Postcards from Mexico: Culture

The Honest Lawyer

Sun, 13 May 2007 22:49:26 GMT

While waiting for my bus, I looked at some music at the pirated CD stand. The young guy working at the stand told me that he thought I had moved somewhere else. No, I replied, I´ve just been busy. We conversed a bit more, and he revealed that he was a law student at UNAM, the prestigious public university.

¨So¨, I said, ¨you´re studying law and selling illegal material?¨

He glanced up, surprised. ¨Yeah, you know how it is¨.

¨But don´t you have to have some morals?¨, I promted. ¨I don´t think I would want you to be my lawyer!¨

He laughed... ¨girl, things are different here!¨

At least he was honest about that.

If I Were to Run to the Border

Sun, 13 May 2007 03:20:25 GMT

| have been fixated on what it will be like for me to leave Mexico, but of course, there are fabulous things to look forward to at home.

#1. I miss my family. Living in a culture where family is the centre of everything makes living alone pretty sad sometimes.

#2. I miss really intellectual conversations. Most of this need stems from conversing in my intermediate level of Spanish.

#3 I also look forward to sharing some particiular liberal ideals with a mass of people, including environmentalism, social justice, and feminism. I crave a recycling system. I miss people who believe that everybody is equal, no matter their race or income. The system isn´t perfect, but it exists.

#4. I salivate for international cuisine, finding food from Mexico, India, Thailand, France... I also look forward to being able to afford these culinary luxuries, because in Mexico they can burn holes in your pockets and wallets.

#5. I will enjoy reasonable phone and internet rates, but miss a more interactive community around me.

#6. The thing to look foward to the most in Canada is the understanding, tolerance and encouragement to continue living this bicultural life.

Wedding Crashers

Mon, 07 May 2007 02:32:14 GMT

Ten hours of sleep the night before? Check. Comfortable sandals? Check. Formal dress dry-cleaned and ready to wear? Check. Date? Check. I was ready for Gaby's wedding.

I was floating in dream land, when the distinctive ring of my phone alerted me that I had recieved a text message. The screen lit up, letting me know that it was 5:40 in the morning, and that my date was going to miss the first bit of the wedding. I hastily wrote back "Alex, I don't believe it! Fine." and annoyed, tried to go back to bed. When I woke up I remembered that the wedding was out of town, and I had little time to find an alternate way to get there. After many phone calls to friends (who were sleeping and didn't answer), I ended up running to the house of a colleague and yellwed her name for 10 minutes until she came to the door and agreed that of course I could go with her.

The wedding was at a well known chapel in Tepozotlan, almost an hour from the city. After a beautiful service, we went to a sunny garden and were served delicious traditional Mexican food and fruit dipped in chocolate. The conservative style of the wedding surprised me, because Gaby is always very chic and Urban.

Weddings here always seem to require that you have a date, and it took me a while to realize why, but I think it has something to do with the fact that so many of the dances here require a partner. Fortunetly, Alex showed up just in time, and he's a fabulous dancer. Since I just learned how to dance two weeks ago, I wanted to dance to EVERYTHING, and the poor guy eventually made us sit down and have a tequila. I jokingly reminded him that I had gone to see him at the Nike 10k race, but let up until he had recharged.

Gaby's wedding started at 12:30 in the afternoon, and was still going strong at 10pm. However, Alex had a friend who was also, coincidently, getting married in Tepozotlan, and he wanted to go and meet up there. We didn't have an invitation, but I figured if Oprah could crash weddings, I could too.

It was strange to attend another wedding, which looked completely different, but had similar people dancing in similar dresses to the same songs that we had danced to for 8 hours before.

As I was dancing, a booming voice came up behind me, shouting, "Guerita!". I whirled around, and started into the chest of my friend Red. It was wild, because Red and I been trying to make plans the day before, until we realized that we both had weddings to attend.

I had a number of guys who were happy to dance with me at wedding number two, and we stayed until the lights amazingly flickered on and the wedding was called to a close at 2:30am. What surprised me more than the early closing was my energy level- I could have gone on for another fourteen hours.

Free to a Good Home?

Sat, 05 May 2007 00:43:42 GMT

The person who said they wanted to take care of Xempa apparently played the "yes means no" game with me, because the past three times they were supposed to pick her up, they didn't.

There isn't a lot of time left, so I thought I would post an add for her on Craigslist Mexico City, until I read this...

http://www.craigslist.org/about/PETA.html

It's worse than my friend's offers to turn her into a tasty stew!

