,” there have been several opportunities for youthful fun. Such an event occurred when Whitney and I attended a costume party with her host sisters, filled with hilarious dancing, a great (and somewhat awkward) costume contest, being pulled up to dance in front of the entire party to dance with the host just for being white, jump roping with such characters as Ghost Rider and Natalie Portman in Star Wars, and dancing with Jesus.
Such acts of hilarity did not stop as Whitney, Tyler, and I decided to accompany Whitney’s host sister from the states at her friend’s birthday party in the city. The night ended at 3 in the morning, with hilarious adventures to share. Another similar event occurred after George Fox and Gettysburg finally reunited after two weeks of separation – what a relief! The night entailed a series of events of sharing taxi cabs (it becomes cheaper, but of course more dangerous, with six people, not including the driver, crammed into the small compact Nisson), electricity going out, necessary stops in the street, and the meeting of many new friends…
I can honestly say after these last couple of weeks, I am absolutely de acuerdo that I am in the prime of my life.
“Well this little girl grew up and moved away. And she lived her life full of risk and full of play. And she lived her life with so much to say, and her flowers grow more beautiful every day.”
Of course with such a tale of adventures back to back, the logical ‘parental question’ to ask is what have I actually learned from being here?
The answer would take several hours to explain and several pages to write, so I’m not going to do either, unless it’s back in the States in December, over some coffee (preferably not at Starbucks).
We’ve had the opportunity to visit an orphanage down here called Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos (Our Little Brothers/Sisters), where a compound of over 500 children, ranging from 3 to 18. The organization in itself is really interesting. NPH holds several orphanages throughout Latin America, all with the same philosophy. As “one big family” (as they called themselves), they never turn away anyone from the home, and never kick anyone out. Children are accepted at varying ages for a variety of reasons, including abuse, neglect/abandonment, insufficient parental finances, accidents in the family, etc. The children are then raised in the home (everyone calls it the “casa” or house), where they attend school every day, have daily responsibilities, and are given food, housing, and medical attention, among others. Once the children have completed up to high school, they have the opportunity to perform 1 – 2 years of service at the home, and their college education is also paid for. This is the most important part of the home for me. There is a grand opportunity for purpose and advancement with the children here, all surrounded by volunteers who get paid almost nothing, and live with these children every day.
NPH was unlike any experience I have ever had before. I’ve had numerous opportunities in my life to serve. I’ve had dozens of friends come back from “mission trips” or service opportunities with incredible stories. But nothing like NPH has ever hit home quite like this experience. There was one point in the night where we were leaving with Michelle (an alumni of Fox who has been living in the home for over a year a half) to get some medicine for one of her girl’s headache, and a young boy entered the crowd of children waiting for medicine. He entered carrying a plate-full of nachos with cheese and jalapenos (one which obviously was not served in the cafeteria – he must have bought it at the local tienda), in which immediately he offered us some. He then proceeded to offer his food to the swarm of children surrounding him, before he even picked up any himself. Michelle informed us of all of the pequenos and their heart to share. It was so incredible to see so many children that literarily had nothing, only to rely on the people hundreds of miles away sending in thirty dollar checks every month, to share everything they had with one another; and rely and depend on one another for support. This obviously is a cultural aspect of the Mexican culture, but also something that lies within the house. It was a very unique trait; one so rare that it could only be found in the small town of Miacatlan in a hidden orphanage.
This experience has really allowed a shift and understanding of development in my character here, as well as what I would like to do with the rest of my life. Such opportunities such as traveling to Africa this May to help at an HIV/AIDS clinic, or even working at NPH have been brought to my attention. My future life and occupation has become more clear in its purpose and direction, which is something that (once again), I could go into further detail over coffee…
I’ve experienced so many things since being here in Mexico. Living in a different country and experiencing for yourself the uncomfortably of a new culture, language, and people is very challenging, but very rewarding. I have grown to learn so many things about myself, my relationships at home, my future expectations, personal goals, etc, and I have had an absolute blast doing it.
I don’t know what’s in store for the upcoming 40-some days I have left south of the border, but I am more than excited to experience them.
I tried earlier to explain one of my favorite phrases, “Go big or go home,” to my Spanish professor, but didn’t get very far whatsoever. She actually tried to explain to me that my phrase was somewhat depressing – the translation didn’t quite fit. In the end, however, we did conclude on one particular phrase: “Vivir en grande” (live life big). This is my intent for the rest of this incredible semester.
And who knows what life will bring, depending on the next hit song…
A Six Flags Day
We definitely learned from our previous experience of arriving at the Pullman bus station 2 ½ hours late. Today we arrived directly at 8:20 am, 20 minutes before the large gray and red autobus left the station heading for Six Flags, Mexico.
