P.S.

The Cycle Continues. I stumbled into the hotel lobby at 3 a.m., exhausted yet oddly alert. I love to travel, even if it is across the country on what has become a grueling 11 (or longer!) hour trip with a long layover in Texas due to thunderstorms. But I am back in D.C., my adolescent home-away-from-home, and the site of where I began my Fulbright adventure last year. How much is the same, and how much has changed. The Fulbright should come with a warning label, another Fulbrighter joked once. "Warning: May change your life completely." It sounds glamorous and exciting, but sometimes it's just plain hard.

But that morning, at 3 a.m., I only felt excitement, eager to help prepare the new teacher group for their Mexico-US exchange year. Over the next day and a half, I attended sessions with the group, and told them as much as I could without overwhelming them. Looking back on the year, so much of what you need to know you need to be there to understand, and it is difficult to transmit the experience through words. I brought some visuals, which were helpful - posters Mexican colleagues had their students do for presentations, so the US teachers could see what their Mexican students were used to. Official documents I had had to turn in and get copied and signed in triplicate. My schedules, both the "official" version and the real version. Yes, that's actually how they were referred to by the administrator who gave them to me!

Best of all, my time with the 09-10 Fulbright group was capped with a trip back to Mexico, and on the flight from Chicago to Mexico City the program director and I sat together and talked the entire time like the good friends we have become. There were small reminders of how far I've come in my language skills- the airline attendant didn't know if I was a Mexican or US citizen. "US," I said. "Resident or citizen?" she asked for double clarification. It was a surreal moment. In Cuernavaca, I attended the quinceañera birthday party I had been invited to and spent a few days visiting friends and eating tacos al pastor, fresh mangos, and lots of tortillas.

A year abroad will change anyone. It'll make you re-evaluate what you want, what is important to you, and where you see yourself headed. Mexico no longer feels so far away, nor so exotically different. Working in another country makes you an active participant in a way being a student does not. Caution, the Fulbrght application should read. May make borders less permanent.

Mexico by the numbers 2008-2009 Fulbright year

Total students taught: 293

Classrooms second semester: 8

Days and hours school was cancelled: 22 days, 17.5 hours

Towns/cities visited: 52

Museums visited: 21 (approx.)

States visited: 14, plus D.F.

Longest continuous bus ride: 15 hours

Ruins visited: 11

Churches visited: too many to count!

Visits with other Fulbrighters: 10

Out-of-country visitors: 8

Cooking classes taken: 5

Suitcases/backpacks taken (between 2 people): 5, plus 1 box

On return: 5, plus 1 box and 1 puppy

Trips back to the States: 2

Scorpions found in house: 2

Formal presentations given: 2

Crops of tomatoes: 2

Houses we lived in:2

Professional soccer games attended:1

Cell phones lost: 1

Cars driven: 0

Tamales

No, we are not done with school yet!  The official date, prolonged because of the flu cancellation, is now July 10th, although I leave July 6th.  The last few weeks are becoming packed  with despedidas, last visitors to Mexico, our senior's graduation, and of course, a course in tamal-making!  Two weekends ago my colleague Lulu and her husband (who we all just call "Médico") invited several of us from work over for an afternoon of tamales.  Lulu was our maestra, since none of us had made all the varieties she had us prepare: tamales oaxaqueños, tamales de masa cocida (cooked corn), tamales de frijol, tamales de mole rojo, and tamales de mole verde.  In total, we made over 300 tamales.  You can never have too many tamales!      The last time I made tamales, I swore never to do it again, but I realized, as we cooked, stirred, folded and steamed the tamales, that the real way to make tamales is in a group.

They are incredibly simple but require a lot of time to make the fillings, prepare the masa, and assemble. But with a crew of friends, some good jokes, and maybe a few beers, the process is much more enjoyable than one person in her kitchen filling and folding dozens of corn husks!  

     A few notes on the differences between tamales:  tamales oaxaqueños use banana leaves, which we cooked before using, and the masa has a lot more lard added to it than regular tamales.  

     Tamales de masa cocida are made of a coarsely ground corn mixture that is precooked, unlike the masa harina mixture that you can buy and just add water to. 

     Tamales de frijol are made like a jelly roll - the masa is patted out into a huge circle, and then the cooked and mashed beans are spread on top.  You roll the whole thing up, and then lop off chunks to put into your corn husk.  

