La vida después de 30.

Turning 30 was not something I was looking forward to. Last year, on October 24th, I was a mess. I cried a lot. I put myself together for my fabulous friends who were waiting for me at my party, but brought along my Visine red-eye drops just in case (I only had one breakdown, but no one noticed).

In your twenties, you have a lot of freedom to live single and carelessly, without worrying about your future. I realized on that day, that I had let 10 years pass me by. In my career, I felt like finally it was all falling into place, but in life, I hadn't grown up yet. There I was, still renting a tiny apartment, no husband, or even a potential prospect, no children, and still in the same small county I grew up in. It took way more miles to run off a second piece a pizza, and I had to start using eye cream.  I hadn't been on a date in over a year, and the single men my age were getting engaged or dating girls a lot younger than me. How had life passed me by so quickly, and when did I become so insecure?

My 31st birthday treated me a lot better than 30. I walked into my classroom on Monday with a bag of treats and of course, lots of English practice for my students. After the first small activity, a student tells me my boss needs to see me upstairs. Before I go, I spend five minutes getting the students started on their second assignment so they can work while I'm gone; I can't stand one minute of learning wasted. The student escorts me upstairs, which I think is weird, but it's not my country so I just stand and wait with him. After about five minutes of waiting (this is a LONG time for me when I suppose to be teaching a class), my student sees me checking the time and says,  "I am bad, I lied. We just need a little more time."

I give him a puzzled look and he laughs; we go back downstairs and a few more students are waiting outside of the classroom with a blindfold. They tie it around my eyes and guide me into the classroom. When I take off the blindfold, the room is set up for a party with a gorgeous chocolate mousse pastel and refrescos. The students sing about four verses of their birthday song "Las Mañanitas", which is much more complicated than "Happy Birthday." They all start chanting "Mordida" which is my signal to dive face first into the cake taking the first bite. Of course a student behind me smashes my face into the frosting. I cut the rest of the cake that doesn't have my nose print, and we play music and dance the rest of the hour. I learn that male students are much more willing to dance than female students; one shows me how to duranguese, another student teaches me the bachata, and another cumbia. I teach them how to line dance.

The next class has planned a similar party but has decorated the room in balloons and throws confetti at me. Their cake is a delicious tres leches topped with kiwi and strawberries. I make all students stand in front of me while I take my mordida. I know these students work hard for every peso they have, and to spend so much time and money on me to make me feel special this day literally brought tears to my eyes. 

Afterwards, Coco, her husband and the rest of the family had planned a similar party - I don't even fight it when Chucho pushes my face in the delicious chocolate cake they have prepared for me.

If you are wondering, thirty actually turned out to be a pretty good year. I spent it with a wonderful group of friends and family in little Lafayette County; I earned a master's degree, saw Jimmy Buffet, and was chosen to participate in an amazing teacher exchange program. Mexico, while it has its challenges, is giving me time to figure out who I want to be. I want to be a great daughter, sister, friend, and teacher. The rest I will leave to fate; it's treated me well so far.

Mi casa es tu casa.

I moved. A cute pink apartment one block from the Zocalo and right around the corner from my favorite family. Lily’s friend owns a furniture store in town, and they delivered a new cama, ropero, mesa y 4 sillas for just 5100 pesos (roughly $425).

I am waiting on gas for my hot water; I do not have a refrigerator, a microwave, nor a television. What I miss most is the Internet. Since moving here I have developed a slight addiction to Facebook. But poco a poco, these too will arrive, and I will have my own little casita en Mexico while staying well-informed of Wisconsin gossip.

In Mexico, when you visit a family for the first time, you most definitely will learn this phrase, “Mi casa es tu casa”. They will tell you whenever you would like to come and play one of their many beautifully painted guitars, “mi casa es tu casa”; maybe you mention you like to run, and they have a treadmill; they will say, “whenever you want, mi casa es tu casa”; or perhaps, you live around the corner and just want a place to laugh, eat, and sing karaoke after a long day at the university instead of going home alone – now this is definitely mi casa.

