Where do I put the toilet paper?

Just got back from a job interview. I had to give a demo lesson. I killed if I may so myself. After doing it for two years in Japan and three years in Vancouver, I could teach English in my sleep. On the way back to my apartment from downtown I had an interesting culinary experience in a local restaurant. Here in Toluca there are a lot of places that have only one set menu for 35 pesos (about 3.50 Canadian) and my curiousity led me to check one out. I love eating here; since most of the items are names in Spanish I´ve never heard of, I never know what I'm going to get. Like Forest Gump´s proverbial box of chocolates.
First the lady brought me a out a plate of rice with bread and this salsa called ¨chile manzano.¨ Then a bowl of meatball soup. Then a bowl of beans and a basket of tortillas. And finally pineapple for dessert. Plates arrived at my table one after another, all with a friendly smile from the waitress. She seemed happier than I was that a ¨norteamericano¨ was actually sitting at her table.
Then things got really interesting. I had filled up on beans and bread and needed a place to relieve myself so I asked the lady where the bathroom was. She pointed to the back of the restaurant. So I politely excused myself and went in and did my business. It was only after I sat down and made use of the paper supplied on the wall did I realize I had nowhere to put it. There I sat in the most vulnerable position possible with a pile of used toilet paper in my hand...
In Mexico they have a real sewage problem. When I was in Leon last week it rained heavily and when I asked my friend why the streets were flooding so badly he told me because the water had no place to go because the drains were all clogged. To prevent this a person generally has to put used paper in a waste basket next to the toilet. Only there was none to be found! Luckily, I found what looked like a mop bucket where I stashed the evidence. I gave the lady a hearty tip knowing full well she deserved double for putting up with an ignorant gringo such as myself. It´s always an adventure using the bathroom here. You really never know what to expect. Even the places where you pay 3 pesos to get in (which is almost everywhere) you´re not guaranteed there´s going to be ¨papel¨ in the stall, nor soap to wash your hands when you´re finished. The things the guidebooks don´t tell you!

Mexico 2.0

I'm in San Miguel de Allende now. It's a mid sized city about an hour or two from Queretaro (where I was yesterday) and about three hours from Guanajuato in Mexico. If you know where any of those places are. It's pretty nice, with lots of old Gothic style church and cobbled streets; very European, but a little too sanitized for my tastes. Its like the Disneyland version of la Republica. I think it would have been cooler to be here in the 1960s when beer cost 7 cents, the houses were falling down, there was garbage everywhere, and no refrigeration (everything made had to be consumed in the same day and drinks were cooled with cold water) and nobody spoke any English. Which brings me to the main topic of today's blog. The English speaking Mexican.
I have a love/hate relationship with people I've met who speak English. On one hand it's kind of welcoming to hear my language being spoken in a foreign country but on the other it can be grating on the nerves. Especially when I meet the people who meet me for the first time and decide that since I'm from Canada, they should have the right to use me as their own personal English teacher. Whenever I speak to strangers here I always address them in espanol, and I expect them to answer back in kind. So it is with great unease when I ask for directions and the person tells me to "go straight straight..." when they could easily say, "sigue derecho." I find it rude when I ask somebody perfectly clear in their language where something is and they feel they have to use broken English to explain it to me. When by addressing them in Spanish I've made it obvious I don't need help with translation.
Then there are the times when I ask how to say something in Spanish and the person tells me and then repeats the question to me as to how to say it in English. I suppose it may seem like a bit of a double standard, but I feel being in Mexico if I take pains to try to speak the native tongue, the native people should be gracious enough to help me. If I were in Canada I would do the same for a person trying to learn English. And have on many occasions. But I digress...

The art of looking foolish

I had an interesting encounter with a girl in a store the other day. It gets hot here in the afternoon and my throat was parched. "Agua por favor." (Water please - I politely articulated). "Como?" (What?) "Agua," I tried again. "Aga?" "No... agua. Gwa not ga. Agwa." "Oh agua," she retorted in a whydidn'tyousaysointhefirstplace type tone. "No tenemos." (We don't have any).
This kind of thing happens all the time. I have mastered the art of looking foolish. On a daily basis I am confronted with people looking at me with bemused expression wondering what rock I crawled out of. People aren't accustomed to a guero (white boy) speaking Spanish so they figure I must be speaking to them in my language. Therefore the lady must have thought I was asking for aga, a drink that is only available in Canada and the U.S.
What's worse is that I can understand most of what other people are saying, they just can't understand me. It´s like the Far Side cartoon where you get to see what the dog is thinking and he looks like he could be a Rhodes scholar but when he opens his mouth all he can say is "Woof woof." I would explain this joke in Spanish to the people here but the word for dog in Spanish is "perro" and I can't roll my rrs.