The People You Meet Along the Way

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 00:04:51 GMT

A lot of the joys that I received from avoiding tourists is that I feel I got a more authentic and interesting experience in general. Of course, it´s also not just where you go, but the people you meet. Here is a summary of some of the most interesting characters up to arriving in Comitán.

A young hotel worker had a brother who was nineteen, had met a great girl, and wanted to marry her. Unfortunately, the family said that the older brother (the worker) had to get married first, something he didn´t see happening. His dream was to leave Ocosingo and move to the ¨big city¨ of Tuxtla.
Maria Carman, a woman we met in Miramar, was trying to sink her talons into David. ¨Ohhh¨, she wailed, ¨I´m so lonely, so single. I have no husband you know! I would love a great man! Are you married? Yes, a good man that I could take care of.. I only have one daughter you know! Yes, so lonely¨. The poor dear, David has a long term boyfriend.
A man pulled hmself into the combi on the way to Comitán, and loudly slurred that he was very drunk (10am). Then he tried to take my photo, but I think he got the seat instead. While he was passing out, his thirteen year old son was trying to convince him that this would be their chance to try and cross the border to the United States, thinking there would be less patrols since it was the Easter Weekend. The father mumbled his blessing and slumpted over again.
A German teen with excellent Spanish told me that he was a high school drop out, working for an organic food farm and on his way to visit an ¨alternative¨ village full of new-age hippies.
Move over Maria Carman! Every man, woman and child thought that David was my husband (or my dad, haha), which was actually very convenient, because they treated me like a proper lady. When I told some that I wasn´t married, they were in shock. Sign, I´ll never have that football team I´ve dreamed of.

Time Warp

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 23:25:59 GMT

One blaring observation about these remote villages in Chiapas is their different perspective on time from the rest of Mexico.

First, they did not follow the time change that the rest of Mexico switched to last Sunday. A worker at my hotel put it this way: there is the government´s time, and God´s time. We follow God´s time.

Second, they must feel that God is an early bird, because everything was done in a very timely manner! We left to go to the jungle early, and every time we made arrangements for a guide or service, the people showed up at least an hour before being scheduled. My theory is that with natural light and screeching birds as an alarm clock, there was nothing else to do but get up and get on with the day.

Narcoturism

Wed, 28 Mar 2007 03:50:52 GMT

One of the strangest articles I´ve read here: http://www.mexiconews.com.mx/23938.html

The Booty Shakin´Bridal Shower

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 03:45:45 GMT

I couldn´t decide what to wear- something simple and practical, or something with colour? Something sleeveless for the hot weather, or something long-sleeved, since I knew it would cool down in an hour. Why was my brain behaving like this, when I was already running late?

I rushed to my friend Gaby´s, hoping that somebody I knew would be there. I held the buzzer, and a middle-aged woman came to open the door for me, introducing herself as Gaby´s mom. As I walked through the hallway, the sounds of cheering women and pounding music got louder. As I entered the living room, a circle of ladies were standing and clapping, while in the middle, a toothless old woman was gyrating her body like a teenager. She was wearing a tight, shiny, purple body suit like a 1980´s pop star, and she danced like she was having the time of her life. Welcome to a Mexican bridal shower.

I had expected polite, uncomfortable conversation over crust-less sandwiches, but at this party I danced all evening.

They had a lot of games involving props. For example, they passed balloons around the room, and when the music stopped, the woman with the balloon had to get up and put on a costume. At the end, the woman and her ¨back-up dancers¨ had to have a competition to see who could lip synch the best. There was a master of ceremonies, microphones, synchronized songs... one of the games involved a poll in the middle of the room, where the women had to strip off the silly lingerie costumes they had put on! It was so organized and choreographed, I thought, who in the world has friends with the time to put something like this together? You would have to hire somebody! And that´s just what Gaby´s mom had done.

It was one of the funniest evenings that I´ve had in a long time, and I would love to get into this business in Canada, but wonder how we would ever get Canadian women to shake their booties like that. It would take more than new sandwiches, it would probably take a cultural revolution. Something to work on.

Sunshine and Umbrellas

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 23:54:08 GMT

The sun is bursting from the cloudless sky, and I'm going about my business in a tank top and jean skirt.

As I look outside my window, I see that others are taking advantage of the gorgeous weather as well. There is a student stepping around a stray dog, and a shriveled old woman walking arm in arm with her neighbour. The old woman, with a long gray braid and printed clothing that doesn't match, is also holding an umbrella. This isn't the first time I've seen someone on a flawless day using an umbrella, you could almost say that it's common.

In a country where social class is related to colour, some people like to avoid the sun all together, lest they be mistaken for a labourer. Others take it to a more extreme level, by buying one of the "skin lighteners" advertised on the billboards and in the supermarket.

