Chavos y piropos

D'oh! Wrote this a week ago and forgot to publish it!

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Based on the warnings of Mexican friends as well as personal past experience in Latin America, I was bracing myself for some unsolicited verbal attention (piropos) from the guys (chavos) here when I first came down. However, I've gotta say - it really hasn't been an issue. GDL is really...white? So my blondness doesn't stand out nearly as much as I was afraid it would. In fact, people have actually mistaken me for Mexican multiple times, so maybe that helps. (As a side note, the few comments that I have heard on the street have been super uncreative. Seriously guys, if you're going to go there at all, at least think of something more original than, "Adios, bonita.")

But just when I was beginning to think that maybe Mexican guys were a lot more respectful than I'd given them credit for, I paid a visit on Monday to the Mercado de Abastos - an outdoor wholesale market that stretches several blocks.

The workers there are almost entirely men...very, very unabashed, vocal men. Piropos had never bothered me before; in fact, they would usually just make me laugh to myself. But that day, for different reasons, it really hit me how wrong it was, how devaluing. I thought about how many women they had used those lines with in the past, and how many they would use them with in the future, and how meaningless words become when you use them indiscriminately. I saw the base selfishness in their eyes and thought about the wives and girlfriends they had at home. Despite their comments that they wanted "me," of course the reality was that they just "wanted." One decently attractive warm body is more or less as good as the next.

If there are men in this world who have saved their 'lines' for the only One they truly consider special enough to receive them for the rest of her life, those guys are worth waiting for. Because the more indiscriminately you 'flatter,' the less value your words and intentions hold.

On the plus side, I did find some excellent bargains at the market. ;)

Dolor

****TMI post alert!! Continue reading at your own risk. ;) (And mom, don't freak out.)

I love the fact that I can get a free consultation with a doctor here even without insurance...but I don't love the advice he gave me :/

About a week ago, I got a small infection in a hangnail alongside my thumbnail. Kept washing it, used some antibacterial junk, but it kept getting worse (and started going under the nail :/) to the point where my entire thumb throbbed with each heartbeat. (Not cool.) So I finally went to the clinic last night, and the doctor told me that it was simple - all I needed to do was wash it with iodine, lance it with a needle, and then wash it with hydrogen peroxide.

My friends, let me just say that sticking a not-sharp-enough needle into an infected cut next to and under your fingernail is something you should never. ever. ever. try. And if you're wincing right now - oh, you have no idea. I usually have a high tolerance for pain, but this experience left me with far richer nuances of the word and took my awareness of the possibilities to previously unknown heights.

The good news is that, as with all kinds of pain, time is a great anesthesia and nothing lasts forever. The bad news is...I didn't get it all out. ),:

Día de los muertos

Wow...I wrote this a month ago now and am finally able to post it now that I have access again to my pictures! (Laptop has been MIA.)

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Last week, [Nov. 2] my roomie and I decided to take a trip to Patzcuaro, Michoacan (an indigenous town in a neighboring state) to take part in the traditional Day of the Dead festivities that area is known for. My roommate works at the U of Guadalajara, and she noticed an ad posted there for a two day bus tour to Patzcuaro. Let's just say...she and I will probably never go through an "anonymous" tour group on future trips. Our first hint should have been the price, which was way too cheap to have been legit. But hey, when you're young, poor and adventurous, you don't question that kind of thing.

We left home at 5:45am. I had a lot on my mind the night before and couldn't sleep at all until 4:30am, so I was too out of it to think much of the fact that our "tour guides" were four hippies with the most impressive dred locks and piercings I've ever seen. Besides, I was taught not to stereotype - maybe they were really responsible hippies with great time management skills.

But then we left 2 hours late. And then the bus started to fill with the smell of pot. And really cheap tequila. And I was too exhausted to care. Between the marijuana smoke and the endless Bee Gees playlist blasting over the sound system, I eventually fell into a state somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness for a few hours.
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We made two stops along the way - national park (eh) and cool little artisan town where I bought some Christmas gifts. ;)

DELICIOUSNESS. Roast corn with chili, sour cream, and cheese. Yeeeeeees.

Back on the bus it got kind of rowdy...much Banda was blasted, and much tequila poured. Tried to capture some of the craziness, but couldn't.

We finally arrived to Patzcuaro around 9pm and took a boat out to this small island village. It was flooded with tourists from all over the world but still really beautiful - hundreds of bright, tiny homes and shops and restaurants all growing out of the hillside and one another in architecturally impossible ways, connected somehow by crooked Penrose stairways. (Vane and I got so lost!)

