Fuera de las bocas de los babes

So I guess I can say I speak Spanish, at this point. I understand a LOT, almost all of what I hear in daily life. And I can ask for what I need, get my point across, have a conversation, tell a story, talk about the weather and the news and what we're going to do next week. I speak like a two-year-old, but I'm getting better, and people understand me. It's really cool to learn a new language this way--total immersion. In fact, based on my previous attempts at learning a language, this is probably the only way I can learn. Unless I NEED something, I don't retain it. Living in Mexico, transacting all of my daily life in Spanish, I retain a lot.

But even if I do sometimes say silly things, you still can't beat an authentic two-year-old's way with words. Playing in the yard with the dog the other day, my friend's daughter shouted "¡Corre con tu vida!" Translated directly, it means "Run with your life!"

And then there's my goddaughter, who's 14, and tried to teach me F language. No, it's not a language that uses the F-word every other sentence. It's similar to Ineg lanuage, where you insert "Ineg" into every syllable. InegI cInegan dInego iInegit iInegin EInginglInegish prInigettInegey wInegell. But it's another thing entirely to try to do it in another language. That you don't speak very well. With F. CreFeoFo queFe eFes aFalgFoo coFomoFo eFestoFo. But that took me 10 minutes with Google Translate and cut and paste to work out.

I think I'll stick to speaking "regular" Spanish, and hope I can catch up to the two-year-old's vocabulary soon.

Civic Duty

Even though I'm a semi-expat, I'm doing my civic duty in spades this month. I sent away for my absentee ballot, which arrived this week. It was very different from the last absentee ballot I used in 2004. (That year I was in Boston on election day.)

The packet included instructions in English and Spanish, a list of candidates, and an "official blank ballot" that had lines for me to write in my choices:

For the office of ______________________ I vote for______________________.

Kind of weird, but at least it seemed more official than the photocopy I filled out in 2004.

I also got my mail that's not being forwarded from the US, which included a Jury Duty summons for November 4th. Isn't that election day? Kind of strange that I got my first jury summons dated for election day right after I requested my absentee ballot. Coincidence? I called to postpone, so I'm off the hook until May.

Tonala Market Day

An artisan's table at the market in Tonala.

How the mall is like a Russian doll.

I am not normally a mall person. I think I was when I was younger--but back then I didn't have my own transportation, so going to the mall was a good way to get a little autonomy. But as an adult, I've developed an aversion to the mall--I would much rather go to a few cool thrift stores, or TJ Maxx, or...well pretty much anywhere.

But here in Mexico I feel like I've reverted to adolescence in some ways. For example, I don't have my own transportation. I don't speak the language. Someone else decides what I'm having for dinner, and cooks it. I'm not complaining, mind you. Life is pretty darn good.

But I do like the mall. I can get dropped off by one of the spa's vans in the morning, and they can pick me up on the way back at night. And in between, I can go anywhere I want. And I know where the bathroom is. And god bless the gracious people of Guadalajara, a lot of people speak at least a little English, so I can make myself understood.

Right now I'm sitting in the City Cafe, which is inside the Sport City Gym, which is inside the mall. It's kind of weird to have a cafe inside a gym, but there don't seem to be many people working out, and the internets are fast.

Sábado Encantadora

I am sitting in Lulio's cafe in downtown Guadalajara, just off of Avenida Chapultapec. It's this absolutely adorable cafe with leather-and-shim chairs and tables, a little bar, good food, and some wonderful jazz playing. The tables are filled with locals and at least one other American. Two old men behind me play chess. Some people sit alone at tables, not thumbing blackberries, not guzzling their beverages, not intensely looking like they're trying to be casual. They're just sitting, enjoying the day. People hug when they greet each other, men too. There's a table of old men at the door who leered appreciatively and harmlessly at me when I walked in.

I am wearing a yellow flower behind my ear.

I will be going back to the spa by taxi this afternoon, but for now I am enjoying the jazz and the people and too many coffees. You come to Lulio's to see and be seen after "last night." Last night we went to La Santa for martinis and Thai food (more of one than the other) and then to Barbura Negro to listen to Janice Joplin's long lost sister sing Doors covers. And we had to stop at Bar America to dance to some pounding techno before we crawled home at 4:30. Well, plenty of time to sleep at home.

What people mean.

You’re so brave!

That takes guts!

You’re fearless!

When I decided to move to Rio Caliente, I was told this by many people. My parents’ friend said I’m her hero. My direct reports at work said they admired me even more when they learned where I was going, the brave thing I was doing.

But it doesn’t seem that brave to me, or that strange. I have moved around a lot in my life, more than most people. By the time I was 12 I had lived in eight states; by the time I graduated from high school I had been to 13 schools. That’s more than one a year. Three in 4th grade alone. I did my Master’s degree in London, so this is not even the first time I have moved to a different country.

But no matter how I demurred, people said “you’re brave.” And then I realized what they were really saying: ”You’re crazy.”