     Next on the list of cooking with friends: Thai food tonight with a friend who used to live in Portland, and next week pozole with her mom.

Día del maestro/día del estudiante

    Now that the H1Ni epidemic scare is over, we can get back to what life is really about: celebrating teachers! 

The Day of the Teacher (May 15th this year) is a national holiday here in Mexico, and events range from massive protests in the streets by or against the teacher's union, and get-togethers with fellow teachers.  I met up with some friends for breakfast on Friday, and on the following Monday the school had "breakfast" of chicken, rice, and cake for the staff during the recess time.   There is no difference here between classroom teacher and those who work outside the classroom- everyone belongs to the same union, and everyone celebrates on Teacher Day. 

What surprised me the most were my students, who exhibited a kindness and thoughtfulness that we don't often see in US students.   One student brought a cake for me to class on Monday, and had even remembered to bring plates and spoons for everyone.   On it she had written "Feliz día, maestra" and so everyone ate cake while they took a quiz (Feliz día maestra does not get you out of English class requirements!).   Then, at the end of class, two girls came up with presents for me.  I'm thinking this is a holiday we should export.    

This week on Friday we celebrate student day, which we should also export -most of the seniors are taking the day to do a fun activity with their advisor and their professional team.   

Life during an epidemic

To re-cap: since last Friday, Mexican news has been taken over by the swine flu (virus porcino) epidemic. The World Health Organization has also taken the flu seriously, and the outbreak currently is on a level 4 pandemic alert (on a 1-6 scale).  

Since this version of the swine flu is a pig-carried flu, I've been attentive to news coverage because I work an an agricultural school here in Mexico, and we have pigs, rabbits, and sheep that the students are in regular contact with. In fact, yesterday I helped herd sheep at work and I took a visitor to see the new piglets. However, the news coverage has at times been wildly inaccurate, and the power of rumor is amazing to watch.  

The flu cases reported here in Mexico have not all been swine flu, although the news media/medical establishment does not always make that clear. On Saturday, it was reported that 2 deaths had occurred in Cuernavaca, and that about 1,300 cases had been reported. On Monday the death toll jumped from 87 to 149, and schools nation-wide (K-university) were closed down. When the woman who made the announcement came around to my classroom to tell my students, she told my students that her neighbor, who is a nurse, had told her that some 600 people had died.  

However, on Monday afternoon I received an email from an ex-pat living and working here in Cuernavaca (there are some 5,000 of us in the city) who had just come back from a meeting that included the state of Morelos health minister, and the actual swine flu cases in Morelos are 4 and the number of deaths 0. In addition, the World Health Organization has reported that the confirmed number of swine flu cases in Mexico are only 26. People are skeptical of the government's efforts to stem the spread of the flu - in a country with a deep distrust of elected officials' motives, such suspicion is common, although as I watch the peso fall, businesses lose money due to mandatory shut-downs (Mexico City is reportedly losing 57 million dollars a day in lost business), I wonder what motive government officials would have in over-hyping the flu epidemic (could somebody have family in the face mask business?) Elections are July 5th here, and we're in campaign season, so people tend to think the events (flu hype/campaigning) are linked. We'll see.  

Overall, we are currently living in a situation of caution but not irrational fear, although the face-mask thing is a little out of control. Yesterday I saw a women at the grocery store trying to shop with one hand covering her mouth and nose with her scarf. However, the streets even here in Cuernavaca are empty, and schools, movie theaters, and all museums and archaeological sites are closed. Mexico City has closed all restaurants, except for take-away food. It is eerie to ride a bus with only 4 other riders, when normally there are 30-40 people. The epidemic is a powerful case for caution in the face of fear - a lot of information reported early was incorrect. I'm glad for the preventative measures, but I wish for better, more balanced news coverage. For example, the 2007-2008 flu season in the US had a mortality rate of 9.1% at its peak - so flu can be always serious. (source: the CDC http://www.cdc.gov/flu/weekly/weeklyarchives2007-2008/07-08summary.htm)  

I hope for school to be reinstated as planned on May 6th - we are in finals week, so the suspension has thrown a wrench into exam-taking (I'm sure students are heart-broken). Meanwhile, life continues as normal - we had a 6.0 earthquake on Monday which rumbled the walls at school, 4 sheep were stolen from the barn at school on Monday night, and it's another sunny, 75 degree day in Cuernavaca.