My mentor’s sister and her family live just a block away.  This large Catholic family includes Coco’s mother, brother, sister and brother-in-law, their four children, and grandson Diego. Each has their own talents to offer: One sister and her amazing fashion sense has informed me my face is too delgada and blanca; I can no longer go out in a ponytail without makeup.  She gave me a makeover today in her small fiesta shop while four customers watched in awe, commenting on how much prettier my eyes were with five extra coats of mascara. Another sister is letting me tag along to the sports center with her so I can work off the 10,000 tortillas I’ve eaten since August; her mother keeps me well fed.

The youngest sister is crazy about music, English, and the Virgin Mary – we are going to run over 300 km December 10-11 to Mexico City – it’s sort of like Run Across Wisconsin only you are running for La Virgin de Guadalupe instead of cancer. At the finish line, you crawl on your hands and knees to the Basilica where the original shrine to the Virgin Mary still hangs after 500 years. For my birthday, their father gave me a wooden bracelet with delicately painted Virgins on each little square. The faith of this family is miraculously contagious, even for an atheist.

Coco’s mother lives in Texas for 8 months out of the year but comes back to Mexico from October to January – I met her just three days ago; she’s small yet fiery and gives fiercely strong hugs; already, I love her.

Coco tells me nearly every day, “No te preocupes, we will take care of you” and she has. I originally moved out for more privacy, more independence because that is what we Americans value; but I realize what I really needed was to be closer to family. 

Oaxaca

It has been difficult to write these last two weeks. When I have had time, I can't decide what great story I want to tell. I could write about the amazing fiesta with a cubano and his Mexican family and friends; he learned Russian rather than English when he was younger and has tons of pictures of Che Guevara hanging in his gorgeous house. We spent the evening passing his wife's acoustic guitar around singing classic Mexican and English songs. Stand by Me is their favorite.

Or I could tell you about my group of machos who swore like sailors and made cat noises while I was teaching. With a little change in my classroom management, they have become my most successful and hardworking class.

My students, in general, are amazing; I have learned 95% of their names (the other 5% haven't shown up for class enough for me to recognize them); I've been invited to baby showers, grandmothers' birthday parties, and to the local discoteca. They don't always do their homework, and copying is a huge problem, but they all work about 20-30 hours a week on top of their studies. Their pride for their country and culture is incredible, and I find they teach me something new everyday. Also, they love to play lotería (bingo) with their families on the weekend.

As for my weekends, Coco and her husband have decided I can't spend my Saturdays and Sundays in the café working anymore. Our first adventure was last weekend in Oaxaca (pronounce wah-hah-cah).

It takes about 4 hours by car to drive from Izucar to Oaxaca so Coco told me we would be leaving bright and early at 5:00 am Saturday morning. I turned down all fiesta offers Friday night to assure I would be ready to go the next morning. The carload of Coco, her husband, her sister and brother-in-law, two nieces and one super cute Diego arrived only one hour late, and we were off.

While the rest of the crew sleeps, I watch as the flat landscape quickly transforms into lush hills and valleys. The hills then change from green to a sandy brown with sporadic patches of cacti; they remind me of five o clock shadows.

After about an hour, my friends awaken and in typical Mexican tradition, they all start talking at the same time. This actually happens more with women I've noticed, and I am in the middle of four very talkative mexicanas. My head ping pongs back and forth as I try to understand each of them. They are talking about a nightmare Lily had recently. She ends her story with the phase "cuando duerme, la muerte entra". Not only is this family super Catholic, but Mexicans are also very superstitious. The superstition here is when you sleep the dead enters your body and takes over; this is what causes you to dream. They look at me and ask if I've dreamt yet here...I shake my head - nope haven't been possessed just yet...

Diego jumps from the back seat to the middle row trying to decide if he wants to sleep by his grandparents or practice his English with me. He knows all his colors, numbers up to 20 and has picked up on my overly used phrase "Oh my goodness!" This was the first English phrase I spoke in Mexico, in response to our car almost hitting a pedestrian on the freeway. Of course, the Mexicans thought my reaction was hilarious. I say it all the time now, as do all of my friends.

A little over half way there, we pass through a toll, and the guy in the booth says something to Chucho I can't quite understand. I know llanta is tire, but I've never heard punchada before. By the look on Coco's face, I'm pretty sure we aren't going much further.

