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February 17, 2007
Watering Down the Living Room
“Dad,” I said, in a soft voice just in case anyone in the park could hear me. (I actually remember this conversation quite distinctly)
“Dad,” I said. “This place is so f-ing poor. How the hell am I going to live here?” I remember exactly that those were my first words about Merida upon my arrival on Jan. 1st, now almost 6 weeks ago. How could I live in such a place? Did I know what I was getting myself into? Maybe the Spain trip had an extra spot in its program….
And six weeks later, I find myself asking over and over again: What was I thinking? What is it going to be like to leave Merida? I don’t even want to think about how much I have to see, do, and experience before I leave here.
Merida has been a wonderful host city in the six weeks that I’ve been here and I’ve sorry to admit how I’ve become to spoiled in the United States, taking virtually everything for granted. The cultural opportunities here are just incredible—nights in Sta. Lucia, Merida en Domingo, Misa on the weekends and [soon] Carnaval…
And I know I keep repeating it over and over again, but it’s just incredible how many Mexican friends I have (or at least, how many like talking to me on a daily basis)… There’s Veronica, Fernando, Heider and Didiere. And Carla, Marianna, Deanella, and Cesaire. And Wendy and Tatiana and their friend that sits in the corner of the room but I never remember her name. And there’s Daniel (he’s really Molly’s friend), and MaJo (Maria Jose) and Carlos (who’s annoying at times but I just usually let it go). It’s all just been a very welcoming experience….
Let me not forget the great International students here as well—Alejandra from California, Anna Louisa from Quebec, and the Butler students….
Last night I went to Cafetos, a café with board games and the like, to celebrate Will’s departure back home to the United States. He left early this morning to Texas, because he’s been having a problem with his ankle for weeks now. To return on Tues. night. We had a lot of fun and I even got to take a picture---my first picture--- with a sombrero. That’s right Tom. I took the picture with the sombrero, just like you asked.
The week brought some other new surprises as well. Ben had his first presentation in Literatura Latinoamericana on Maria, by Jorge Isaacs. He did a decent job, and rightly so, after staying up in the Oxxo until 4:30 a.m.
I also booked the tickets to go Palenque and San Cristobal de las Casas en Chiapas during the first week of break, Semana Santa. Apparently, it’s really beautiful and even more interesting than Uxmal and Chichen Itza.
And this week also introduced me to the mole of the house, a typical Mexican dish with literally one hundred different ingredients. And I know why this was this week was only the first time that I’ve gotten a taste of it. It doesn’t seem to be very popular in the house, especially with Julito:
--Whose plate is this? the Senora says, inspecting the baby table.
--Mine, says Julio.
--Julito, you haven’t even touched your mole.
--I can’t eat it, Abuelito. Pica. It hurts my stomach.
--What do you mean? You like chocolate, don’t you? It’s practically all chocolate, with just a teeny bit of chile, a recipe as old as the Aztecs. Don’t pretend you’re not Mexican!
--Leave him, Mama, he’s just a boy, says Gabby from the sofa, reclining all the way because she’s pregnant and can hardly move.
--Gabby, have you forgotten in this country we don’t throw food away! Why, I remember during the war we were happy if we even had rice on the table! Julito, don’t you dare leave the table until you’ve finished your mole, do you hear me? And no galletas for you until you’re done with the entire plate!
--But it’s cold.
--And whose fault is that?> You’re under my roof now!
Julio ended up throwing the worst temper tantrum I have ever seen. He brought in the hose and watered down the living room to seek revenge on poor Dona Sarita.
She definitely had enough of him this week, in fact, a little too much. But I did get the opportunity to talk with Julio; he helped me bring my clothes to the Lavanderia across the street and east four blocks for cleaning. We spoke about his future brother, his studies in English, and about what it’s like to attend a bilingual school (his father Julio studied in Iowa and hence, has rightly justified the importance of studying two languages)..
And honestly, that’s about it for now. I can’t think of anymore to write and I just don’t want to write for the hell of it. I’m sitting in my bed now by the window and it’s 8:22 on Feb 15th in the morning. And, although I don’t know when I’ll post this entry on my blog, I’m sure that a lot more will happen between now and the time I do.
Because that’s the way things happen around here.
Posted by jlsumich at February 17, 2007 01:05 PM