I, on the other hand, am embarrassed to be the most chicken white person at the beach, and apply sunless tanner to my legs when I wear a skirt. I think that darker skin is beautiful, especially since I always seem to burn and then turn into Casper again. For many caucasian Canadians, darkening your skin is a sign of health and even status, if it shows that you went on vacation.

The whole situation strikes me as a little sad, and it just goes to show that we usually want what we don't have.

Old and New Year Lessons

Thu, 04 Jan 2007 01:48:47 GMT

I woke up in a bit of a daze on Sunday morning, but headed out early to pick a couple of things up at the store. When I got there, I noticed a couple of thngs that were out of the ordinary. First, the bread area had nothing but baguettes, hundreds of them stacked on top of each other, and more coming from the ovens. The second thing was the abundance of underwear, either red (for love) or yellow (for luck). Both irregularities made me wake up a bit and realize that it was New Year’s Eve.

That night I went to a dinner party with a small group of friends, and while I was there I started to think about my first experiences with Mexican parties, and how I almost had to train for them like marathons. I’m a trouper though, and I can handle these events like a star now.

Lesson #1, Don’t Diss the Food. We assembled at the table and the first dish to be served was clam shells in mystery broth. I’ve only recently started to like fish, I’m not a seafood girl at all, but I dipped my spoon into the bowl and started to eat. The host (who is proud of her gourmet cooking skills) asked how I liked it and I told her, “it’s great!” So one lesson I’ve learned here is that you have to suck it up and try what you’re served. This isn’t just to be polite, but to expand your horizons. I’m still undecided on clam.

Lesson #2, Get on Your Dancing Shoes. In between courses, my friends put on some loud music and started dancing. This brings a few things to mind. First, I love that even at parties with eight people, there will be dancing; Mexicans who claim they can’t dance can clear the floor with me. To live here as a 10, 20, 30, 40, or 90 something, you have to either learn how to dance, loose all your inhibitions if you’re bad, or pretend that you’re having the time of your life even if you’re humiliated. I find people here are sensitive to the “serious” look on one’s face, and there is just no excuse for sitting, so dance we did.

Lesson # 3, Pick Your Poison. After dinner we were served drinks, which are pretty par for New Years, but also standard for every event here. Sometimes I find it difficult to explain to people if I don’t feel like drinking, because they will bother me the whole night about my choice. So I’ve learned to become a much, ahem, better social drinker, and to just deal with the exasperation when I don’t want to.

Lesson # 4, It’s Gonna be a Late Night. I’ve learned to stay up later. A lot later. Parties and clubs don’t start until about 11-11:30 here, and everything will last until at least five in the morning, no matter what the occasion. On New Years Leila and I started to fade a bit at 5:30am, but the host of the party insisted that we stay to watch the sunrise. It seems there is always someone wanting you to stay up all night, every weekend. 7:00am came with clouds, so no sunrise for us. We smiled wanly, tiredly thanked everybody for a great night, and went to bed until late that afternoon.

Changing these habits was hard for me at first, but I realized that if I was going to constantly offend people and go home early, I would have no friends. Little by little I got used to this way of living, and now they seem like the most normal things in the world. I don’t have to force the smile, it comes naturally.

Mom and Dad, Be Mean!

Wed, 06 Dec 2006 22:38:10 GMT

My family is coming this Sunday, something that everybody in my life has heard about repeatedly. The secretaries in my office have been keeping a countdown for me this month... it´s been the only thing on my mind since I haven´t seen la familia for a year.

I talk to my parents at least once a week (Skype, we thank thee) and this week I said to them,

¨Please be my parents. Tell me I can´t stay out late, bother me about my clothing, whatever. Just be my parents¨.

Now, they´re super cool. I haven´t had a curfew since I was 17, and they seem to support everything that I´ve wanted to do, encouraging my independence.

To give you an idea of how my friends families work here, let me relate a conversation I had with a mama a few weeks ago. The mom told me that when her 27 year old son goes out, she doesn´t go to sleep until he comes home at approximately 6:30am. She´ll call on him to make sure he´s ok during the night... and this isn´t the exception, but the rule. Most of my friends, even in their 30s, live with their parents, and mom and dad constantly make sure that their children are safe. Having lived with a Mexican family for a while, I was a little bothered by my 1am curfew, but since I´ve been away from my family for so long, I want the curfew. I want phone calls, anything. The old family feeling. It seems like it should be the most normal thing in the world now, even for this super-independent daughter.

Wedding with a Twist

Wed, 29 Nov 2006 16:20:46 GMT

(I have no idea of what happened to the original post that I had written here, was it the intervention of an internet ghost?)