Virus porcino/Swine flu

First of all, we're fine! We have our face masks and our vitamins, and all virus-free DF friends are welcome to join us in Cuernavaca.  UPDATE: All classes in the country have been cancelled until May 6 in an effort to stem the spread of the flu virus.   Also the WHO has raised our pandemic risk level from a 3 to a 4 on their 1-6 scale.  My state, Morelos, is one of the 24 states classified as "not in danger" - we have had 4 cases, 2 which were treated and 2 which required hospitalization.

Here is what I saw while in D.F. this past weekend:

Just as the virus porcino alert was hitting Mexico City, our friend Amber flew in fromPortland. Regina picked her up on Friday night and I met them on Saturday for a weekend in D.F.  Stepping off my bus at the Tasqueña bus terminal, the reality of the threat of swine flu hit me.  Over half the people wore "cubre bocas" to cover their mouths and noses, and the people traffic level was noticeably less than normal.  As we walked through the Alameda Park to the zócalo later that morning, we saw several military people passing out face masks, and a military truck was full of more (see photo).  The government is taking the outbreak very seriously, and all public events have been cancelled, and school (K-university) has been cancelled in Mexico City (D.F.) and Mexico state until May 6th.  Even soccer games havebeen played behind "puertas cerradas," which means the games were played but without public spectators.  In the metro and on streets, health workers are passing out fliers about the flu, its symptoms, and what to do if you feel like you might be ill.  And most seriously of all, Saturday night it was announced that Mass would be cancelled throughout Mexico City.  In this Catholic country, canceling Mass (which previously had ben the only public event not cancelled), is a serious move.  However, Mass was broadcasted for the faithful this morning (Sunday) on public TV stations at 8 a.m.

   So, with museums closed and the city looking nearly deserted in comparison to the usual levels of traffic, we decided to come back to Cuernavaca, where on Sunday it was reported that 2 people had died from the porcino virus, which turned out to be untrue.  I carried our cubrebocas in my pocket all day, and of course we've joked about what would happen if one of us started coughing in a metro car, but it does feel a bit insecure.  The empty metro was eerie, and the bus to Cuerna had only 7 people on it (a normal Sunday bus would have about 20-25 people). On the way back to Cuernavaca this afternoon health workers had all passengers fill out symptoms cards (fever above 39C? Body ache? Cough?) and collected them for "survey" purposes.  Amber had filled out a similar card upon entering the country on Friday.  

       Although the infection rate is extremely low in my state (Morelos), it's a good time to practice hand-washing and to hold off on kissing strangers.  Good health to all of you and take care!

Abril is Fulbright placement month...

...and if you are a teacher looking for information on what life as a Fulbright teacher is like, please feel free to contact me at pippin18@hotmail.com  There are a lot of details not in this blog that might be useful to you as you prepare.

... y si eres un@ maestr@ buscando información sobre la vida como un@ profesional Fulbright, mándame un correo y con mucho gusto le puedo decir más sobre la experiencia.  ¡Hay muchos detalles que no están en mi blog que a lo mejor serían útiles a ti mientras te preparas para la experiencia!

--Reed

Guerilla gardening

I like to stay true to my live-off the land roots - minus manual labor of hauling 5 gallon drinking water jugs to the house before we had plumbing and the winter activity of pulling sleds full of frozen clothes, washed in town and brought home to dry.  But my other "roots" are in worlds lush with green growing things, like the tomatoes that self-seeded in our compost pile on Saipan, or the huge arcs of peas I could walk under in my parent's garden in Alaska.  In Portland, I try to mantain as small a carbon-footprint as possible by gardening, recycling, and reusing as much  and here I try to do the same.  Here are some of my projects:   My simple 5 gallon-bucket compost system --->

                                          My tomatoes, grown from seed, produced a good amount of salad-fixings.   These cosmos and other flowers, which I grew from seeds I brought from the US, brighten up the patio. Next to them are spinach and lettuce.   

Here are some of my other urban garden techniques:                                           Compost central: 5 gallon buckets hold our food scraps

I've been intrigued by compost-tea for awhile, so this year I decided to make my own. 

     The plastic bag holds compost, and the water I pour into the top filters through the compost out the hole in the bottom, where I collect it to use on the plants.  

    I've just wrested a small section of ground from the grass and planted radishes and more lettuce - we only have 90 more days here, so I think this will be the last crop I can sow from seed.  Then it's back to Portland, just in time to work on prepping for a winter garden.   

