Taxistas

It's become so commonplace that I rarely ever think about it: taking taxis. During my homestay time I took them to avoid being late (although the bus, if I could find it, was cheaper). Now I take taxis to avoid being stuck in rain.

Riding in a Taxi with friends or homestay family the Taxista ignores us, generally. Yet riding alone, I nearly always wind up chatting.

It's a great way to practice my Spanish, which I've heard from Taxi drivers is pretty good at this point. Starting out, I had problems with the difference between "derecho" (straight) and "derecha" (right) which used to lead to problems. Now I can talk easily.

The Taxi drivers are usually eager to talk and sometimes start the conversations themselves. It's something I hope to come back to. The headlines nearly always portray Mexican-U.S. contacts as violent. The reality is that most Mexicans I've met are eager to chat and eager to please foreigners. Given the dollar-to-peso rate this should surprise no one.

They nearly always want to know where I'm from originally. I'm happy to tell them Tennessee, which is famous here for Elvis (who lived in the one part of the state I've not been to, although I'm happy to share the same birthday).

I often ask if they've been to the U.S. Often they have, although East Tennessee hardly ever. California seems to be the state I hear most often, although once I met a Taxi driver who had been as far north as Idaho.

Once I was asked whether or not I thought Mexican women were pretty. I honestly answered "Yes." I've had similar conversations with other non-Taxi-drivers, some of them finding it strange that I actually prefer brown-eyes to blue ones. I've heard the Spanish conquest imposed a standard of beauty here that only gets reinforced by U.S. media.

Mostly though taxi-drivers just wonder what brings me here. I've learned to focus primarily on telling them that I study Spanish, which is part true. Somehow I've never felt comfortable saying "Migracion y Globalizacion." Then of course there's trying to explain that back in the U.S. I study Creative Writing. My lack of a clear future plan is also a little bit of a problem too for some. I've never heard anyone particularly say that they were confused by my answers but I've sensed it.

I've told some here that I want to teach English in a Spanish-speaking country. For a while that seemed the most promising option. I've met one woman here who does that, while being a writer on the side. The only problem is that I like the U.S. in some ways. As much as I love certain things about Mexico, there's just something wrong about coming into other as a foreigner. I especially don't know if being involved in other countries' politics would even be right for someone like me.

I told all this to one particular Taxi driver, and he said that I should translate books from Spanish to English, or maybe even write the full history of Mexico for U.S. audiences (he sensed my interest in the history of the places we were going through). In the meantime though I could always become the first comercial Nopal (cactus for eating) grower in Tennessee. I've heard they require almost no work.

No digas Amen!

This happened a few sundays ago, when I was struggling more with Spanish. Apparently I'm quite fluent with it now, according to Rosaurio my current Spanish teacher. Anyways, just a nice "Gringo Idioto" story to put down while I'm here at Casa Verde with less other people using the wireless network. For the purposes of this blog my own religious views do not matter. Assume if it amuses you, that I worship Quetzicoatl.

Anyways: I went to the Pentacostl church down the street. I figured Penticostals are becoming more and more a part of Mexican culture, and I'd already visited the Catholic church down the street. It seemed a good way to meet people and learn Spanish also.
I'm slightly late, realize that I'm sitting on the wrong side, and move over to the mens' side. The seating consisted of plastic chairs. Just as at the Catholic church that I'd visited earlier, they lacked hymnals and seemed to sing from memory. Also similar to the Catholic Church that I had visited, they had a band with a keyboard and electric guitar. They were more call-and-response oriented though.

At one point the preacher asked us to raise our hands if we had lost all sense of hope in the world. I didn't catch what the question was so I raised my hand. No one else did.

The man next to me (whom I later learned had found Jesus while working as a landscaper in Texas) wispered to ask me what was up. I wispered to him that Spanish was not my first language.
He invited me to the church cena that night, and explained it to me there. It was tortas with beans and cheese, and (in some cases) spicy peppers. He said he hated the food and had only taken his torta to be polite, so he gave it to me. Personally I preferred the food at Cemal, but I As I recall, he said something (in broken English) about trying to learn dirty words in indiginous dialects before finding Jesus. I clearly got that he continued landscaping work here in Cuernavaca.

Don´t Panic!

I was talking to my friend Goose (Josiah Guzik) today. He told me that I should only write about one conversation or event per day. Or at the very least keep things simple. I´ll try to do this blog daily with that style. Is that alright with everyone?

Okay, so some of this will make more sense when I do more back-dating. The embassy talk clarified much of what follows. My journal and notes can help me with back-dating.

But I assume people want to keep hearing from me especially with events in Juarez being what they are right now, never mind that I´m not in Juarez! Oh, and I´d go off on a long diatribe against wrong policies there, but I´m just a Gringo Idioto! For now I´ll say that Mexico´s problems, especially along the boarder, are at least partly the U.S.´s problems.

Several conversations today. I´ll leave Betty Ramos aside for now, even though she came again today (see below for her theories).

The big news is that last night some students were held up. I would say ¨mugged¨ but that implies physical harm rather than just taking the money and running. Funny this is the first time anything like this has happened. (I´ll try to connect to classmates blogs in the future to fill in narrative gaps). Also, interestingly enough, it corresponded with analyzing a newspaper article in my Spanish workbook about the rise in use of burglar alarms and security guards in El Salvador´s capital (the article was not current).