What do you do for a living?

The past few blog entries I´ve published have been overwhelmingly positive. Which isn´t to say that there aren´t things that bother me about being here. But the main thing that´s been getting under my skin isn´t something true only of Mexico. My pet peeve is when first meeting people hearing the question, ¨So what do you do?¨ Whether it be in Spanish or English the question grates on my nerves. I usually answer, ¨teacher,¨ but it doesn´t seem an honest response. I´m not currently ¨teaching¨ and I have never really felt comfortable categorizing myself as someone who teaches. When I first started teaching English in Japan it took months for me to feel comfortable in that position. I´ve always felt that I had much more to learn from other people than I could ever teach. Even last year when I was teaching Elementary school I took whatever opportunities I could to put the kids in groups so they could learn from each other rather than have to listen to me. What do I really know about anything? The only thing I do know for sure is that I love meeting new people. But I get frustrated when I have to defend the fact that I´m not working. Like I´m not allowed to exist unless I´m a contributing member of our consumer society. Like I need to be making money in order to be a ¨real person.¨
I haven´t started looking for a job here yet because of two reasons: A) I haven´t recieved my papers back from the Mexican embassy in order to apply for a work visa and B) I´m not sure what kind of work I really want to do. I´ll probably end up teaching English - as I have so many times in the past - but I´m not really looking forward to it. I don´t want to work just for the sake of working. Or just to have something to do. I want to enjoy what I´m doing and feel what I´m doing is worthwhile. I´d love if rather than asking about my profession people were to ask me, ¨Who are you?¨ That´s why I´m here in Mexico; to figure that out. Which is something really worth talking about.

Gracias

As many people already know the word, ¨gracias¨ can be translated in English as ¨thank you.¨ It´s probably the word I hear most spoken everywhere I go in Toluca. But it is also the plural form of the English word ¨grace¨ which means ¨elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action,¨ according to dictionary.com. These last few days I´ve been reflecting a lot about that word. Not only am I incredibly thankful to be here, but I am also continuously amazed at how ¨gracious¨ Mexican people are. I´m not sure if it´s something that´s in the water here, or the strong influence of the Catholic church (?) but I find the citizens of this city to be extremely friendly, humble and hospitable. In contrast, I remember feeling isolated and alienated by the cynicism of the people who lived in the Northern B.C. town I lived last year. I love how Toluquenos greet everyone as a possible friend, rather than treat you as a potential enemy. I spent the weekend visiting my girlfriend´s family and was warmly welcomed to sit at their table. There I was served the most amazing food I have ever been forunate enough to savor - my plate overflowed with beans, tortillas, salsa verde (spicy green sauce), Mexican spaghetti, chicken drowned in a spicy red sauce (the name escapes me). Needless to say I'm very happy to be here and anxiously await the adventures to come. Muchas gracias indeed.

La Vida es un Carnaval

La Vida es un Carnaval - literally translated in English as ¨life is a carnival¨ is a salsa song by the Cuban singer Celia Cruz. It was playing when I arrived at a going away party for one of the coworkers from my girlfriend´s office. Not only is it one of my favorite songs (was it serendipitous that play when I arrived?) but it made me wonder why we Canadians take ourselves so seriously. It may seem obvious to say but we could learn a lot by ¨working to live¨ instead of ¨living to work¨ like Mexican people do. People here really know how to party! I felt like a five year old at a birthday party for the first time. Those who weren´t dancing or laughing were busy feasting on the plethora of five different kinds of tacos on display. I left the place at 10:00 and it was just getting started. On a work day! Last winter in cold Northern B.C. would have been a lot easier to take if were able to participate in a few fiestas like this one. But I digress...
Interestingly enough, before I got to the party I attended a funeral for the brother of another co-worker of Nora. He died in a car accident from a truck driver plowing through the side of his vehicle at an intersection. I immediately related to the situation when I was told the news and did my best to express my condolences in the best Spanish I could muster. But really what do you say under these circumstances? Everyone in church was very somber and dispirited. Quite a contrast from the party I went to later on. It was humbling to attend the ceremony and be part of something much bigger than I am...

How does one define the quality of any experience?

This is the question I ask myself as I begin to write my first blog here in Toluca, Mexico. Everything we do will always ultimately be compared with every other experience. Which can both highlight or distract from whatever adventure we embark on. This has always been my problem when I´ve been travelling. I tend to search for meaning in the world around me by collating it with places I´ve previously visited. I´ve been to about 12 Spanish speaking countries but never lived there. Now, finally, I´ve made the decision to come and stay for a while. I´ve wet my feet and now am ready to take the plunge.
And so...in the next little while I hope to reflect - and articulate as objectively as I can - the Mexican experience. But like a child, I hope I can see things here the way they really are. Wish me luck.