    

Piropos, or what not to pay attention to

    When I lived in Ecuador, piropos were as common as the street dogs are here in Mexico (and just as clean).  So common, in fact, that upon my return to the US I felt invisible walking down the street (where was my constant comment brigade?)  I had become perhaps too accustomed to the "Hey mamacita"-type comments from boys on the street.  But here in Mexico, either I've gotten too old for piropos or, as my local friends have told me, they are simply not that common, especially in the city.  So I hardly registered at first tonight's piropo, delivered in a rush of words by a man wearing a shiny blue warm-up jacket and carrying in one hand a plate of food wrapped in aluminum foil. 

     "How are you pretty," I heard, and I wasn't sure at first if I should reply "Pretty fine, thanks," or "Prettier than you."  He was moving so fast down the street (perhaps worried I'd give him a kick in in his culo) that really I couldn't have developed any sort of answer, which is the best response always to a piropo!  

    But where do these men get the idea that it is flattering to have random strangers tell you things like the second piropo I heard (the street brigade was on a roll tonight!), a shouted comment from a quickly moving vehicle: "Missi I love you!"  Now perhaps there was a woman named Missi somewhere in the 2 block radius that I just couldn't see, but I doubt it.  Where do people learn words like "missy"?  And why the shouting out the window?  My male friends who are reading this, perhaps you can comment! 

    Perhaps I should teach an anti-piropo unit in English class, which would include phrases like "Let's have coffee," or "Do you have a business card?" in order to teach proper introductory phrases to my male students.  These would be phrases they could use without needing to move quickly down the sidewalk or in a rapidly moving vehicle, and might be more effective than the "I loooooove you" yelled from across the street.  Who knows? It could be a whole new era of intercultural communication.     

We spent the night in Toluca, the capital of the state of Mexico.  I was impressed by two things: the cold (I hadn’t brought enough warm clothes) and the botanical gardens, which are in a former covered market.  The market's windows have been replaced by an incredible stained glass mural.  The plants are varied, well labeled, and include a medicinal section.  Nearby is the town of Metepec, which is the home to the principal artisans of the “árbol de la vida” ceramic creations.  I found Metepec to be much more charming than Toluca, and wished we had spent the night in the smaller city (now a suburb of Toluca).  

A new cultural activity: lawn-sweeping

Although I have heard it said that US lawns all look (too) pristine, I thought our ex-landlady’s request that we sweep the dead blossoms off our lawn was taking “too pristine” to a whole new level.  However, sweeping the lawn is not such an abnormal things here, as I’ve observed.  Regina was more than happy to participate in a new cultural activity. 

The Big Move

On Tuesday, Regina and I moved from the house we were in on Calle Georgina to a little bungalow in a (gulp!) gated condo community called Torres de Cuernavaca.  For those who have visited already,  I have good news: we are all of a 3 minute walk from the old house.  We have traded the neighbor's "shut up you *&*$*#*$ dog!" for the crowing of a rooster in the morning and small groups of children playing with sticks.  Just like with the dog's owner, I plan to stay out of their way.   Although we will miss the life that passed by our gates everyday (the tamale seller, the knife-sharpener, the gas seller, the old metal buyer, the random groups of musical-instrument players asking for money, and the occasional Mormon), we are thrilled with the running trail we can take around the other buildings, the small soccer field, and the pool.  Other highlights are our new landlords, one of whom is a co-worker of mine, and the washing machine!   

Inauguration Day

 It was still very, very dark when we awoke at 5:30 on Tuesday morning, Jan. 20th.  Based on our last morning rush-hour experience in D.F., we had vowed to take no chances with the traffic for Inauguration Day.  Sure enough, the normal one-hour bus ride into the capital took  Heron with with our new president!

an extra half-hour, and the metro was a crush of people.  We each had a backpack, Heron's full with a month's worth of travel experience, so we used our bags to help cram our way onto a metro car.  "If we get separated," we told each other, "we'll meet at Balderas," naming the metro stop.  We had no contingency plan for separation of limbs from bodies, or what to do if the mad rush of people smashed the air out of our lungs.  These were potential problems best left unspoken.  

It's spelled K-E-R-M-I-T.  No joke. 

    

We made it to the Embassy's Benjamin (Ben-ha-MEEN) Franklin Library, and the guard doing the rub-down was remarkably non-plussed at the sight of our backpacks.  Luckily, my underwear was safely at the bottom when he did the revision of the contents.  