We stop on the other side of the toll where there is a little tienda selling food. Our tire is completely flat, and unfortunately, the tire store that is directly across from us is closed today because the owner's mother-in-law has passed away. Like a typical optimistic Mexican, I think to myself, our luck is bad but it could be worse.

There is a small pueblo about 2 miles away; we can see the church and the enormous Pepsi and Corona signs advertised in the center. The girl at the tienda tells us we have to walk to the town if we want our tire fixed.  So Chucho and Jorge start walking in the late morning sun. No one is upset; in fact, everyone is in a great mood. Diego and I pick flowers; he arranges them so he can take a picture of them with my camera. We jump a tiny stream of nasty drainage, pretending there are crocodiles and snakes waiting for us. Lily and Fanny change and put on makeup; they never made it to bed from the night before; their mom decides to take a nap in the SUV - she stayed up all night too!

Diego pretending he is a cholo (Mexican gangster)

We had a lot of time to kill

Jorge and Chucho arrive about 2 hours later, and shortly after, a man with a jack and a new tire. And we are off.

We finally arrived in Oaxaca at 3 o'clock. We find a hotel and decide to eat in the Zocalo. Lily, Diego, and I eat a place that sells both tacos and sushi. I feel incredibly guilty, but I go with the sushi. Lily is 28 and Diego, who just turned 5, is her son. I tell her my sister is also 28 (both were born in May) and has a five-year old daughter a week younger than Diego. She is sure Olivia and Diego will get married someday. Lily is about 6 inches shorter than me. Olivia will probably be about a foot taller than Diego in 15 years. I laugh as Lily says exactly what I'm thinking.

We walk the colonial streets of Oaxaca, admiring the Spanish architecture in its bright colors; it's much prettier than Izucar - definitely kept up for the sake of tourists and their money. We walk through the famous Santo Domingo cathedral where the Pope will visit the following day. The alter and parts of the ceiling are made of pure gold; it is spectacular. We have just enough time to take a few photos and then we are hurried out, as a wedding will be starting soon.

We ran into the wedding party later on that night.

After much primping and preening, we go out for the night. Fanny and Coco choose a place called "Nude." In English. My eyes go wide - I'm sure it is a strip joint. But actually, it is just a bad name for a cool club. The band is above us on a tiny balcony - the female singer is awesome and I spend the night dancing with my friends and a really cute Cuban.

The next day we travel to Mitla, a small town about 45 minutes away.  We eat at a tiny little diner that serves Mole negro - different from mole poblano in that it is darker and a little sweeter. After eating it, we all decide that mole poblano is way better because that is what Mexicans do on vacation - they compare everything to how it is in their hometown and decide home is always better. Chucho notes the decoration on the wall is a Toltec design. The ruins we see later on will be adorned with  similar patterns.

Mitla has a Nahuatl origin meaning "City of the Dead." The ruins are actually high priests tombs and the intricate patterns along each wall signifies how they were sacrificed. Jorge (Coco's brother-in-law, not the Cuban) tells me that the church was built in the 16th century on top of the ruins in order to convert the Zapotec people to Catholicism. I happen upon a group of English speaking tourists with a guide; after about five minutes of listening, the group leader says I can join them for 200 pesos, but I decline and walk away. My Spanish-speaking tour guides are just as knowledgeable and free.

Market in front of San Pablo Church at Mitla

We pass a fabrica de mezcal on the highway. The family insists I must try this cultural treasure.  Mezcal tastes a lot like tequila and is made from the maguey plant which is a relative of the agave plant used to make tequila. We are invited to watch how it is made and then, to try the many, many different flavors. My favorites are mint chocolate, cappuccino, mocha, and just plain old mezcal. Much like tequila, you drink it with lime but instead of salt, a delicious orange chili and lime flavored powder. Only after I licked the powder did they tell me it was made of a fried and ground up worm found in the maguey plant. Super yummy. Seriously.