Every few meters there were women and young girls bent over wood fires and big tin pans of grease and masa, and 3 foot tall, steaming earthen pots full of something equally earthy. Of all the experiences on the trip, I was most taken by these women, with their brightly embroidered blouses, long black braids, full circle skirts, constantly busy hands, all saying the same words in the same order over and over: "tacos, tamales, enchiladas, quesadillas, gorditas, pozole..." Their dark, submissive eyes say more though: hard work, many children at a young age, resignedness, passivity, strength, artisanship, short nights, devotion.

The night was windy and FREEZING. And I was such an idiot, all I had brought were cotton capri pants and a tank top. And flip flops. And a sweater. Silly gringa. Anyway, we walked around looking at handicrafts and trying to keep warm by hopping from one wood fire to the next, eating tacos and tamales and enchiladas and quesadillas and gorditas and pozole and drinking the most delicious thing in the world - steaming cups of ponche, made by boiling whole guavas, apples, plums, tangerines, sugar cane, cinnamon, cloves, alcohol, and other kinds of deliciousness I don't know the names of all together in a giant earthen pot. In a word - contentment.
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My favorite - freshly made blue corn tortilla taco.

Around midnight, the townspeople got their elaborate offerings blessed at the church, and then began the procession over to the cemetery where they would reunite as a family with their loved one who had died and remember him or her together.
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Unfortunately, whoever was in charge of facilitating the tourism side of the event was on crack because there were literally hundreds of us mobbed together in front of and inside the tiny cemetery, all trying to enter AND exit through the same 6 foot wide entrance! Once inside, there was no way to move in any direction; I was honestly afraid a couple times that someone was going to get trampled in the sea of people pushing and and being pushed forward against their will but unable to move anywhere. Sooo, after stepping helplessly on the graves of someone's brother, uncle, and son and almost knocking over people's offerings in an attempt to keep our balance (horrible), we made our way around the tiny cemetery. What would have taken 5 minutes took us a total of 2 hours.

The worst part was the lack of respect people showed - towards the end people started complaining and yelling and demanding to get out, and here we were, guests in a sacred place and time, and even for those of us who felt bad about how things were going, there was nothing we could do about it. Terrible. But it served as a living metaphor for me as to why it is so difficult to create any kind of social change in the world. Hard to fight the current you're trapped in the middle of.
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Vane and I took the boat back to Patzcuaro around 2:30am. Our boat got lost for about 30 minutes in the middle of a fog drenched, freezing cold night and somehow found its way again. All we could do was lower our heads to the wind like cattle and sit close together, trying to conserve heat by keeping our breathing to a minimum. Haha, oh man. I literally tried to imagine myself in Miami. In the month of July. Sort of helped.
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We got back to the bus and tried to sleep upright. Inside the bus was just as cold as outside. Vane fell asleep pretty quickly, but I just sat there, trying to focus all my attention on the two parts of my body that still had some warmth. Finally, I had the brilliant and ridiculous idea to steal the seat covers off of two of the empty seats nearby and tie them around my legs and stick my feet in my purse. That combined with total sleep deprivation just sent me over the edge and I started laughing so hard I had to cover my mouth with both hands. Oooh ruth...
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Woah, somehow this has gotten ridiculously long! Ok, wrap up time. Day two Vane checked out Patzcuaro and I spent most of the morning like this:

Also saw some old buildings...

...and some less than old buildings...

Also tried some really viscous 'ice-cream' stuff made with corn masa - probably the most delicious frozen dessert I've ever had. Tasted like vanilla, cinnamon, milk, and...frozen masa. Sounds weird, but it's so good.

 And then we went to another town and got to experience a more low key dia de los muertos cemetery. It was really cool actually to see families out there, sitting around, eating together, talking about the person who they loved. One woman was standing in front of her baby's grave, and another woman, it looked like a stranger or maybe a neighbor, came up to just chat with her about it. It was beautiful to see people remembering. Together.
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We got home finally around 12am and collapsed. I realized how much I take my tooth brush, running water, blanket, and a change of clothes for granted! Ooooh, thank the Lord for hot showers...and for reminders of how fortunate I am to live such an insanely comfortable life.