The one thing I have learned about living in another country and culture is observation. Everything can be accomplished correctly and without (quite as much) embarrassment after observation.
Once observing (some would almost say ‘stalking’) a family that had gotten off our same bus, with similar tickets to ours, we found the right line for entrance into the park and began to run.
My run was immediately stopped by a woman who proceeded to open my bag, finding my packed sandwich, shaking her head viciously, and motioned to the trash. With my big, blue, stupid gringo eyes, I tried to ask desperately if I could eat it in the park. She rolled her eyes, shook her head slightly, and placed a “diabetes” Red Cross medical label on my bag.
Thank you Six Flags entrance lady!
The day was filled with long lines, thousands of screams, and hilarious Spanish names. We started the day with the largest, longest, fastest ride in the entire park, Superman. The roller coaster itself reached across the entire park; from the very top of the ride, one could see Mexico City in the distance. The most hilarious park? Watching Mexicans try to pronounce “Lex Luther.”
Within the amusement park was a small area dedicated to dolphins, lobos marinos or sea lions (roughly translated as wolf sea animals), and aquatic life. We immediately rushed to see what time the show started – in 15 minutes. Bring on the “Sea World wanna be.”
After yelling “SI! SI! SI” in unison with the hundreds of little ninos in the audience to initiate more splashing from the passing dolphins, we were astounded with an outstanding show performance, first by a large, slimy sea lion from Southern California, followed next by four dolphins in a large aquarium pool.
Once the show had ended we went to the water’s edge to get a better look up close at the dolphins, only to be bombarded by a young girl about our age (obviously on commission), encouraging us to take advantage of a student promotional coupon “just for us” to swim with the dolphins after the show.
Swim with dolphins… for only 35 bucks… in the high-80 degree heat of the Mexican sun… at Six Flags…what’s stopping us?
Several rides later, we headed back to the aquarium for our grand adventure.
Heading towards the back of the aquarium, with our instructor for the evening, Carlos, we all started to get a little nervous as we started to question the fact that we had no swimming suits… But of course, “Dolphin Discovery Six Flags Mexico” came to our side, and offered us children sized spandex shorts with a small top, complete with bright yellow and blue life preservers.
The uncomfortable nature (and probably somewhat disturbing to the surrounding audience) of the swim suits were of no matter to us after we started swimming with Andre, our dolphin of the hour. The screams of the other ten splashing, loud, obnoxious ninos couldn’t even get me down from one of the most memorable experiences of the trip.
Right before we left the park, we decided to grab a grande hot dog on our way out to the bus. As we paid to leave, the employee at the register turned to us and said in broken English, “Have a Six Flags day!”
… and we certainly did.
Taxco
Ir de compras. Pretty much music to the ears for any girl (in this particular case, a Spanish-speaking girl).
Shopping.
After an incredible previous night at our favorite place (now that we have become accustomed to the menu, waiters, and local DJ), we started the next Saturday morning with an excursion to Taxco.
Taxco, a small town about an hour away from Cuernavaca (through curvos peligrosos, or dangerous curves, of course), in the north-central area of the state of Guerrero. The entire name of the city is “Taxco de Alarcón,” named after a famous indigenous writer of the village, Juan Ruiz Alarcón. The city also falls under the title of one of Mexico’s “Pueblos Mágicos” (or Magic Towns) because of it’s amazing processing and distribution of silver, its architecture and colonial structures (every single building, by law, is painted white – very uncharacteristic of Mexican buildings – considering my house is painted bright orange), and its surrounding scenery (the town itself is located within the mountains – everything is at a slight slant because the entire village is on the side of the mountain, not even hitting the valley floor).
Alright, enough Wikipedia.
The experience itself was really rewarding! Despite the fact that all the streets were made of pre-colonial cobblestone, walking sometimes at a steep 70 degree angle, because the entire town is built on the hill, the adventure was unforgettable.
The main economy with Taxco is its silver. Every person within Cuernavaca (and the surrounding area) will tell you immediately to go to Taxco for a huge, overwhelming variety of gifts in silver.
They were definitely not kidding about overwhelming.
The streets were filled with small venders, following tightly against one another. But the most remarkable of them all were the tight filled mercados, where hundreds of small ‘booth-like’ stands where encompassing different rooms of one huge, long (sometimes multiple floors – we climbed about six floors at once) warehouse-type building, sometimes called a plaza. All of these extreme ‘shopping malls’ filled with silver venders were tucked away in the mountainside. It was fascinating!
