The Plateau

Well, I think I’ve finally settled in. Blogging isn’t quite a priority anymore – everything just seems too normal. I've finally reached the point in cultural adaptation where I move through the day without thinking about what new and crazy adventure might pop up. I'm too busy trying to figure out how to teach object pronouns without putting my students to sleep.

There are still the random jabs of culture shock that surprise me every once in a while.  A bullfight playing on the restaurant television, instead of football, or NASCAR; the friendly señora who makes amazing burritas insisting I meet her son, who happens to raise roosters for cockfights. The borracho (drunk guy) with the guitar who follows Coco and I home and insists on playing us a song. After much insistence, Coco reluctantly agrees to one song, and even more reluctantly, one cocktail after he notices our full glasses and pleads for a manly drink. As the man sang his classic tune to the foreign guerita, blowing his noxious breath in my face, I realized Mexican women are way more hospitable than I.

I haven’t spent a lot of time with the family this cuatrimestre. I am on campus about 9 hours a day, starting at 7-8 in the morning and leaving at 5:00pm; when I get home, I’m exhausted. I’m not working the entire day; I have an hour or two off where I tutor, hold informal conversation classes, and just relax with my order of delicious chalupas and stare at the magnificent Popocatepetl, the snowy volcano that still takes my breath away after 6 months.

I take French lessons (et J’apprende beaucoup!) It is really strange to learn a foreign language in a foreign language. But my teacher is amazing, and in addition to French, I’m picking up some great ideas for my English and Spanish classrooms.  My own Spanish is improving - my albur and knowledge of Mexican dirty words and gestures is growing exponentially – when teaching college students (and high school students, I imagine) this knowledge is invaluable. I am amazed at the number of innocent American gestures that have a completely different connotation in Mexico. There really should be a pre-departure class on the subject to avoid the embarrassing and awkward situations I always seem to wander into.

My students are forgiving and don’t make fun of me too much – if there is one quality that is a must for an American teacher in Mexico, you have to be able to laugh at yourself.

Maybe my Mexican life isn't quite as shiny and new, but my students still surprise me on a daily basis. One day, after finally reaching my breaking point with a “disrespectful” student, I yelled at him and took away his participation points for the day – a serious move considering you have to get the equivalent of a high C to pass here. Five minutes later, he asks if I like baseball – and arranges his friends to take me to his game that weekend.

Tuesdays are my hardest day. I teach my normal classes from 8 am until 2 pm and after, I lead a conversation class until 3. Then, I have French class. Normally, my desayuno consists of a quick snickers and bottle of water during the 10-minute grace period I give my students between classes. At 10:09, a student looks at my snickers and tells me his going to go buy a sandwich. I’m annoyed that he has waited 9 minutes to decide he’s hungry, but I try to disguise my annoyance, and nod. He comes back and hands me a ham, cheese and chile croissant – a snickers is not an appropriate breakfast, he tells me.

More than the perfect weather, it is this warmth and kindness of the people that I love about Mexico. After a long break, Coco and her family invite me to a girls “night-in” of cocktails and karaoke. My absence has been noticed in the last month.

My friends tell me how much they are going to miss me when I go,  even though I’m not going anywhere until August.  They tell me I always have a home here; they’ve worked out ways I could teach English during my summers (and probably all year long if I wanted). Lily tears up, making me promise not to lose touch. I realize that maybe it isn’t the change in schedule that has kept me away. It’s the fear of getting too close, which will only make leaving harder. I make a promise to myself to drop by more often – to become part of the family again. Leaving? I’ll worry about that in August.