Agradecida

First Thanksgiving I've spent away from home. In fact, the entire Larsen clan was spread out by a few thousand miles this Thursday with my oldest bro in New York, middle bro and sis-in-law in CA, my mom in England, and my dad traveling for work.

It hit me in the morning...ahhh, so many delicious memories of past Thanksgivings - cooking ridiculous amounts of food and making an all-day aromatic mess in the kitchen with my mama, trying to teach my brothers to make pie one year (ha!), mmm-ing and OH my goodness!-ing for an hour around the table together, reading verses mom chose for us and sharing things we're deeply grateful for, dad's annual after-turkey nap and ball game watching followed by frisbee throwing in the park, an evening of Apples to Apples and Beyond Balderdash, my brothers making me laugh so hard my face and stomach muscles are sore and I can't breathe, mom half playing with us, half laughing at us from the kitchen, eating bowls of popcorn and pumpkin pie with home made whipped cream for a late dinner, and going to bed exhausted by satisfaction.

So. This Thursday, after reminiscing and letting myself cry a little, I let out a deep sigh. And decided to make a Thanksgiving dinner for my roommate Vanessa, her boyfriend, and some other friends. I came home from work at 7:30pm and started making apple and prune stuffing, stuffed rosemary roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, green bean casserole with homemade french fried onion rings and mushroom sauce (that was a first!), baked corn (note to self: masa flour does not = cornmeal), and sweet potatoes with maple syrup. And homemade gravy, of course (best part!) As it turned out, the guys had to cancel last minute, so it was just my roomie and I - which was actually really nice! (Te quiero, Vane! Eres lo mejor :) The kitchen was a complete disaster, BUT with her cleaning up after me and me flying around and guestimating all quantities, times, and temperatures, we put together the entire meal in under 3 hours. Yeeuh.

Somehow my pics of the table and roast bird didn't turn out...need to get them from Vane's camera.

Oranges and pomegranates = pumpkin and cranberry substitutes. Sort of.

After kicking back and enjoying the food coma for a bit, we each shared some things we were thankful for, and then I glanced over at my email and saw I had a letter from the Universidad Panamericana offering me a teaching position for next semester!!! Yet another thing to add to my infinite list of things to be thankful to God for! Oh, he is too, too too good.

I know it's a few days late, but I'd love to hear what's on your 'list!' (After all, thanksgiving should be an everyday activity, no?)

Here's some highlights from mine: (d'oh, this post is already too long...oh well.)

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- I'm thankful for the remarkable woman who birthed me, fed me from herself, slept by me, prayed over me, sang to me, comforted me, stayed up with me, taught me most of what I know, enjoyed me, encouraged me, counseled me, forgave me...and hasn't stopped for a single day in the past 21 years. :) No love has given me a greater picture of God's love than hers.

- For FOOD! (shocker.) For being able to make it for and enjoy it with people I care about.

- For the gift of dear friends over the past couple years who have brought me a joy I never imagined and allowed me to experience God's love in ways I never could have alone.

- For color. Vibrant, rich color.

- For the awesomeness and holiness of nature and the restorative power of green, living things.

- For kids and their imaginations and trusting hearts and the ease with which they give and receive affection and are delighted.

- For music and art.

- For promises made by the Creator-Upholder of the universe for eternal peace and restoration, promises of a day when hunger, violence and oppression will be obliterated and hatred and ignorance destroyed, promises of unfailing love, hope, and forgiveness until then, promises to follow after me with goodness and mercy and grace, promises to use my life for good.

- For the ability to create and reason and imagine.

- For shared humanity.

- For freedom - from the power of evil, from my limited, empty self, from the judgment of others and my own heart, free from the burdens of needing to prove myself, to maintain a certain image, to be 'great,' to be 'right,' to be 'successful,' from needing to impress, from needing to earn. Freedom to be loved, and then to love.

- For the fact that I am here in the middle of my story and his story. Right now.

¡A lavar!

As wonderful as my home is, one thing it lacks is a washing machine. Inconvenience? On the contrary, my friends! It's called multitasking - bicep workout AND clean clothes in just 15 minutes. Yeeeuh.

Tried to give you guys a little of the view from my rooftop here, too. Much prettier at night though. ;)

Reminds me of being in Europe, except here I actually have a bucket and a clothesline, which is nice! Actually, the hardest part is rinsing and wringing...and swallowing my pride when putting my delicates up for public display.

A buen hambre, no hay pan duro.