Our last stop was Tule, another small town located outside of Oaxaca. It is famous for it's enormous tree that would take 30 people with their arms outstretched to wrap around it.  To soak up the mezcal, we found a cute little restaurant known for its tlayudas (like a tostada but way bigger) and listened to an amazing musician who played anything we requested.

Jorge and his tlayuda

We drive through Oaxaca and stop at the market for some chapulines, fried grasshoppers covered in chili or garlic, depending on your preference.  I like the chili flavored chapulines. They are kind of messy as you have to pull the legs off before you eat them, getting chili salsa all over. It's a lot of work for a little bug, but it definitely vale la pena.

I didn't sleep during the five-hour trip home. I stayed awake reflecting on our trip, thinking how lucky I am to have met these wonderful friends and to be in this amazing country. And as I watched in horror as crazy drivers passed between the two lanes of traffic, straddling the center lane, I couldn't help think how lucky I was to make it back to Izucar in one piece.

El Gran Taquito

El Gran Taquito has the most delicious alambre hawaiiano in all of Puebla and is conveniently located right around the corner from my house. I haven't been there in over a week so I decide it's a great place for tonight's supper.

Rebeca remembers me and greets me by name. She sets up a table for me; it's 9:00 pm, and they are just opening.

I order my comida and begin correcting my montón de examenes, when I feel someone looking over my shoulder. I glance up and see a woman peering down at my papers. The young boy next to her says to me "Mi mamá es bien chismosa!" - My mom is very nosy!

"Ay, ¡está aprendiendo inglés!"- She is learning English! says the woman.

I laugh and reply in Spanish "De veras, I am teaching English here,"

"Es gringa," the boy says to his mom, "Can't you tell by her accent?"

And this is how I meet Rebeca's family. Her mother is from Michoacan and has light skin, which is maybe why I didn't seem as obviously "gringa" to her as I do others. Her father is one of the cooks; he is very dark-complected and lived in Lake Geneva for a while; he knows of Milwaukee, Kenosha, and Madison but has never heard of Darlington. The older brothers are the fabulous cooks making my alambre - and one, I am told, can play an amazing electric guitar.

The family leaves me alone after they bring me my food, but I see Rebeca's younger brothers whispering and laughing while sneaking peeks at me. I wave them over and tell them to join me. Marcos is about 10 years old and he introduces little brother as Enano, a nickname meaning "Dwarf". I think Marcos is teasing his little brother so I say - "Hola, Enano; Mi nombre es Gigante." He laughs and I ask, "de veras, what is your name?" He replies with a big smile, "Call me Enano - I like it!"

They ask me a million questions.

"Do you have kids?"
"No. Can I adopt you?"
"Yes," they shout.

"How old are you?"
"Old. Next question."

"Are you Catholic? Do you go to church?"
"Yes, but I don't practice."
So, they invite me to their church.

"Are there zoos where you live? How many?"
"Yes. Um, two, I think."

"What is your favorite animal?"
Cat - this is followed by a cat vs. dog argument.

"What is your favorite food?"
Alambre Hawaiiano, por supuesto - but they want to know more about McDonald's, KFC, and Pizza Hut.

"Do you know English songs?"
"Of course," I say. I start singing Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber - but they stop me because they don't really like the Biebs.

"Do you know Slash?"
"Huh?" I'm not sure I understood the question. Enano leaves for a second and brings back a Blackberry. He pulls up a YouTube video to show me. A shirtless guitarist with long frizzy hair and a top hat is playing a heavy metal version of the theme from The Godfather.
"Oh! from Guns and Roses??" By this time, I seriously want to take this kid home with me.

"Do you have queso in Wisconsin?"
"Yes, we are the Dairy State," I say, "We have tons of vacas (cows)!"
"They don't freeze to death!?"
I realized I have never really thought about what cows do in the winter. "They live in a barn with heat," I say, hoping that's correct. God, I'm a terrible Wisconsin ambassador.

"Eres racista?"
This question shocks me. "No," I say in disbelief, "Do you know racists?"

They tell me there are a lot of racists in Mexico - those with darker skin tend to be discriminated against here. Rebeca, who has joined the conversation now, says not only is it skin color, but also whether or not you have money. Then she says quietly, "People from the US son racistas; that's what I hear anyway." I tell her, yes, there are racists, but there are a lot of nice people too.