I´ve recieved a unique wedding invitation from my friend Mari, a girl I worked at the museum with. She invited me to her civil wedding ceremony this Saturday, which is to be followed by tacos. The idea struck me as a little strange, because going out for tacos is sort or the equivilent of going out for hot dogs. I asked her what I should wear, and she told me to keep it casual... she´s having the civil ceremony this weekend and a formal church ceremony in the new year.

The seperation of these ceremonies is actually the law here to keep the church out of state matters, and most people have the events arranged closely together. To entice people to go the religious route, some churches advertise free or discounted group weddings.

Even though the majority of people here are Catholic, common law marriages are not unheard of. If you are living in a Union Libre, your partner is called your concubinato (concubine) and after two years, a break-up is legally treated like a divorce. One should probably worry more about the wrath of the mother-in-law than splitting their assets.

Anyway, no more thoughts on break-ups, it´s off to wedding #4...

Dating 101 or 911?

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 03:15:41 GMT

It took a long time and varied experiences before I felt ready to write about one of the most culturally confusing endeavors that one can take in Mexico- dating. While oversimplifying for sure, my girl friends and I have decided that there are some definite categories of men here.

In General: If I guy wants to get to know you in Mexico, he will often come right up to talk to you. The conversation starts neutrally and might get more flirtatious. After a couple of Coronas, you will hear every form of humiliating flattery imaginable. You are the most gorgeous woman in the world. He could swim in the beauty of your ocean eyes. You have a quality that no other woman could match. He is going to take you to the best restaurants, the finest beaches, out for great wine, and of course you will never pay. He will run around the car to make sure that you don’t open the door. He will suavely light your cigarette and make sure that your glass is never empty. Decide quickly what he’s like and if you would like to give him your number, because he could end up being…

The Player: One of the most abundant species of man in Mexico. If a man isn’t already married with a watchful wife and small children, he’ll be at parties and the disco. He’ll walk up to you holding the hand of a girl, then ask you for your number when she goes to the washroom. If he’s cleverer, you won’t learn about the other woman for a month or so. Sometimes he’s not actually a player, and you’re just found…

The Disappearing Man: You meet the man of your dreams. He’s very good looking, charming, educated, and makes the world revolve around you. You feel like the princess he tells you that you are and you can’t believe the spark that you feel during your dates. Then he disappears. No more calls, call backs, messenger or invitations. You had given him a lot of space and his friends loved you. He may resurface many months later and make the world revolve around you again, until another few weeks. It’s hard to say who is preferable- the disappearing man or…

Marriage Man: The night you meet him, he introduces you to others as his girlfriend. He immediately wants to introduce you to his family, and he talks about your future marriage and children. Yes, your marriage, after the initial hours of your first date. And he’s serious. He looks deep into your eyes and tells you he loves you. You laugh nervously and ask him to please stop talking about love for five months, and marriage for five years. He is genuinely hurt that you respond this way, because the two of your are meant to be together. This may be the time that you become the disappearing woman.

The Green-Eyed Monster: He seems pretty cool. You both have a good time together. It’s casual and he hasn’t played you, disappeared on you, or proposed marriage. Then he gets rip roaring drunk and the macho man comes out. He sees you talking to another guy, a guy you would never consider romantically and are only talking to because you’re bored, and he becomes a boor. He’s rude and then refuses to talk to you for a month. Keep your dignity and refuse to talk back.

Indirect Man: You have no idea what is going on in the relationship unless your mutual friends relay your feelings back and forth to each other. This form of communication permeates all types of relationships in Mexico. Foreigners may find it bizarre. It can work if you have the patience that you did with the same game in grade six. Do you like me? Check yes, no, or maybe.

The Normal Guy: An elusive creature, he is usually snagged immediately by a normal girl, and you can admire their sweet and normal relationship from a distance. He will be married and unavailable before you can even say hola and then the cycle repeats again…

Mexican Time

Thu, 24 Aug 2006 20:45:11 GMT

I am hosting a dinner party this weekend, with eight foreigners and two of their spouses. We´ve been sending a ridiculous amount of emails back and forth about it, but these were my favourites. You can tell who is new to Mexico and who has been here for a while... including me, I love Mexican time.

From Ernest, RE: Fiesta de Traje/Potluck Dinner II!

Sam,

Is that 7:30 Mexican time or "normal" time?

Ernest

Response from Jesus

Hello every one.

Mexican time is a concept... a moral restriction, in some ways it´s like a religion... And it works fine!! Specially when it comes to parties, reduces formality, makes everyone except the host feel comfortable (sorry Sam) and in general is a great thing!!! Highly reccommended

Just a cultural comment.