Sunday was ridiculous. A joyful ridiculous. A very ‘’only Ruth would ever be that ridiculous’’ ridiculous.

Some friends are loaning me a bed (I HAVE A BED NOW!!) and they delivered it to my apt. on Sat, so to say thank you, I decided to make them food. (What better way of showing friendship is there?) The thing I miss most from home is being able to really give of myself for people I care about (life just loses its flavor without that), so this gave me an excellent excuse.

The only thing is...when you have limited access to ingredients and no counter, no cutting board, no good knives, no measuring cups or spoons, an oven that has 5 one digit numbers on it (??), and pans that are only 1/32'' thick...it's probably not smart to try to do something overly complicated.

Unless you’re me, and that’s just the sort of challenge that totally makes your day.

Rodrigo, the guy who gave me the bed, had mentioned he liked Greek food...and so do I! So I started thinking grilled lamb and parsley kabobs, lots of cumin, pita bread, hummus, grilled veggie kabobs with lots of olive oil and balsamic vinegar, tzatziki sauce, roasted red pepper dip, and salad with feta, cherry tomatoes, and fresh basil.

Yeah. Naturally, I would think that.

My plan was to 'surprise' them (they knew I was up to something) by bringing lunch over to their place at 2:00pm, so I got up at 9:30am (late night) and ran to the grocery store 8 blocks away. As in, I literally put on running shoes. And ran to the store. Tried to awkward-run home with groceries and started making dough for pita bread. I've actually never tried making pita bread before, and without anything to measure with but my eyes, all I could do was cross my fingers and try to invoke the spirit of my mother and grandmother...three half palm fulls is about 2 1/4 t. of yeast, right? :)

(lil hunk of dough)

Got the dough kneaded and rising, and then caught two buses to get to a grocery store that had some ingredients I couldn’t find at the other store. Oh, and my roommate was supposed to bring me her mom's blender, but it wasn't working, so I bought the cheapest hand blender they had...and saved the receipt... :/ (I know, I know...but desperate times, ends justifying means, etc. etc. ...)

Back home again, I rigged up a sieve with paper towels and a rubber band (don't ask) to drain the yogurt. Then I discovered that, somehow, I had selected the one blender in the store without a blade. Making hummus with a salad fork? Totally doable. If you have 20 minutes to kill and good biceps. Or if you have 20 minutes to kill and WANT good biceps.

Went for my last (literal) run of the day over to a nursery about 6 blocks away to buy a basil and mint plant, which is something I’ve been meaning to do anyway (both big and beautiful, and only 75 cents! iloveit) and then stopped at another grocery store there to get a new blender.

At home, I confronted the dilemma of having no grill. And by now it was already 1:30. So this is what I came up with.

Yup. Literally tied together with twisty ties from a bread bag. Of course, grilling on this thing made a horrendous mess. I really wish I had taken a picture of the kitchen at the height of my frenzy – no counter, so I had all our bowls and plates all over the floor, flour all over me, rolling out pita dough with a jar on the dining room table, running back to the stove to rotate the kabobs before the kitchen went up in flames, flipping the pita being cooked on the floor of the oven and flinging it into the plate nearest my feet, and jumping over everyting to get to the sink to grate cucumber…without a grater.

Just about the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

My friend Brayan came over to help me carry everything over to their place (not too far from me), and here we are at their apartment, having reheated everything and brushed the flour out of my hair. Mostly. I’m not sure how it actually all turned out, because the fact that we didn’t eat lunch until around 3:30 would have made anything taste delicious. That plus the company of friends to share it with.

Some of the leftovers turned into pasta salad today! There are few things more right in the culinary world than the combination of roasted cherry tomatoes, eggplant, mushrooms, red onion, and bell peppers, with fresh basil and feta in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Ooooh, thank you Lord.

Día de la Virgen de Zapopan

D'oh! I wrote this a month ago, and just realized I never published it...so here ya go.

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Guadalajara's patron saint is the Virgin of Zapopan, and every October, she (or her 10" wooden replica, rather) makes a big procession across the city back to her home at the Basilica of Zapopan. She's kind of "a big deal," if the throngs of people, parades, and street vendors are any indication. Most schools/business shut down on that day, and some major streets are closed. From what I've been told/seen, Guadalajara is a particularly traditional, "religious" city - and of course, who doesn't like an excuse for a holiday? (See "Things Mexicans Love" #12 and 14.) 