More so were the actual people that sold the silver. In order to get a better look at the town’s cathedral (famous for being carved completely out of wood, with gold leaved ornaments, and completed in the record time of seven years), we climbed to the very top of one of these such plazas (about five stories), and came across the actual makers of the silver. Two men in uniforms were watching (mainly the excited gringos pulling out their cameras) as a heated furnace burned and melted a silvery, somewhat shiny substance until it became liquid. They then proceeded to pour the substance into a molded plated, ultimately popping out (after cooling in water), a brick of pure, refined silver.
Taxco originally worked out of the mine in the outskirts of the city (which we could clearly see from the viewpoint at the beginning of the trip, though most of us can’t really remember, since most of us were still drowsy from the nap over). Now, however, most of the commerce and economy is made from the small workers within these tiendas throughout the city.
What one thing could be improved? Nothing…
Well, perhaps the acceptance of VISA.
Vera Cruz (aka Heaven on Earth)
What excited 9 American students after spending 6 hours in a crammed, hot, sweaty van together, after an entire day of classes?
Vera Cruz.
This weekend we visited the state of Vera Cruz, the eastern-most state, bordering the Gulf of Mexico. Upon arriving to our hotel, we headed to the main center of the city of Jalapa, the capital of the state. Besides the normal amounts of heads turning and constant stares from the passersby (this is a usual occurrence), we were excited to see what the capital had in store for us. We ate that night at a place called “La Sopa,” a small authentic restaurant located in a small side-street crowded with different coffee shops and small tiendas. We were directed to this particular spot by a professor at the local university; the man, who then further accompanied us the following day, was very distinct in his low-cut shirt and long, greasy, blonde hair, Johny-Depp style. Despite the annoying service, I had the best enchilladas verdes I have ever experienced.
We then were left to explore around the town, in which we ended up finding an amazing street hopping with young people, loud music, and great place to spend the evening.
Friday was dedicated to a highly abusive substance that is inhaled to the max in the United States: coffee.
The morning was filled with anticipation for the day and the taste of runny, ‘strawberry’ yogurt.
We visited several fincas de café (coffee farms) in Coatipec, where we saw the intense and long process of coffee. Our guide was an old Mexican about the age of 75, who had been apart of the coffee business his entire life, including the multiple generations before him. We drove out to the plantation on which the coffee was originally (and some still) harvested and manufactured, but had since then been converted into a hotel. You could still see the remaining homes from the previous Colonial trabajadores (coffee workers).
One interesting aspect we learned is that Mexico doesn’t have a defining contract to trade its coffee with the United States, even though the main harvested crop (and a huge part of the economy) in Vera Cruz is coffee. Most coffee in the states that says its “Colombian” is usually from Vera Cruz.
Coffee plants filled the streets along the city.
Your life has not been complete until you have tasted a coffee bean, not quite yet in its ripe season (the bean is originally green and dry, but then turns red and slimy when ripe). The best way to describe the taste is a delicate combination of sour leaves and cardboard.
I feel like now I can never again go into a Starbucks coffee shop after this experience.
We then drove to the pueblita (small town) of Xico, where we discovered an incredible waterfall. The view was absolutely remarkable and definitely put Multnomah Falls to shame.
Tyler and I decided to be ‘adventurous’ for lunch, so we decided to try a platter of Jalapa’s finest different dishes. Ramiro (our director) and the woman taking our order reassured us that is was a fantastic plate, compiled with everything you would ever taste in the city. After sampling the Indian-poop-looking mush, salty-beyond-belief ‘mystery meat,’ slivered cactus, and dark, sour mole, we were questioning our original decision.
We then explored the small city, known specifically for its coffee.
I remember specifically the part in Elf where Will Ferrel shouts excitedly “Congratulations! You did it! The world’s best coffee!! WOW!” Little did I know, he was actually in Jalapa.
After spending dinner, once again, in “La Sopa,” we decided to spend the rest of our night in one crazy adventure, that ultimately ended at 4 am with a horridly sprained ankle.
ERs in the United States don’t seem quite as dangerous to me now after visiting an ER in Mexico. After explaining my ankle situation to Ramiro, and his look of terror on my swollen, purple and green, disgusting foot, he suggested we go to the doctor immediately. Not grabbing any type of identification, we made our way to the hospital, which of course was only open in the ER. Making my way to the front of the line (Ramiro explained that all I would really need is someone to take a look at my ankle and a proper bandaging), I thought I was going to be shot. Not by the men standing armed with huge rifles at the entrance to the wing, but by the group of people crowded around the opening and the reception desk, waiting to be served. The next couple of minutes passed, me sitting in a half-working wheel chair, where we were told by the nurses that they really had no idea where the doctors were, or when they would show up. One nurse said I should take x-rays. The other said I should wait for a doctor. The other said she could pop it into place and it would be easy.