Un saludito a todos

And Monica...

Nice comment. I agree with you.

Thanks Jesus.

Politest City

Mon, 21 Aug 2006 00:03:33 GMT

One day at the check-out of a Home Depot in Toronto, the woman scanning my items looked at me strangely and said,

"You're not from here, are you?"

"No", I replied, "I'm originally from a small city two hours from here".

"I can tell", she nodded, "you're polite".

Reader's Digest created a list of the politest cities in the world last month. New York City was number one, Toronto was third, and Mexico City was ninth.

At first the results surprised me and I thought there is no way that Toronto could be considered more polite than Mexico City. Politeness here is a cultural value just as much as home, if not more so. It seems that the greetings and the pleases and thank-you's never end at work, venders always politely offer me assistance and wish me a good day whether I've bought something or not, and people give me their seats on the subway if I'm dressed nicely.

The more I thought about all of this though, the more I realized that the idea of politeness is really cultural and that the RD "test" was completely biased. For example, in Mexico it's perfectly acceptable to form a mob at a counter to get what you want, or to cut infront of someone instead of forming a line. It's also fine to almost run over pedestrians who, in your opinion, are crossing your path on the road. The one that gets me the most is cell phone manners- I went to the most formal dinner of my life here and watched people sending text messages between their witty conversations. These things surprise me, but they really aren't considered rude here.

Here, it's customary for a man to hold open the door for a woman or carry her coat if they're walking together. Many men that I know run around their car to open the door for me, stand when I enter a room, or wait with the door open until I make my way across the hall to get to it. These things would not necessarily be considered polite in Toronto, because of the women's movement. One time my friend Hector asked to hold my sweater as we were walking, and I obliged. He thanked me for not insisting that I could carry it myself, as it would make him look like a clod to others as we went down the street.

In my personal assessment of courtesey, which is just as unscientific and biased as the Reader's Digest one, I still think that Mexico City wins the politeness competition. RD covered the basics, but I think it's the way that people treat each other behind the opened doors is what counts the most.

Trust

Sun, 26 Mar 2006 19:24:20 GMT

For most of my life I was raised in a society that told me to trust people unless they did something to take away that trust, that it would be insulting to someone not to have faith in them when I met them. I moved to a society that told me to trust nobody unless they earned that trust from me, or I could find myself with "bad" people. I chose to keep my basic belief system that people are good unless they prove not to be, but I was a little more cautious and guarded, mostly for my personal security. As of this weekend, I think I've moved to the dark side of trusting no one unless they've earned it.

I went to a great birthday party on Friday night, but knew that I had to leave fairly early (for a Mexican) because I had a lot of work the next day. A good friend offered to drive me all the way home.

Just as we were arriving we missed the exit to my road and found ourselves a little lost off of the highway. After trying for a while to find our way back, we decided to ask a police officer for the directions. Instead of telling us where to go, the officer asked my friend to get back in the car, and started citing traffic violations that I had not seen him commit. The officer asked us to follow him, and so we did. We drove for a long time, first through streets, and then industrial areas, and then roads with nothing. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement, and my friend had no idea what was going on either. The officer stopped on a quiet road and talked to my friend again. We had to follow him to the police station where they would hold my friend for 24 hours. We both knew what was going on, the officer was hassling us for a mordida (bribe) and by that point in the middle of the night I was becoming happy to pay what he wanted. Eventually we did, rather than the jail and an enormous fine.

As we were following that police car, I was copying down the license plate number and the comment line for the police. But then I thought, what in the world would that do? Call another corrupted officer to complain about his buddy? Make a fuss when I didn't have any of my immigration documents with me? It was a helpless situation. (Interestingly, later this afternoon my other Canadian friends had their taxi pulled over by a police officer, and the only thing they could understand was that he threatened to bring them to immigration).

I knew coming here not to trust the police, but after that incident I thought, in times of trouble who in the world can I trust here? I've had a slow erosion of faith, some of it from personal experience and some of it by observing incidents with my friends. It's been little things- somebody not showing up to meet you for coffee, guys who say they're crazy about you and then don't call for months, buying a product and finding it's bogus, arental apartments that are not properly advertised, or fluxing prices depending on how foreign you look.

I should say that for every untrustworthy person I've met here, however, I've met 50 others who are amazing, generous and friendly, who I am happy to spend my time with and believe in. People that make me want to stay in this country.