I happened upon the scene kind of by accident; I was still living in the north part of the city at the time and had to take a bus through Zapopan to go visit a friend on the other side of the city. I waited at the bus stop for a while wondering what was up and thinking how late I was going to arrive until it hit me that, of course, the Virgin's timely arrival took precedence over mine! So I ended up walking about 4 km against a sea of people, trying to find where the buses started running again. It wasn't super fun - it was a really hot day, and I was also caring a backpack full of my clothes to start moving my stuff over to my apartment - BUT I did manage to get a few movies/photos along the way ;)

Important religious dude (bishop?) doing his thing from on high.

Dancers in the parade.

This pic I actually stole from google images because I didn't get to see the Virgen's actual arrival. But after she is safely tucked away in the Basilica, these endless lines form in front of the church full of people waiting their turn to come and pray for a miracle. Seeing those thousands of people, each desiring something so strongly that they would be willing to wait for hours in the sun on an extremely hot day, some of them actually walking on the knees - it made me think about what we are willing to do for hope, and the different lengths we each think we have to go in order to get what we need, whether career, health, security, happiness, etc...

It just makes Grace that much more shockingly beautiful.

Whether or not the good Virgen blesses all who call on her at the Bascilica, she definitely blesses the street vendors outside. There are no limits to what can be sold with a picture of her face on it! Pencil boxes...key chains...mugs...beach towels...it's like those souvenir booths Disneyland, only more sacred. Slightly.

This is awesome - carnival rides powered by renewable energy. Yeeuh.

This picture displays a combo of Things Mexcians Love #1 and 6 quite well - you can buy food that actually says how much you love your family right on it, thereby proving your love AND getting to eat something delicious at the same time. Genius!!

(Bread translations: 'with love for my mother-in-law, for my beautiful wife, with love for mom and dad')

Lana y sopa

I've been running a little low on cash recently because a deposit was taken out of my paycheck at the beginning of the month so that the school I work for makes sure I give two weeks notice before bailing on them. It doesn't help that I currently work part time and make less than $5 US an hour either. But last night, I was cleaning my closet and discovered a BUNCH of cash that I had forgotten I'd hidden! Which goes to show that: 1. it pays to clean out your closet and 2. it's really stupid to hide large sums of money buried in your underwear.

Anywho, I have never been more excited to go grocery shopping! I stocked up, came home and made a pot of black bean soup. I got a little carried away in my excitement though...and ended up making enough stew to feed my entire apartment complex. (Ok, it's a small complex...but still.)

The angle of the picture doesn't do it justice; it's a GIANT pot, even after 3 servings. Actually, it turned out to be the most delicious black bean soup I've made (I've started cooking with jalapeños and lime juice, say whaat!) but I think after this week it may also be the last black bean soup I make for a very long time.

Until then, I'm trying to get creative. Today (day 2 of Operation Frijol Negro), breakfast was fried eggs with black bean soup; lunch was black bean soup with grilled cheese; and dinner was nachos with salsa and black bean soup on top. After calculating every unique combination, I expect to have exhausted all black bean soup possibilities by Sunday evening. At that point, my plan is to either go door to door with it and try to pawn it off on my neighbors, or use it as a facial mask.

I miss you guys. The days are long for me right now - long, but they also seem to mush together into one less-than-memorable blob. I mean, I'm blogging about soup, for crying out loud! ;) Things will improve though. I think. Hope you're all doing well. Keep me updated!!

Mi hogar

Home sweet home! You can't actually see our windows though because we live on an upper floor on the back side of the building.

Finding this place was an ordeal - I looked at over a dozen places and contacted dozens more before coming across this one! But it was well worth the wait :)

Comedor y cocina. The two doors lead to my roommate's room and the bathroom.

It may be small, but it works! And if you ever saw my last place...you know I'm cool with small. ;)

Baño complete with guacamayo painting on shower door.

Back through the dinning/living room...(love the dinning table and chairs, btw - they're typical of this area, made out of leather and wood.)

Aaaand my room. When I first moved in, I sat down on my blow-up mattress and looked around helplessly at 360 degrees of white. It's been over 7 years since I've lived in a room without color on the walls, and quite frankly, I don't know what to do with myself in an all white room. (Mom, Michele, Alba, and Mr. Michael Trudeau - you are all very much to blame.)

So I went out and bought one of each kind of plant they had for sale at the grocery store. Granted, I looked a little ridiculous coming home on the bus with a small forest growing out of the seat next to me...but if there's one thing you learn while living in a foreign country, it's how to be ok with looking ridiculous.