    The event started at 9 a.m., which is when they let the guests through the metal detector and into the library.  (This was after the bomb-sniffing dogs were lead through the library).  We gathered with a large number of guests, the ambassador, and a few other ex-pats to watch the CNN coverage.  It was moving, electric, and one could not help but feel a profound weight watching, from within another country, our new president talk about the United States and how it would interact with other countries.  I couldn't help but notice how the crowd was very quiet at any mention of the former president, and applauded enthusiastically for Obama.  

     Fellow Fulbrighter Gretchen reacts in a normal way to having a dozen microphones jabbed in your face. 

    Afterwards anyone who looked like they might not be Mexican was accosted by reporters.  The ambassador high-tailed it out of the room, leaving us to supply the comments.  We were asked such light questions as, "What do you think about the US invasion into Iraq?" and "How do you think Obama should deal with the economic crisis?"  I'm as curious as the reporters are to see what Obama does his first year.  

    Well, my degree in Spanish allows me to say this about the economy...   

The legend behind the smog

This weekend with my brother, whose visit so far has also included the pigs and rabbits at my school, we traveled by bus through Cuatla to the town of Amecameca, or "Ameca," to the locals.   We visited the local church, ate cecina, rice, beans and enchiladas in the market for lunch (the sausage we also tried brought the pig visit full circle), and strolled around the zócalo to get our bearings.  But our main goal was to get into the mountains, or at least get as close as we could to the legendary volcanoes, 17,154 foot Iztaccihuatl and her neighbor,17,802 foot Popocatépetl. 

     The Aztec legend about the two mountains is a classic story in Mexico.  Ixta, the daughter of Aztec king, fell in love with a lesser noble named Popocatépetl.  Her father forbade the marriage, but she insisted, and he acquiesced, but on one condition: that Popo help the

 king's troops in battle against the king's enemies.  Of course, the king meant for Popo to die in battle. During the battle Popo and his men were betrayed by the Aztec troops, who left them on their own against a massive enemy attack.  Everyone assumed that Popo and his men had been killed.  Ixta was told that he had died, but she refused to believe that he was truly dead.  Sure enough, Popo made his way back to her, and they escaped one night to start their new life together.  The lived in a hut, a simple but happy life, until one day Ixta became ill, and Popo was unable to save her.  That same afternoon, an earthquake shook the ground, and two volcanoes  formed. A voice told Popo to take Ixta's body to the peak of one of the volcanos, which he did, placing her body on a bed of flowers.  Lying by her side, he died, leaving th

eir two bodies to be covered by snow, forming the two mountains we see now: Popo, the smoking volcano, and Ixta, the mountain in the shape of a woman on her back, hands folded, feet facing Popo.   

    We were disappointed to see the thick smog that covered most of the valley.  We had come from pretty bad pollution in Cuernavaca, and had hoped to give our eyes and lungs a break.  We climbed up to a church that sits above Amecameca and looked across the town towards 

the mountains (see photos).  You can imagine how beautiful the view would be if the smog was not there.  Compare the photos with the one I took in Grenoble, France of the Dauphiné Alps.  The photo was also taken in January, and although the weather was different (France: cold, Mexico:not) there is little evidence of the inversion layer normally created by cities.  Most of the pollution in the Amecameca area comes from DF, which is just over the hills (to the right in the photos).  But it left me wondering what I can do to work on air pollution while I'm here...

La noche de los rábanos is not the only thing in Oaxaca

For Christmas, or la Navidad, we flew to the city of Oaxaca (located in the state of Oaxaca) with some family friends who were willing to satisfy my curiosity about the famous (in my mind) "Noche de los rábanos."  The Night of the Radishes has fascinated me every since I read Sandra Benítez's book Night of the Radishes. Hence, the trip to Oaxaca, which besides radishes has beautiful textiles, great food, and a rich Zapotec Indian heritage.  

       La noche de los rábanos is held the night of December

 23rd, and the carvers who turn the foot-long radishes into children, animals, stars, and fantastical creatures start growing their subjects several months before.  A huge display is set up in Oaxaca's zócalo, and an elevated platform wraps around the exhibits.  Starting at about 5 pm, a long line forms to access the walkway, which is heavily guarded by police.  To keep the radish creations fresh, the carvers spray them with water periodically 

during the evening, and even at 7 o'clock you can tell why the radish night is only one night: radishes just don't last that long!  