I guess what bothered me the most this weekend wasn't my breakdown in trust with other people, it was with myself. I always told myself that I will stick to my morals and principles no matter what, that I would not help enable corruption in this society, but I did. However, at the time it wasn't just about my beliefs, it was about logic and safety. Is it ok to make these compromises if you're in another country? I wouldn't even be confronted with these issues in Canada, so it seems easy to stick to the high road there.

What kind of person do I want to be, and what kind of person do I need to be here?

Roof Top Survey

Sat, 25 Feb 2006 18:24:45 GMT

The roof of the house where I live has been bothering me for a while. It’s ugly. Sitting on it is an old basketball net, bricks, an ancient shovel, a broken wooden ladder, and plastic piping. I moved all of the junk to another location today so that the area was bearable to look at, since it technically doubles as my "patio".

As I was tidying, I did a survey of other people’s roofs. I saw tires (one house had 13), plastic tarps, garbage cans, kitchen pots, scrub boards for washing, and a billboard. I could also hear a turkey.

Why in the world would families put these things on their roofs? Especially a turkey? I guess since a lot of people don’t have basements here, they treat their roofs like the storage area. Roofs are flat rather than slanted like in Canada, so things won’t slide off when you put them there. Also, most people don’t live at the height that I do, so it doesn’t matter what’s hiding on the roof if nobody in the family will see it.

I wonder if this phenomenon exists in Polanco (yuppie neighbourhood), or if it’s just an Atizapunk thing. Blissful ignorance, just like basements at home?

Kisses

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 16:34:35 GMT

I´ve been knocked out of commission this week with a cold. It´s only with consistent doses of a miracle drink called TheraFlu that I´ve been able to function.

This cold has interrupted my kisses. Mom and Dad must be holding their breath a bit. Well, in Mexico, whenever you greet someone that you know, or that you are meeting for the first time, you give an air kiss on the right cheek. The only catch is that guys don´t kiss other guys. This custom has been halted for me this week with my cold, and it´s felt really ackward. When someone comes to kiss me, I´ve either had to quickly say NO, or put my arm out to block them. So rude, but necessary. I didn´t realize how normal the kisses had become until I had to avoid them.

Last week I met two Canadians who were doing work with the Mexican Senate. They were very nice, but it felt so formal and cold to just shake their hands as a greeting. I kissed the Mexican that was with them, simply to feel normal.

Kisses show up in phone conversations and emails as well. At the end of a conversation, it´s common to say, ¨I´m sending you a kiss¨, or to sign with kisses in an email, instead of ¨love¨.

You don´t just see air kisses on a regular basis here, you also see a lot of making out in public. It´s not uncommon to see 30 year olds kissing like crazy at the mall, probably becamse so many people live at home with their parents. That´s always been a bit much for me. Aparently for the faculty at work as well- I saw an ad this morning asking people not to make out in public as a sign of respect.

So, electronic besitos for all...

Stunning Aerial Photos of Mexico City

Mon, 16 Jan 2006 21:37:41 GMT

These photos are amazing!

http://homepage.mac.com/helipilot/PhotoAlbum31.html

Crash

Mon, 02 Jan 2006 15:36:24 GMT

I forgot to add this before. What kind of tequila was the government drinking before issuing this?

City to give drunk drivers ‘noche libre’

BY ICELA LAGUNAS/EL UNIVERSAL
El Universal
Lunes 19 de diciembre de 2005
Nuestro mundo, página 1

The capital will suspend its “alcoholimetro” program.

Public safety officials in Mexico City last week announced that they would suspend the capital’s drunk driving vigilance program for the nights of Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve.

They added, however, that the “alcoholimetro” program would be stepped up during all other days of the holiday season.

The suspension of drunk-driving vigilance for Christmas and New Year’s celebrations is a tradition in the capital, where the practice is known as a “noche libre,” or “free night.”

And while the idea has its critics, city officials point to statistics to defend the practice. Last Christmas Eve, when drunk drivers were also given a “free night,” there were three fatal car accidents, and on New Year’s Eve there were two. The average day in the capital sees four fatal accidents, according to the Public Safety Secretariat.

However, city statistics also show that there were 50 reported car accidents in all last Christmas Eve, far more than the daily average of 26.

The making of a good wife

Tue, 22 Nov 2005 17:47:53 GMT

As we are wrapping up some major things at work this week, I decided to make cookies. I made about fifty for today, and will make about one hundred for tomorrow. They were chocolate and orange, and they were pretty tasty.

After trying one of the treats, a coworker exclaimed, ¨these are great, you´re ready to get married now!¨ I sort of laughed, until the next person said it, and then the next... it turns out that it´s a nice compliment for someone here. I couldn´t help but wonder though, would they say this to a man?