My mini herb garden! Hoping to rig up some sort of hanging garden, too...make the bars on my windows useful.

And the very best part of the house (and of living here in general) - my awesome roommate, Vanessa! Here we were laughing over the hours we'd spent on the phone with customer service trying to get our internet to work. Vanessa is such a gift from God - we have a lot in common and really enjoy living/hanging out together! In fact, I just got home from a big family party in the park for her brother's birthday today. Her grandma/aunts would not stop feeding me! (Not that I really protested or anything. ;)

Neighborhood pics coming soon!!

Esteriotipos

That's right!! It's time now for me to make overgeneralized claims about the preferences, behaviors and attitudes of an entire nation based on my limited experiences with a select number of people within one city! Let's get started!

THINGS MEXICANS LOVE:

1. Eating. (I approve.)

2. Eating meat. (I doubly approve.)

3. Personifying their meat products (i.e. "Mr. Porky," "Mr. Chicken," "Mr. Sandwich," "Mr. Fishy," and of course, "El Pechugon," or, "The Large-Breasted Chicken") with various restaurants all asserting that their animal product is/was once happier (and therefore tastier?) than any other.

4. Calling young people "mi hijo" or "mi hija" (my son/daughter). Even the most tattooed, body-pierced, tough-guy teenager is still considered "mi hijo" by sweet little old ladies everywhere.

5. Starting sentences with "oye" or "mira" (listen/look) to draw attention to the importance of what they're about to say...and just to make whatever they've just said clear, they are happy to repeat or eleborate on it for as long as you let them. And sometimes longer.

6. Family. Which inherently includes extended family.

7. Saying "ay." Statistics show that the average Guadalajara citizen says "ay" more times in a day than the average flannel-wearing, ax-wielding Canadian. "Ay" can be used to say: "huh?" "huh." "uh-huh." "Don't you think so?" "You're welcome" and "Isn't that right?" Or it can just be used to give a satisfying finish to a sentence that just needs one extra syllable to feel complete. "Thanks a lot for the meal, ay."

8. Holidays!! And parties. They go hand in hand.

9. Eating dinner laaaaate.

10. Protesting via their car horns during rush hour when traffic on major streets is at a complete stand-still. Although seemingly ineffective in reducing gridlock, holding down one's horn for a reeeaaallllly long time may serve a useful function in the form of catharsis.

11. Being Catholic. I've been told that even drug dealers attend mass - in fact, they even have their very own patron saint to pray to: the "generous bandit," St. Jesus Malverde.

12. Telling stories about ghosts. EVERYbody has either seen or knows someone who has seen one.

13. Asking (and then answering) rhetorical questions. "And at the museum you will find many things. What kind of things? I'll tell you. ..." They can carry on a conversation with you quite beautifully without any assistance required on your part.

14. La banda, norteño, ranchera, and mariachi. This is one stereotype that is seriously legit. (Especially on bus route 358, fyi.) Here's a breakdown to help you distinguish between genres:

---->  Norteño = major accordion jams
---->  Banda = brassy oompa-pas and mad tuba solos
---->  Mariachi = strings/guitars and lots of "aaaaaaa-ah-hahaha's!"

15. Using the same word to mean either something positive and commonplace OR somethig really profane. So how do you know if someone's calling you their buddy or a #@!!$, or whether they think your car is cool or a piece of $@!!%? A friend tells me it's all about the context. I tell him to expand his vocabulary and save me the confusion.

16. Last (for now ;) but not by any means least: Mexicans love being Mexican.

And who can blame them?

El camión

Given that, up till now, I have spent at least 18 hours a week on buses, "el camión de Guadalajara" is a topic near and dear to my heart.

Aaaand sometimes less than dear.

I like to think of riding the bus here as being like riding a roller coaster. Not recommended for pregnant women or those with neck, back, or heart problems. And the adrenaline rush it provides is sometimes even greater than a roller coaster in light of the knowledge that very serious personal injury is not altogether unlikely at any given moment.

I recently saw a sign on one bus that said something about "maximum capacity." Ha. Naturally, it had been graffitied over. Here the rule is: there's always room for one more. I get to work by way of one of the city's major streets, so during morning and evening rush hour, my bus is PACKED. Like, as in the only space not occupied by body parts and backpacks is the 12 inches above our heads. On the plus side, turns out my spine is much more flexible than I ever knew.