      Radish night having ended, we spent the rest of our time in Oaxaca visiting Monte Albán, a Zapotec ruin with an unusually small ball court and interesting carvings of genitally mutilated men, thought to be conquered leaders from other tribes (quite the way to assert your power!) Oaxaca's textiles are incredible, and the city of Oaxaca is like an art museum - everywhere you turn something beatifully woven, painted, or created out of ceramic, silver or gold beckons you....  On Christmas Eve, the churches were full for pre-midnight mass and midnight mass celebrations, and right around midnight the night sky erupted in fireworks and the whizzes and bangs of the all-too familiar cohetes, or rockets.  The next morning was very, very quiet as the locals slept off the effect of the late-night meal, traditionally turkey, eaten between midnight and 3 a.m.             

   Another Oaxaca Christmas tradition out is the eating of buñuelos and the breaking of their bowls.  Buñuelos, or fried dough served with sugar or syrup,  vary in form from place to place, but in Oaxaca they take the shape of a flattened disk, deep fried, served with a sweet red

sauce.  We were happy to share one between five people, since the one we had really tasted an awfully lot like the grease it was fried in. Here's John, sharing a piece: 

     The tradition is to then take the plate or bowl the buñuelo is served in and break it.  In this case, the buñuelero had erected a bin with a sheetrock back wall.  Breaking your dish is supposed to bring you good luck for the coming year.  Since mine bounced off the sheetrock, and only broke when it hit the other plates on the ground, I'm not sure what kind of luck I'll have this coming year: perhaps I'll just bouncing back from any set-back? 

The Virgin and the Baby that Wasn't Born in December

     Yeah, I know, what a way to ruin Christmas by pointing out that Jesus really wasn't born in December.  But in a country as Catholic as México, nobody is really going to care.  Besides, Christmas here lasts almost until the month people think Jesus was born (March).  More about February 12th and why you don't want to eat your cake and get Baby Jesus later.  

The holiday  decorations started showing up around November 15th, and by Dec. 1st the poinsettias (nochebuenas) were out in full force.  People have lined the roads with their stands of piñatas and poinsettias, and I've been impressed by the variations in both products.  The poinsettias are mostly red, but I've also seen the white-flecked and green-flecked ones.  The piñatas range from HUGE to tiny, and I have to resist the temptation to buy one of each

 size.    

      On December 12th, pilgrims flocked to the Virgin of Guadalupe Basilica in Mexico City - many started some days earlier, walking or crawling.   The expression of faith was moving - so much energy towards one entity cannot be ignored. The Virgin of Guadalupe was proclaimed the Patroness of the Americas by Pope John Paul II in 1999, and the miracle of her image has been unexplained by modern science.  More info at: Our Lady of Guadalupe - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

      December 16th saw the start of the posadas, the very Mexican tradition that sprung from the combination of Aztec traditions of music, dance, and public religious events and the Catholic zeal to save souls.  Franciscan priests discovered that the local population liked to participate in the pastorelas, or religious plays, and from that the posadas, or the physical recreation of the journey of the Holy Family, became a common practice.  The posadas last until December 24th, which is the big day of the Christmas celebration.  Right now I can hear a posada party rockin' down the street - after the traditional call-and-response song, the posada recipients receive food from the host, and then the kids get to whack at piñatas.  

    I'll be spending Christmas in Oaxaca, with some friends who are trading the snowy Northwest for 75/80 degree Oaxaca weather.  One of the highlights will be December 23rd's Noche de los Rábanos, or the night of the radishes.  Not only can you eat them, but in Oaxaca you can grow huge ones and carve them.  I'll be sure to document the night thoroughly.   

T-day in México

I've invited my whole English department for a little cultural event at my house this Thursday.  They are coming after work; I am taking the day to cook.  Can't any American cook a turkey?  I hope so! Here's a running diary of the experience:

Oct 30- See ad on Cuernavaca expat listserv for organic turkeys. 

Nov. 8 - Decide to buy organic turkey.  Email contact, who asks me to pay for half upfront and the rest when we get the turkeys.  Is this something I would do in the States? I decide to go for it.

Nov. 9- Regina and I are truly not sure what day T-day is.  This goes on for some time, until a few days later we look at our American calendar.  Oh.  

Nov. 11- Meet turkey contact, who turns out to be a dynamic mom of 3 bilingual kids.  She is married to a doctor who is currently in Geneva.  I think this will turn out ok.  I hand over

 my 200 pesos. 