Marriage is the last thing on my mind right now, much to the amazement of some people around me. Don´t I want to marry a nice Mexican man and live here happily ever after? Am I not getting a bit old? Don´t I want a soccer team of children? No, no, no. It´s interesting to gage people´s reactions to such an independent woman here, it´s not hostile, but surprised.

Anyway, I may make good cookies, but a man will never get a charbroiled steak out of me.

Why am I here?

Sun, 06 Nov 2005 19:29:50 GMT

Wherever I go, people in Mexico want to know why I am living here. Why Mexico, especially when Mexicans want to head North? People in Canada have wondered the same thing. Who would want to move to this monster of a city? These are questions that I’ve often had to ask myself. How has a small town girl ended up in a city with as many inhabitants as her country? I live in an environmental disaster, an earth quake zone… a place where I’m supposed to be kidnapped or mugged as soon as I walk out my door.

Well, number one, you have to actually visit the city before you can bash it. I believe that this city is equal to Rome and Florence for culture, history, architecture and food. When I visit the city centre and see the mixture of Aztec, Spanish and modern elements, I am in awe. There are enough galleries, museums and theatres that you could visit a different one every day for a year. Mexicans appreciate the arts; they even have exhibits in subway stations. The night life is different, I have issues with having to be picked to get into a bar, but the nights themselves are fun and usually feature live music, something we never have at home.

There is crime, there’s no question of that. But I don’t really feel that unsafe. I’m smart about what I do. I suppose that if I was aimlessly walking around like a tourist, speaking loudly in English and showing off my wealth, then a criminal would probably want to take advantage of the situation.

I can’t define what I love about this place beyond the blanket statements. I think that somehow, it hits an asthetic note for me. This country is good for my soul. It's historical, but quirky. Car horns play "la cucaracha" and I can hear salsa blasting from the supermarket. The sights and sounds are alive. The people are warm and would do anything for you. They’re proud of their country but pretty open-minded to learning about other cultures.

And how could I forget, Mexico is the birthplace of Frida Kahlo!

Almost all of my friends in Canada have settled down into their careers. They’ve got cars and condos. I’ve avoided these things and have been pretty happy with my decisions. I figure that I’ve only got one crack at living on this planet, so I had better learn as much about it as possible, challenge myself, make myself think differently, and travel. Sometimes I find myself wanting a bit more security and wonder if I should thinking about settling, in Mexico or Canada. Ten year plans are scary though. Maybe I should just stick to what I do best and live.

Ojos Tacos

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 16:32:10 GMT

It´s funny how normal my life has become. After just three months in this country, I find myself having to search for things that are strange, whereas when I arrived, everything was new and bizarre. This month I noticed a couple of funny things that I forced myself to write down.

If you´ve ever refered to someone as good ¨eye candy¨you will be interested to know that in Mexico, good looking people are refered to as ¨ojos tacos¨ or ¨eye tacos¨. How much more culturally loaded could that be?

Another reference to the eye... instead of saying you’ll spend an arm and a leg on an expensive item, in Mexico you say that you’ll loose an eye over it. Some advertisements feature a model with an eye patch at an expensive store.

Hockey Night

Fri, 07 Oct 2005 02:31:18 GMT

Oh Canada... you raised us on hockey and we can´t get it out of our systems, even in Mexico.

To be honest, I´m not a huge hockey fan. I watch the big games and really enjoy them. I don´t live for the game, but my dear roomates know everything about it. Since two of us represent Toronto and one represents Ottawa, we´ve had a little rivarly going on in the house and at our job. After over a year of waiting, we had to find the season opener between the two. In Mexico you can find lots of soccer, baseball, and even gymnastics on television, but ice hockey is almost non-existent.

After questioning almost everybody we know, we found that the game might be played at a place called Caliente´s, at the closest mall to our house. We hopped on the bumpy old micro bus and headed over. What we though might be a sports bar actually turned out to be a gambling lounge. Furthermore, we were the only women who were there.

We were anxious to see if the game would be on, but nobody was really able to tell us- this was due to the fact that the satelite signal was pirated and would only show up at the time of the game. Oh yes, it was sketchy. However, at 7:05 Mexican time, it was on.
I don´t know what people though about the strange foreign women yelling in English at a pirated hockey game in a betting bar. They were probably even more perplexed when Lea and I started wailing after the shoot-out. You can´t gloat for too long though Caity, we will prevail.