Last week I made close friends with the bus driver by straddling the gear shift and leaning backwards over his seat for an hour, praying I wouldn't go flying through the windshield every time a car cut in front of us. Still managed to finish 3 chapters of an Isabel Allende novel though. Boo-yah. And on Wednesday, I ended up sharing the stair well with 5 others (only two stairs - I'll let you do the math).  Fortunately, the well endowed señora facing me provided excellent cushioning at every stop.

What adds to the fun is that the drivers here seem oblivious to the basic laws of physics - that if you slam on either the breaks or the accelerator, the hundred people behind you who are doing interesting gymnastics to stay upright as it is will inevitably go flying. Even when seated, I've been bounced literally off my seat multiple times.

Roundabouts are also a fun test of balance, and GDL is full of them. The trick is to pull your best Beyonce move by bending your knees a lot, and then leaning all your weight into your right leg as you turn left.

Oh, did I also mention that, for the most part, there are no designated street lanes here? ;)

Percepciones

poor neighborhoods in guadalajara smell like

pork in all its forms: savory carnitas, crispy chicharron, spicy chorrizo, pickled pig skin
the smoke of garbage burning on sidewalks
homemade donuts and churros; slightly burnt sugar-grease hangs thick and heavy, makes you smile
rotisserie chicken
deep fat friers that have reused the same oil for days
the bite of chiles and onion chopped fresh on street corners
dust
car exhaust

downtown guadalajara smells like

old musty buildings and alleyways
cigarette smoke
used bookstores
ripe mango with chile and lime sold in small bags by small children
incense at evening mass
trash
car exhaust

suburban guadalajara smells like

walmart
car exhaust

Entry Numero Uno

As someone who was raised in an "anti-blog environment" (incidentally, thanks for that, brothers), I feel the need to start this thing off with a disclaimer: "I will not use this medium to rant about right wing politics, overdramatize the suckiness of my life, publish really lame poetry that no one else "gets," or share the private minutia of my daily inner thought life with the entire world, assuming that others are just as absorbed with me as I am with myself."

That being said, I think it might be fun - for me and even for you, my friends and family, and maybe even you, my creepy friend of a friend who needs to find better hobbies - to share in some of the stuff that's going on in and around me here in this, the Mexican Phase of Ruth. Some themes in future posts may include cultural observations, fun facts, complaints about the bus system, the struggles of moving to a third world country alone, and the ways I'm seeing God show himself to me through it all.

Out of laziness and lack of cool things to say, I probably won't update too frequently...we'll see how this goes. In the meantime, here's an update to bring you up to speed.

Brief recap of the past 3.5 weeks: Walking [stumbling around in the dark] by faith.

Slightly less brief recap of the past 3.5 weeks:

overwhelm, alone, desperate, utterly dependent, depressed, tired, confused, out of place, anxious, many long Spanish novels on many long bus rides, searching for work online, on the phone, on foot (mostly), consuming mountains of taquitos, feeling incompetent, lost in the void, well taken care of, always provided for, accepting, surrendering, grateful, hopeful. All on a daily basis. Except the taquito mountians. I've been trying to cut back on that.

Where I'm at right now:

I currently work afternoons and evenings Mon-Sat at an English school for all ages (kids - seniors) in one of the suburbs of the city about 20 minutes south of downtown and about 1 hour and 30 minutes (by bus) south of where I'm still living with my friend's family. It's a very laid back, low pressure environment, and although the system/set up is far from perfect, I'm enjoying it, and really grateful to be have a place to be and work to do.

As far as my living situation, the hunt continues. I have contacted/looked at so many places all over this crazy city that are either too ghetto, too expensive, too far, or already taken by someone else. I am really, really ready to have a home again, to be able to start creating a life for myself here.

Until then, I'm still staying with my freind's family who live in the wealthiest, farthest away neighborhood in the city, and who have, for all practical purposes, adopted me. The enormity of their genorisity, warmth, and hospitality towards me (a total stranger when we first met) has been an incredible provision straight from the Divine and also really hard for me to accept, considering I can't do anything to earn it and they wouldn't dream of letting me "repay" them for it, even if I could. But a friend who had a similar experience abroad reminded me recently that to resist their generosity would be to deny them the joy of being a blessing.

It's hard to let go of my pride though. But good. (But hard.)

Wow, I see how these things can get lengthy fast...so I'll end there for now. Miss you guys. Very, very much.