"Are your students in the US racists?" Wow. Tough question.

"Algunos, sí," I say slowly, "But it is my job to teach them we are all equal; that's why I'm here."

Mexican Names

One of the hardest parts of teaching over 100 students in a year is learning all of the names. In a new country, where the names are unfamiliar and more complicated to pronounce, it makes it all the more difficult.

In Mexico, many of my students have two first names. I had my students sign their names to the attendance sheet the first day, and when I looked it over after class, I was very discouraged. There was no way I’d learn all 125 students’ names when each student had four names. Sneakily, I had them sign up for www.edmodo.com which requires just one first name, and, of course, they put the name by which they'd want to be called. I notice that the majority of them put their first, first name, and so, I decide that must be the name they go by. But then I make the mistake of calling a student, Luis, because on the attendence sheet this is what he writes for his first, first name. “No, I don’t like that name,” he tells me,”Call me Daniel,” which I would have thought was his middle name.

Sometimes they have a nickname on top of their two given names. For example, Obdulia is Duly and Lourdes is Lulu and my friend Jesus, is Chucho. Which makes me quintuplely confused.

So, finally, I just asked a student one day to explain the naming system here.

This student, who writes Guadelupe on all of her papers, tells me usually children are named after the saint that is celebrated on their birthday, but sometimes not, if the parents decided they don’t like the saint’s name of that particular day. For example, I have about four students named Guadelupe – named after the Virgen de Guadelupe (aka María, the Mexican Virgen Mary). The second name is just

a name the parents like. The parents, and then later, the child, will choose the name they want to be called. Guadelupe, however, only has one first name.

“I was born first, and my parents didn’t like the Saint for that day, so they named me Guadelupe. Then my sister was born on el 12 de diciembre (El día de la Virgen de Guadelupe). So, her name is Guadelupe, too.”

“So what do your parents call you when you are together then?“ I ask in amazement.

"Pues, I’m called Lupe, and ella se llama Lupita."

Lupe also has two last names. Her first last name is her paternal last name, and the second comes from her mother.

If a student comes in with a name of Pablo Francisco Aguilar Montana, he could be called Pablo or Francisco depending on his or his family’s preference. His mother’s paternal last name is Montana and his father’s paternal last name is Aguilar. Got it?

This is why US schools get into cultural trouble when Hispanic children enter our school system.  We assume Francisco is the middle name (which is not necessarily true), and we would drop the Aguilar because, in the US, we put the mother’s last name (if it has survived) before the father’s. So, the student is legally registered as Pablo Montana. And now we have completely wiped out the paternal apellido, which is a huge insult to the father. Confused? Yeah, it is better just to ask the family when they come in for registration.

“So, qué pasa when you get married?” I ask.

She says, “Es diferente acá than in the states. The woman doesn’t take her husband's name here.”

I’m shocked, “En todo Mexico?” I ask.

“Sí,” she says, smiling. “I will keep my name forever. A long time ago, women would keep their last names and then add “de” plus their husband’s paternal last name. Allá, in the states, some Mexicans adapt to the culture and will do this too, but here we are equals now.” She says this proudly.

Another interesting fact is that because of the Spanish conquest of the land and more sadly, the indigenous women, there really aren’t that many different last names. If two people have the same last name, you cannot assume they are related, or that they even know each other. So, a students’ parents could legitimately have the same last name, for instance, Ana Florisel Hernandez Hernandez. And, she could easily marry Juan Carlos Hernandez Ramirez, get married in the states and become Ana Florisel Hernandez Hernandez de Hernandez!

Culture Shock?

Fulbright sent me to Washington twice before I arrived in Mexico. Both of these conferences stressed heavily the importance of being aware of culture shock. Culture shock has four phases – the honeymoon, the depression, the rebound, and the return home. Our expert speaker told us that we would be in love with our placements for approximately one month, and by October, we would find ourselves angry, annoyed, and homesick. After a minor freak-out last weekend, I realize I may have slipped into that second phase.

This tends to happen to people in general if they move to a place for a long period of time. Check out this video from a foreign exchange student who came to the US to study business.