I told Ramiro I would take my chances at a Pharmacy with an Ace Bandage.
The day was filled with large Olmeca heads in the Museum of Anthropology and large amounts of seafood. Since Vera Cruz is along the eastern coast of Mexico, the state is known for its high amounts of fresh seafood. Needless to say Mexico’s seafood, filled with full fish (head, tail, and skin intact), unskinned shrimp, large octopus bodies, and unopened clams, is somewhat different than home. We visited the most famous seafood restaurant in Vera Cruz called “Delicias Marinas” (Delicate Seafood – questionable…).
I like my seafood quite dead and not quite such an overpowering fishy smell, but it wasn’t that bad.
After my seafood adventure, we took a boat ride in a small, tin, old boat along the “Rio Antigua” (Ancient River), a famous river that flows through the small town of Jalcomulco, close to Jalapa. Currently, the river’s function is mainly for tourism and commerce. The view was absolutely stunning, with the openly flowing current, large white herons, jumping fish all around us, and thousands of species of vegetation. If the scenery wasn’t so gorgeous (and the guide spoke Spanish), I would say we stepped onto the “Jungle River Cruise” in Disneyland.
We took a small stop in the middle of our ride to a small shack, owned by a man who spoke a good total of 8 words in English, and lead us through his small shack onto a windy sand road that lead to the Gulf of Mexico. Before reaching the view, we were shown a variety of different things, including his pet alligator the guide had single-handly caught in the river, as well as the thorn of a plant that was used as an ancient form of birth control (quite questionable… all of the students on the trip kept saying, “sterile!” whenever we passed these thorns along our walk). The view overlooking the Gulf was even more outstanding than the ride over.
We arrived in the city of Vera Cruz later that night. Our hotel, Hotel Colonial, was located right in the center of the zocalo. Looking out our windows, we could see and hear the loud commotion of people and traditional dancing taking place below the huge musical stage.
Tyler, Steven, Joe, Ryan and I headed out to get something to eat (Whitney was stuck in the hotel, horribly sick, from her peanut allergy – I was nervously waiting to see if I had to use the epi pin)… for the first time, we found a place that reminded us of home: Dominos.
After Tyler and I split an entire medium pepperoni pizza, we decided to hit the boardwalk, which we were told was only 15 minutes away.
Me, Tyler, the two Nicoles, Allison, and Sami (Ramiro’s daughter) spent the next remaining several hours walking the boardwalk (which, coincidently wasn’t an actual ‘board walk’ since there was no real beach, just a marina), passed the artisan market, browsed small vendors, met some break dancers (including a Ben Stiller-look-alike), and laughed the night away.
Sami and I continued walking throughout the zocalo later at night, exploring the different tiendas and discussing life in Mexico.
Swollen, black, and horribly wrapped ankle, I decided to go back to check on my dying roommate.
Sunday we started our morning with breakfast at the most famous coffee shop in all of Vera Cruz. Carlos had told us previously, “You haven’t really been to Vera Cruz if you don’t go to Barroquia.”
After ordering café con leche (coffee with milk), the server brought me a large, glass cup filled about 2 inches high with coffee (I expected it to be an espresso shot). After looking at the others at my table in confusion, the waiter reached his hand infront of me and started tapping loudly on my glass, multiple times! He didn’t stop doing it, and I was about ready to stand up and give everyone in the restaurant a speech of why I was here, and how I wanted to thank all the little people that got me here.
We soon realized that the tapping on the glass was to indicate that I needed hot steaming milk from a waiter whose sole purpose was to bring milk to the guests that tapped their glasses around the restaurant.
Best coffee I have ever had in my entire life.
We then visited Fort San Juan Ulua, constructed entirely of coral, originally by the Spanish to protect Vera Cruz from surrounding Pirates of the Caribbean.
Without seeing my Kiera Knightly or Orlando Bloom, we did see a lot of humidity, a lot of torturing caves, prisoner quarters, and look-out decks.
After several long sessions of begging Ramiro to let us take a look at the Vera Cruz aquarium, we finally landed on the not-quite Seaworld building. Tons of species of fish, eel, birds, turtles, sharks, etc filled the air-conditioned place.
Stomachs growling, we ended up eating at an incredible restaurant right by the aquarium, directly on the beach. An entire soup dish of fresh seafood, fish-dip salsa, and one fresh large glass of limonada later, we walked down the stairs of the cabana-esqu restaurant to the beach of the Gulf of Mexico.
Sun shining, and many questions on if I wanted to get my hair braided or go for a long afternoon of scuba diving, we finally got our chance of the Gulf of Mexico.
What an absolutely spectacular weekend.
Adios Caitlin 