Nov. 14 - Plan menu, revise yams for a salad, since I can't find raw yams anywhere (I've looked in 2 towns).  Remind myself I will need to go to at least 4 stores to find everything.  

Nov. 22 - Guest list is up to 7.

Nov. 23 - Tianguis (store #1): buy veggies. Discard salad idea. No sage to be found.  Store #2: Look for turkey and pie pans and sage.  No luck.  Store #3: Find flimsy turkey pan.  Buy potato chips and beer - I'm going to need them this week. Start to worry about stuffing. 

Nov. 24 - Coffee/kitchen supply store (store #4) sells me a meat thermometer.  Espresso, frying pans, and meat thermometers- my kind of store! 

Costco (store #5) run for wine, butter (scratch that - all they have is unsalted), and of all things pumpkin pie!  I feel mildly pathetic for buying a Costco card, but the idea of being able to take pumpkin pie to my kiddos  makes me feel less pathetic.  

Turkey connection emails; the bird lands tomorrow, NOT Wednesday as originally scheduled. The pies suddenly look like a problem.  

Nov. 25 -  Eat potato chips and drink beer while waiting to pick up turkey.  

Regina goes to store #6 for butter and yams. 

Nov. 26 - T-minus 1.   Pies go to school and the Pilgrims are defrocked as robbing, land-loving interlopers (well, in my classes at least).  

    I bake the apple pie, improvising with a wine bottle to roll our my crust, (the hardest part was emptying the wine bottle, but we managed).  Discover oven appears to have a slight tilt forward.

Nov. 27 -  Turkey turned out beautifully, our Southern friend saved the gravy, none of the guests thought any of the food was disgusting, and we have left-overs (yeah!) :)

el 20 de noviembre

The 20th of November celebrates the beginning of the Mexican Revolution of 1910.  The ideals of the revolution were based on Zapata and other's beliefs in land rights (land for those who work it) and free education for all.  It was recently pointed out to me that every 100 years Mexico has a revolution (the independence movement started in 1810), so watch out travelers in 2010! 

      In my school we got the Monday off, and spent a few hours ensayando (practicing) the paso doble (a marching - and dancing- step), and the "at ease" and "at attention" required for the parade. Sounds like the military?  It did indeed sound like the military, especially with the PE instructor using his megaphone to shout out commands.  But having seen the same thing in Ecuador, I wasn't shocked (I definitely was shocked to see the kindergartners  in Ecuador marching military-style), and since I had a group to manage, I practiced my own pasos dobles... most of the time.  Mostly I busied myself to making sure they were in straight lines and that E.H. didn't throw rocks at M.P. and A.R. didn't keep switching lines.  I also kept thinking how getting kids in the US to do the same thing would be like herding cats - here the kids have been doing the same thing for years, so they're used to it.  

            On Thursday, Nov. 20th all primeros (first year, first semester prepa kids) lined up and marched out of the school to town, where we were joined by all the other schools (K-9).  We marched through town, turned around, and marched back, and at about 10 am we were done and the kids all had the day off.  Yes, another day off- but what a sight to see all the students marching through town with community watching proudly.  We could use a little civic pride like that.   

Death and the Lady

The month of August was dedicated in the Aztec tradition to the goddess Mictecacihuatl, "Lady of the Dead."  This goddess of death has come to be known as La Catrina in current Día de los muertos tradition, and she is portrayed as a sexy, bony skeleton dressed to kill.  

    Cuernavaca celebrated its 2nd annual La Catrina competition this year, and the Catrinas wer

e quite something.  Made out of a wire and paper maché body, their clothing ranged from an outfit made out of candy to a gold creation imitating the Ángel statue  in D.F.  While each had a skeleton head, they are in no way frightening or malevolent.  Rather, they are Death as a sex symbol, Death as a lady, Death as something you might not mind spending time with.  

     The other tradition that casts death as something other than terrible is the writing of calaveras.  Calaveras, lterally "skulls,"are verses that make fun of death, usually mixed 

with a politician.  The writing of calaveras were inspired by the illustrations of José Guadelupe Posada.

 

 "Death, " wrote Posada, "at the end of it all, is democratic, and everyone, rich, poor, white, brown, ends up being a skull."   He drew notable figures of his time as skeletons, and made popular the image of the Catrina with a flowered hat (image).  