 

School is probably the most frustrating part. I haven’t figured out how to teach all I need to teach in the precious few hours I have with students. I feel like other teachers think English class is convenient to interrupt when they need their group for an extra hour.  I have not figured out my classroom management plan for my group of macho guys who can’t sit still for five minutes. (I have them for two hours!!). Also, I miss out on the important information, like being audited next week and needing documentation in my binder. My binder sits empty on my kitchen table.  When I ask where to find this documentation, I am told it should be online, but of course, they haven’t uploaded it yet.

We finally had our induction training this past Saturday where we learned all that needs to go into our binder. I am annoyed it is a month late and that I have to spend three hours of my Saturday at school.

I complained a bit to a friend in an email and received the reflective response expected from a good counselor: it’s frustrating not knowing what you are suppose to do or who to ask for help. After reading this, I realized it wasn’t culture shock I was experiencing; I am a new teacher all over again. Just like my first year teaching in 2006, I am figuring out how to manage time and materials, encountering power struggles with students and staff, and not knowing who to trust and turn to for help.

As for the actual culture part of Mexico, I am falling in love.

Let me give you an example. Last night I attended a birthday party for a three-year old. In Catholic Mexico, turning three is big. It is the age when Mary first presented Jesus to the church, and so here, at three years old, it is custom for the parents to present their child to the church.

Coco, my boss, invited me to this celebration – she and her husband, Jesus, who everyone calls Chucho, are the girl’s godparents. She gives me a gorgeous invitation and notes the time says 4:30, but it actually begins at 5:00. ”You know how impuntuales los mexicanos are,” she says. We arrive at 5:15. The birthday girl and her family arrive at 5:30. We are hurried into the tiny church by a very annoyed “Padre,” and mass begins.

Estrella is the girl to be honored tonight, and she is dressed in a beautiful pink evening ball gown. She looks like a tiny princess. She sits quietly in front of the altar for the entire 30-minute mass. It probably would have been longer had we all shown up on time, but the next family is waiting for their own special mass outside the church doors.

Afterward, Coco, Chucho, and I go to the little girl’s party. It is held in a school, and there are tables to seat about 150 people. The banquet room has been decorated by Coco’s niece, Lily. Lily owns a party store in the Zocalo in Izucar. Decorating for parties such as these is one of Lily’s many talents. Pink and white balloons form arches and columns surrounding the dance floor; the tables have been covered in pink and white as well, each with a princess candle and princess balloons as centerpieces. The tres leches cake sits on the head table and is stacked in three fluffy white tiers, decorated in a variety of tropical fruits.  There is another large table filled with presents and gift baskets for not only the girl, but also her many guests. Lily's son, Diego, who turned five today, asks who is getting married. I don't blame him for his confusion, it looks a lot more like a wedding reception than a little kid birthday party.

Dinner is a chicken leg covered in a mole type of sauce – sweet and spicy. A side of spaghetti, garlic bread, and refried beans make for a deliciously interesting meal. And, for beverages, two liter bottles of Coke and Squirt are placed on the table, as well as a big bottle of tequila.

After dinner, the entertainment arrives. Payaso Yoyito, a very funny clown, gathers all of the children around and does a stand-up routine that even the adults enjoy, much like, Bill Cosby’s show, Kids say the Darnedest Things. Besides being hilarious, he impresses us all with his balloon sculptures – here he is on YouTube making Bugs Bunny http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Evd7pD--7iM

After the kid show, the DJ starts playing a variety of Salsa, Meringue, Bachata, and Cumbia, and the couples fill the floor. There is even a Spanish version of “My Achy Breaky Heart” in which everyone does a Latin version of the line dance – which just means they move their hips a lot more.

I meet all of Coco and Chucho’s family – both sides have been invited; Chucho’s mom and I dance the twist as Spanish versions of “Rock Around the Clock” and “Nothing but a Hound Dog” play loudly. Lily’s younger sister, who is studying to be a lawyer, loves American music (and sings it very well). She practices her English with me as she tells me of all the concerts she’s been to – Cranberries, Madonna, Guns and Roses, and Aerosmith in a few months!