Rosalva (my teacher) and I had a long discussion in Spanish about gun control in the U.S., even though we had just barely gotten through talking about a previous ¨Minivacas¨article which talked about dog-sized cows that required less land. We also touched on the many ways of indicating cause and effect in Spanish and their connotations.

Theoretically there are even stricter gun laws here in Morelos than in the U.S. even if they are not followed. Some police are corrupt here, and they may have been involved. But we have support of local businesses on our street and the local Catholic church. I learned some of this at a meeting we had as a group.

Also we have a new security guard to join our old one. We also have a new emergency cell phone system. So please, don´t panic!

Today in Class

Today Rosalva (my Spanish teacher) beat me at Spanish language scrabble. We also discussed the composition-style and guidelines of journalism, and how to detect bias. The examples the textbook used had to do with bullfighting, a sport Rosalva deplores. Actually seeing as its status as ¨sport¨ is disputed, I should probably think of a different term.

I handed her an outline of my ¨advertisement¨ describing Stinson Lake. I realized after writing it that I hadn´t adhered to the guidelines very well in terms of selling the place, or describing the kind of people attracted to it. I realized that I had to expand the ad to include places in the area. I think I just wrote about it because all this warm weather was getting to me.

Last Week´s Homestay (in summary).

Last week we had the rural homestay. I stayed with fellow-student ¨Goose¨ (real name Josiah) at the house of Raul, a former migrant to the U.S. (he worked at Wendy´s during his time there) and current repairer of electric appliances. He was happy to have us stay with him, so that he could review his basic English vocabulary.

His son-in-law, also named Raul, was the commissioner for the ejido. A note of explaination: An ejido is a piece of land given by the government to rural residents. Under current laws they can be bought and sold. Raul´s job is to co-ordinate local and national policy´s governing the ejido. He always followed our group wherever we went and whomever we talked to during class sessions in his town.

In short the groups that we talked to and visited included government officials, small-scale commercial farmers (of shugarcane, figs, and, tomatos) and cooperative workers who raised various animals, most notably organic chickens. We talked with a group of people who had migrated (with varying legal statuses) to the U.S. It struck that the one who had worked in Agriculture in Salinas had never heard of Cesar Chavez, but he did say that he hadn´t worked there very long.

At the town center I played basketball with some local children. It struck me also that basketball seems more popular here than in the U.S.

The town was generally supportive of PAN (Mexico´s more ¨right-leaning¨ party, which encourages trade with the United States). It wasn´t for any large reasons though, mostly just because of the loans for tomato greenhouses they had recieved. Antonio, one of my professors explained that Mexican politics is very personal and paternalistic, relying on what we in the U.S. would call ¨handouts.¨

We also met with some recipients and local leaders Madres de Opportunidad, a group of mothers who recieve government assistance. They cannot recieve money if they have children in the United States. This has less to do with legality and more to do with money. Due to the rate of the peso to the dollar, people can work for very small amounts in the U.S. and come back with more money in Pesos for their family.

My own host family (perhaps due to work in the U.S.) had a synthesizer (keyboard) a DVD burner and a PS2, but no shower. It was alright with me. I learned to prefer bucket baths anyway.

First real Post

Don´t feel like describing today yet. It was enough work just getting this blog up. but just to keep everyone the same level of up to date, here is what I wrote to my family in an e-mail recently (with a few modifications)

Hey, the flight went smoothly. I did wait a good bit, but my ipod kept me going for that time. I thought they'd arrive earlier, so I had an airport staffer announce my name. It was interesting the whole pronunciation issue. I had to explain that it wasn't Poe-oonds.

We´ve done the activity with the market prices today.The point of the activity was, using Morelos's minimum wage to try to find out if we could buy various "necessary" products at the market including shampoo, food, clothes for school. Then we came back and calculated these amounts in dollars. The dollars can be exchanged for far more pesos with far more buying power than the equivalent dollars have in the U.S.

It's what brings in tourists. It's also what drives people to migrate and then return here.Things that are cheap for us here are expensive for Mexicans making minimum wage or lower. Minimum wage is high here for Mexico, but I get the feeling that prices may also be higher.

I've taken the Spanish test at Universal (I think I did ok at everything except subjunctive).

I had a "Stupid American" experience today, when I confused the entrance for a waterfall with a gate for condominiums (thankfully the guard did not take my money). I finished ¨Crossing Borders,¨ which I thoroughly recommend, although I haven´t done the report on it due Friday. I did make it to desayuno this morning, waking up with my cell phone alarm (apparently ¨Flight of the Bumblebee¨works!).

I´ve found Cuernavaca so far to be interesting, generally easy to understand but somewhat disorienting. Typically in Tennessee and in Boston one can easily disern generally how old things are. I´ve not been to the historic landmarks, but the part of town we´re in seems to be of indeterminate age, simplistic with an occasional mock-Spanish florish here and there (especially on churches). Storefronts are nearly always painted rather than sleek ads or hanging tavern-style boards. They always convey the information boldly, except for condominiums, which as can be expected, try to be more subtle in saying that they are condominiums, instead emphasizing names like ¨El Bosque.¨

The house seems comfortable so far. Hopefully it will stay that way (we did have the talk about scorpions, bedbugs etc).