Magical Mexican Transit

Tue, 16 Aug 2005 14:21:29 GMT

Almost everybody in Mexico has insisted that at some point, probable sooner than later, I will need to buy a car. They claim that every Mexican and foreigner does. They feel that our area is pretty isolated from anything interesting to do, and that public transit is sketchy at best. I find this amusing sometimes, because first, I’m from a much smaller city and am used to not having a megalopolis at my doorstep. Secondly, I think cars here are equally as terrifying as transit, and would feel much better having somebody else drive me.

This weekend, it was time to use transit. I couldn’t find a full piece bathing suit anywhere near me, and the closest mall was about a half hour away. I didn’t want to take a cab (unless you get special ones, you run a risk of being kidnapped), so I dressed down, left my purse at home, and got on a bus.

Busses in Mexico aren’t like home, or anywhere else that I’ve been for that matter. They’re small, skeletal versions of their Canadian counterparts, with no shocks or blinking signs. The cracked windows were held together with duct tape. A trip costs about 50 cents, and can go anywhere- there are no routs or times posted, you ask the driver and hope for the best. Some people have said that you need to be either born in Mexico or part of a secret society of transit users in order to understand it.

I got on the first bus and felt confident that it would get to my destination. I knew the road that it would be traveling down, towards Satellite. The Virgin of Guadeloupe, along with a crucifix and roses was secured above my head, and I thought that was as good of a sign as any to sit there. A small child, about my niece’s age sat beside me, and cuddled into me on the journey. I just wanted to hug her. When I took off my sun glasses she didn’t stop staring at my eyes.

When I saw where I wanted to stop, I just stepped in front of the bus door (no polite little bells) and was dropped off.

I felt confident about the system at this moment; I had made it, now I just had to get the same bus on the way back. Well, this wasn’t that simple. The busses were not labeled with my area, and when I asked, they kept saying no, they didn’t go there. How could they all go one way but not return the same way back? Finally I recognized the area before mine, and asked the bus driver if he would go to my colonia. He asked if the stop was the Comercial Mexicana (the little shopping centre on my street), I said yes, and we were off. It was fine, I recognized the road… and then he turned. On to a street with nothing on it. I prayed to the Virgin of Guadeloupe to please make him turn back onto a road that I would recognize. My prayers were answered after five stressful minutes, and I did indeed make it home.

The whole trip was great because I felt that I was liberated from my area, that I could start to do things on my own, not keep depending on people to bring us around. Don’t expect to read a story about me driving anytime soon.

Props to my roomates... and fun cultural observations

Sun, 07 Aug 2005 16:01:41 GMT

Buenos dias mi gente,

It's a sunny but foggy morning here in Mexico. A man has just strolled down the street yelling GAS, but otherwise, things are pretty quiet.

It's been an increadibly busy week. I've been going to work every day from 8am until 5pm. Lunch is an hour whenever I choose, usually around 1pm or 2pm. It's also big compared to home, so I've just decided to switch over to the Mexican way of doing things, by eating a large lunch and small dinner.

Everybody at work has been encouraging, informative, and generous with their time in making sure that I'm set for the big day, tomorrow. They all seem to think that I'll be fine... :)

Two other people who have been fantastic to spend time with are my roomates! I admit that I wondered about having roomates again, I had quietly thought about moving out after my five free months of housing with them... but they're great; people refer to us as Candian sisters, we even call ourselves that sometimes. Amazingly, we've become pretty much synchronized in our moments of being silly, quiet, sleepy... it's great to have someone to wait for you if there's a late meeting or to vent with after a long day. So, cheers to you chicas!

My roomies and I share a lot of things with each other, as we all brought something that the other forgot. However, Caity gave me a special present this week, her "gripe" or illness. She had to go to the doctor, but I came out of it with a cough and NO VOICE. This isn't particularly convenient, seeing as I start talking in front of large groups of people tomorrow... an unusual number of people, mostly Mexicans, suggest that tequila could be a great remedy ;)

On an entirely different note. As part of our training, my employers arranged for an international expert on cross-cultural adaptation to come and give us a workshop. We learned so much, enough for me to write pages on. One of the things that the instructor wants us to do is keep a journal on cultural observations, which I had been doing anyway. While not all of these things are cultural, I thought I'd finish this by sharing some funny things that I've noticed.

- Cactus, Celery and Pineapple Yogurt.

- Green salsa put out as turtle food at the pet store.

- Girls dancing in skimpy clothing in front of car dealerships to attract customers. To the beat of "I like to move it move it" no less.

- The non-existence of regular chicken breast- it comes pre-pounded.

- Ducklings being sold in the pet store.

- Burritos means ‘little donkey’s’. I don’t know why I never put this together. Indeed, burro (donkey) + itos = little donkeys.

- Needing three letters of recommendation to receive a membership card at the Block Buster video store down the street.