They ask what I think of Mexico – and I am honest when I say I absolutely love this country. Yeah, the sidewalks could use some work, I step in dog poop a lot, and poverty is on every corner, but I love the people. Coco’s sister says it best when she shouts, “Estamos bien jodidas, pero bien felices!” which loosely translates – We may be damned, but we are happy. They are all intent on finding me a Mexican to marry so I can stay. We dance until 1:00 am when the little kids finally start passing out on lined-up folding chairs or in their parents' laps. It is one of the best evenings I have ever spent.

My induction class, by the way, wasn’t so bad, either. It lasted about two hours instead of three, and I recognized our instructor immediately as he works in one of our academic offices. He’s very attractive with big brown eyes and a nice, big smile. Today, I notice he also has strong, muscular arms and chest that fit nicely in his slightly too-tight T-shirt. He is a great teacher, involving the class in conversation; though, I keep my head down, praying I won’t have to answer any of his questions in my nervously broken Spanish. While my conversation skills have greatly improved, I still dread speaking in front of a lot of people.

I make it through and leave the class happy. Under the warm sun, I decide it is a gorgeous day for a walk. After about 15 minutes, I am sweating and decide to flag down the next combi I see.

The combi comes in about 5 minutes; I climb aboard and greet the passengers with a Buenos días. A familiar voice calls me by name, and there sits my instructor with about ten other passengers. As his stop nears, he passes up a bill to the driver, and says to me with that great smile, ‘Te pagué por tu pasaje” – he has paid my fair. I watch him exit and disappear into the crowded downtown area. Yeah, I think I could stay here for a while.

La Comida

Today is the beginning of the Independence Day Celebration, but the country's pride is much more powerful than a two day fiesta. You see it on the highways as cars painted green, white, and red zoom by; in the streets, strings of papel picado wave patriotically above you.

Children on the combi carry tiny Mexican flags and toy trumpets; little girls wear hair ribbons in the country's colors.

Venders have tons of flags, horns, hair pieces, etc in the traditional colors.

Mexico is more like a continent in that each state is like a separate country with its own specific culture of dress, music, dance, and of course, food. Puebla is famous for many traditional dishes, and if you chat with any poblano, eventually the conversation will steer right to the stomach.

When I first arrived, I was told I had to try the pozole. Pozole is a soup made with huge kernels of a special type of corn grown in Mexico. 

Courtesy of wikipedia.

You can find pozole made of pork, chicken, turkey, or chili peppers; there is a man who makes great pozole right by my apartment. The second time I ate there, he asked me "mecita o pierna." I knew pierna was leg but the mecita confused me so I stood up and got closer to hear him better. He lifted the towel covering a huge pan revealing a leg on one side and the head of the pig on the other...I ended up with shredded meat from the leg, but was thinking I should really consider vegetarianism. The soup and tacos were tasty, and the poor beheaded pig was soon forgotten. 

Pozole (with leg, not head) and dos tacos al pastor

When you open up the conversation to food, you get a rich history as a pleasant side to your meal. My landlady is making pozole tonight. She told me pozole is very famous in the south of Puebla, and the type that Izucar is most noted for is the kind that is made with pig cheeks.

Tacos, as you might have guessed, are a staple in the Mexican diet. They are not your American tacos made of ground beef with a bland Ortega sauce and shredded processed cheeses. Here, they are much smaller, wrapped in two soft corn tortillas and filled with small pieces of meat, onions, and cilantro, with lime on the side. Depending on where you buy them, yours may also include a variety of other delicious toppings. Near my house are two fabulous places for tacos; one, called  Tacos, El Amigo, offers a variety of options for meat; al pastor (pork) and de asada (beef) are your typical choices, but you can also order lengua (tongue), ojos (muscles of the eye), cachete (cheek), or sesos (brains). I was brave enough to try the tongue tacos, and I highly recommend them. I will need a few months to build up courage to try the brain tacos, but it is a personal goal I have set for myself.

Los taquitos (little tacos) from the school's cafeteria. 2 tacos = 10 pesos.