I am doing the unthinkable. To leave a job in Manhattan as Associate Director of Project Management for Publicis Modem. To leave a rent-stabilized apartment in the Meatpacking District. To leave my Republican friends, the ones who live on the north shore of Long Island and have big boats. To leave the condo I own in Connecticut. You’re brave. You’re crazy.

I am not crazy—my mother is crazy, actually, so I know about crazy. The best way to answer people who tell me I’m brave/crazy is to tell them I have a backup plan.

Which I do (I’m not crazy after all). Here is my back up plan: if I want to go home after six or eight or ten months, I will go home. I am not banned from the country, I still have my US Passport (unless McCain wins, in which case I might consider voluntarily relinquishing it). I have a tenant in my condo in Connecticut, but the lease is up in March. I have a friend who runs Project Management at an agency about 10 minutes from my condo. He will give me a job any day of the week that I want to walk in the door. That’s my back up plan. I can go back to the way things were, to my last life.

But I’m not going to. When you change your life, like I have changed mine, you never need a back up plan, because something new happens. When I moved to New York in 2002, I think my back up plan was to take a job as a nanny for an American family in China. Who can remember? Instead I got a job at an agency in Connecticut and bought a condo. That wasn’t my original plan, and it wasn’t my backup plan either. It is what happened in my life.

So I’m not brave, I’m not crazy, I do have a back up plan. But more importantly, I’m going to see what will happen next in my life.

Fireflies

There are fireflies here, which surprises me. When I first saw them it took me a minute to realize what they were. I think I associate fireflies with hot, humid, hazy nights and it is anything but hot and humid here. I have only been hot once or twice...the rest of the time, the afternoon rain keeps the day from boiling over. And my casita is at the base of a hill, and shaded, so it's always nice and cool.

Speaking of my casita, I know I have been promising some pics, so here are some pics of the inside. I really haven't done it justice, and (shockingly) it's not as tidy as it might be. But then again, I was never much of a housekeeper, and that's not likely to change.





It's been a good week and a nice and lazy weekend. I slept most of yesterday and I spent today devouring a book called The Doctor's Wife. It was intense and well-written and I enjoyed it a lot. I've had a lot of time to read, which is nice--I'm even thinking about flexing my own writing muscles again. I mean, beyond Blogger, of course.

The fireflies have gone to bed now, and I won't be far behind. Just going to set the computer up to download a TV show over night...it takes about 3 hours to download a one hour episode, so I do it at night.

Shoes on the horizon.

I took my first trip to town yesterday. This was not a trip to expand my horizons and explore my new environment (I'll be doing that tomorrow). This was a trip to acquire some basic necessities that I wasn't able to bring with me in my luggage. Like conditioner.

I didn't pack shampoo or conditioner because I was trying so hard to keep my suitcases at exactly 50 pounds, and the shampoo and conditioner and lotion and sunscreen and bug spray and self tanner and contact solution that I wanted to pack weighed about 6 pounds. I was not about to pay a $100 overweight baggage charge for $40 worth of creams. I realize now that I should have packed them anyway, because the guy weighing the bags didn't care at all if things were a couple of pounds over.

When I got here I asked theoffice to procure some shampoo and conditioner, but I had a feeling that I was going to get 2in1 shampoo plus conditioner. That's what I got from the front desk the last time I came here on vacation. I am not a fan of 2in1 haircare. One step at a time please.

Sure enough, they picked up some Pantene 2in1 shampoo plus conditioner. I suffered with this for a few days, much to my hair's detrmiment. I was so glad to get into town to shop at (of all godawful places) Wal-Mart. Of course, selecting my own shampoo and conditioner was a bit challenging, because everything is in Spanish. I ended up getting some shampoo that was in a pink bottle. I like pink. I think pink is the right formula for my hair.

I also picked up a pair of decent, cheap hiking boots. Apparently these were the only pair of hiking boots for women available in the entire town of Guadalajara. We went to two giant malls and two standalone stores with no luck. We even went to a place called the Shoe Mall...or at least that's what I call it. If I had known a place like this existed, I would have moved to Mexico ages ago.

This mall consists of about 30 stores, and all they sell is shoes. I am a big fan of shoes, and I came to Mexico with FEWER THAN 10 PAIRS OF SHOES. That was not easy. Because I was on a mission for hiking boots, and because I live in a place where I walk on dirt, cobblestones, and grass, I did not indulge in any of the fabulous shoes. I didn't even look at them too closely, so they may not be all that fabulous. But I love just knowing the Shoe Mall exists.

They did have a small selection of very women's hiking boots at one of the stores, but they were ridiculously expensive, and my mission was to get cheaper boots than I could get in the States. Shoe Mall was to leave me unfulfilled in that respect. I also spied a pair of amazing cowboy boots that I might have to go back to get. They were gorgeous, hazelnut colored snakeskin (fake, I think) with green and yellow vines. They zipped up the sides. They had very pointy toes. They had perfect cowboy boot heels.

They were meant to be mine.