      My students were able to whip out calavera rhymes in a matter of minutes, which impressed me.  Here are two: 

          Estaba la maestra Reed Scott                                      

          tomándose contenta su taza de arroz                          

          llegó el maestro Santiago                                             

         y del susto le dio la tos.                                        

      

                             - Medardo

        There was the teacher Reed Scott

         contentedly drinking her mug of rice

         Teacher Santiago arrived  

         And the fright gave her a cough.  

                              

          Estaba Rubi comiéndose un budín                          

         cuando de repente llegó la calavera                        

         y se echó un pedín.    

                           - Erick 

            There was Rubi eating a tart

            when suddenly Death showed up 

            and let out a little fart.  

                                                    (changed to keep rhyme) 

    

To me, the Catrinas  and the tradition of writing calaveras embody the Mexican ability to make fun of death, laugh at her, tease her, and ultimately, allow the love of life to triumph over death.  

Día de los muertos

     Many people in the US are familiar with the "Día de los muertos," term, or Day of the Dead, but I think what is often forgotten is the celebration behind the day.  We are so accustomed to death being equated with sorrow, fear, and all that is bad, that to rearrange one's cultural perspective and consider death as part of the journey of life, as did the pre-Hispanic cultures, can be a difficult shift.  The Aztecs and other indigenous groups set aside specific months for remembering and honoring the dead, and it was (and still is, in Mexico) believed that the dead came back during that time.  In the small town I visited, signs stating "Welcome Back Dad!" or "Here is your house, Mom!" were set up over the entryways to the houses that had ofrendas. 

The Spanish Catholic missionaries, who found the Aztec celebrations to be too light-hearted and, dare I say, flippant, in their attitude towards death, moved the Aztec August and November celebrations to coincide with the Christian celebrations of All Saints Day and  All Souls Day. However, their efforts to eradicate traditions of the Aztecs were in vain.   While the pre-Hispanic ceremonies have been shortened to 4 days (starting Oct. 28 and going until Nov. 2), the spirit of 

the celebration is still alive: it is a time to welcome back the departed, to help them on their journey, and to remember with joy the time they lived among us.  

     Each  area in Mexico has its slightly varied take on the day, but the staple of Día de los muertos is the ofrenda, or altar.  Altars represent the deceased, and often include their favorite food and drink, and a photo.  In Ocotepec, the town I visited, ofrendas for the recently deceased include their clothing laid out with a sugar skull at the head area.  Altars traditionally have the four elements of water, air, fire and earth 

represented.  Water is to calm the dead's thirst, fire, represented by the candles, to symbolize purification, wind, represented by the movement of the papel picado, and earth, often represented by the bread pan de muertos.  Copal, an incense made of resin, is also burned on every altar.  Here in Morelos mole, limes, mandarin oranges, and tamales are also considered to be standard elements.  

      In Ocotepec, the night of Nov. 1st is the night to welcome back the adults who have died (children are celebrated the days before).  Each family in the town creates a huge ofrenda to the deceased, and welcome in visitors, who follow the cempasúchil-marked path to the ofrenda. Cempasúchil is the Nahuatl word for marigold, which the traditional flower for the day.          

           As we entered each home, we gave our candle to a family member, stood before the altar in silence for a few moments, and then walked out of the room, where another family member handed us something to eat and drink.  The food varied - in some houses we were given slices of pan de muerto, in one house we were given a tamal.  The drinks were either a hot ponche of fruit or coffee.  Each house must have seen over 500 visitors that night.  

     After we visited the ofrendas, we went to the panteón, 

 or cementerio.  Candles, papel picado, and cempasúchil had been brought during the previous days to the children's graves, and many adult graves had been decorated as well.  We were not the only people in the cementary - besides other tourists, many family members had come out to sit beside graves and tend the candles.   Unlike a typical US graveyard, this one was alive with light, music, and people. 

     We returned to the panteón the next day.   The activity was amazing - families gathered to clean gravesites, place more flowers, and eat food together.  Teenagers and children hung out between the graves, and food vendors crowded the entrances to the panteón, selling everything from sandwiches to ice cream.   A twelve-piece band played most of the morning and a Mass was celebrated in the early afternoon.  

     Inspired by our surroundings, Regina and I set up our own ofrenda earlier this week.  Instead of cempasúchil, I placed roses in memory of Bobbi, an amazing gardener,and Regina laid out a dictionary in memory of her grandmother's love of crossword puzzles.