Tostadas are a lot like tacos but with a hard shell and a lot more meat; actually, a lot of food here is like a taco but with a different type of tortilla. This specific type you would eat like you would a pizza.

Tostadas al Taco, el Amigo - a delicious taco sandwich.

Quesadillas are another dish that taste nothing like the American version. They are made in a larger, soft, corn tortilla with a special stringy cheese from Oaxaca. They can be filled with a variety of vegetables or meats; I have tried quesadillas de chicharrones (pork skin), de rajas (green chilis), and de mole (see below).

Quesadilla de rajas

Quesadilla de chicharrones

Mole poblano is another traditional dish that is well-known in Puebla. Mole specifically is a complex sauce with the main ingredients of spicy chili peppers and chocolate. It usually is served over a chicken breast, but I have had it in quesadillas  and on a special blue corn tortilla as a spread. Fittingly, mole poblano was my very first meal in Mexico. I was too tired to think of taking a picture, but will the next time I have the opportunity.

From wikipedia; just doesn't do it justice. Sorry.

Another great dish I have found here is the alambre. Your plate is first covered in tortilla shells and then on top is a grilled mix of meat, cheese, veggies (or fruit) on top. There is a small restaurant by my house that specializes in this type of dish. My absolute favorite is the alambre hawaiano which is served with grilled beef, onions, pineapples, red and green chili peppers, and mushrooms. Of course, it is served with salsa verde and pico de gallo, and a plate of limes and onions. The family that runs the place knows me now as I have eaten there four times in the last week and a half. They are super sweet - Rebeca is about 14 and a great little waitress. Her brother, 8, serenaded me with a superb rendition of "La Cucaracha" on his recorder.

Alambre hawaiano

The food in Mexico is never ever boring. It will always ignite at least two of your taste receptors. Sweet and spicy, for example, are a great combination.  Chile en nogada is very famous in Puebla because of its delicious mix of spicy peppers and sweet fruits.It is made of a gigantic green poblano pepper stuffed with mixed fruits such as apples, apricots, bananas, pears, raisins, etc. The creamy sauce (la nogada) includes milk, butter, almonds, and walnuts. Finally, parsley and pomegranates are gently sprinkled on top giving it is patriotic look. This dish literally takes days to prepare; my friend, Nancy, saves up her money each week to buy the all of the ingredients and sells them in front of her house for about 60 pesos each. They are worth much, much more than this.

The poblanos here are very proud of their Chilis en nogadas. In the early 1800s, as the Mexicans were fighting for their Independence, a heroic general passed through Puebla on his way to Veracruz. To honor him, a convent of nuns prepared this special dish for him before he continued on. When he arrived in Veracruz, General Agostín de Iturbide defeated the Spanish, and Mexico finally received its independence. Iturbide is also said to have designed the first Mexican flag, a tribute to the nuns' gift, perhaps? 

From www.inside-mexico.com

A year later, Iturbide declared himself Mexico's first emperor. Alas, he was a poor leader and exiled after losing all of Central America to their own Independence in 1823. Agostín was the first of many bad rulers; it is a reoccurring story in Mexican history.

What is great about food here is it molds relationships. My favorite guy on campus is, por supuesto, the cook at one of the school's two cafeterias. Manolo loves to tease me and throw in English words as he fires rapid Spanish at me. He slaps my hand as I try to squeeze a lime on one of his famous tacos - así es perfecto - it is perfect as it is, he says. I sat at his taco stand for an hour trying all of his favorite dishes until I finally say, "¡No puedo más, Manolo!¨ as I reach for my pesos. He waves his hand; my money is no good at his taquería. 

Manolo's half smile as he shouts "Whiskey!"

I do crave normal American food once in awhile. When I really miss Subway and the Towne House, I am at the Italian Coffee Café. They've got great paninos with spicy peppers, mushrooms, delicious cheese, soft tasty bread, tons of coffee, and free Internet. I come here on the weekends to write my blogs, correct my papers, and speak English with my one American friend I met here three weeks ago. It isn't exactly authentic, but the Oreo frappes are so flippin' great.

Now that I've picked out the best places to eat, I should probably look for a gym...

**Thank you, Nancy, for the great history of the Chili en nogada!