Day 26 (My Last Day): Milagros

7:36 pm

I can't believe that I am coming home tomorrow. My time here is up, and tomorrow morning I hop on a plane and come back to my home in the United States. This will be my last entry on this blog, but all good things must come to an end.

Today was a perfect last day; I spent the morning packing and then afterwards I went out to experience the city for one of the last times; just sitting, walking, watching, eating ice cream and memorizing everything. The city is so beautiful and I know that I am going to miss it here very much. But I'll be back someday; I already know it.

Before I finish this blog, I want to mention one other thing about my experience in the campo. On Day 17 (July 7) we went to Maestro León's house for a temascal. A temascal is an indigenous Otomi sweat lodge ritual. They built a half-sphere structure out of rhebar and thin tree branches, with one opening; a small door pointing in the direction of the rising sun.

In the middle of the floor, which is also covered in thin tree branches, there was a brick pit where they put hot stones, fresh from the fire. They pulled a big blue tarp over the top of the temascal hut so the air couldn't escape. Before we went in, they gave us each a length of orange ribbon, to signify the people that we love who couldn't be there with us. It was for all of you. And then eight of us piled into the hut in a circle around the rocks. The leader pours cool herb water over the rocks, creating sweet-smelling hot steam. And we began to sweat. And sweat and sweat and sweat. And talk. There were four "conversations," where we went around the circle and each said something about a particular subject; what God has done for us, what we can do to protect our Earth, and so on. Between each conversation, there was singing. And sweating. I was soaking wet with sweat, but oddly, I didn't mind it. My skin was hot to the touch. I was wearing my pajama shorts, which were the only shorts I had brought with me to Cieneguilla, and they were getting soaked straight through with sweat and getting muddy from the dirt beneath me and green streaked from the tree branches. But I didn't even mind it. After the last song, we were told to exit headfirst, because it was like being born into the world anew. So we exited, one by one. When it was my turn, I pushed out the tiny door that faced the rising sun, dripping with sweat and still clutching my orange ribbon, which was wet by association. Just as the first breath of cool mountain air filled my lungs, a painful, piercing breath, a brightly woven Mexican "recieving" blanket was thrown over my head. I wrapped myself in it and collapsed on the blue tarp outside the hut, alongside the others that had already exited. I disentangled my head from the blanket, and as I was looking up through the tree branches, I realized that it was like being born. It was like seeing the sun for the first time, seeing the sky for the first time, seeing the world for the first time. In ways I don't even know, Mexico has made me a new person.

That place will always be in my heart; the cool early mornings of Cieneguilla; the smell of cooking tortillas; the soft hands and face of little Anita Karen; the beautiful night of the change of the mayordomos, when we walked along behind the saint statues in the dark praying the rosary; the lines across the sky; the sign of the cross with the smoke and the flowers falling all down my face. And San Miguel; the spires of the parroquia; the winding uneven streets; the sky and the air, always the air.

Tonight I went to Mass for the last time at the parroquia. We went to a park on the far side of town, so I came from an unfamiliar direction. There was this postcard I had bought of the parroquia, but I couldn't figure out what angle it was from, because it had a beautiful dome in front of it that I didn't recognize. I was walking toward the church, unsure of where I was and a little worried that I wasn't going to be on time to church. But then, all of a sudden, I took a side road on a whim, and suddenly, I rounded the corner and looked up the street, and I saw... There was the parroquia, a lot closer than I thought it was, from the angle that I hadn't seen before. It was amazing.

When I had been to church on other days, I had seen a statue of Jesus in the church that had pictures and prayer requests and milagros pinned to it. A milagro is a little cheap metal charm that serves as a sort of prayer request in Mexico. People buy one to correspond to their prayer request; an arm for arm problems, a coin for money problems, a cross for faith problems. But the word milagro in Spanish also means miracle. People usually pin a small paper with their prayer request to the milagro, asking for their milagro or giving thanks for their own milagro; their miracle.

Mexico has been my own milagro. I wanted to leave something behind in thanks. The one I brought was a heart. The Heart of Mexico.

After Mass today, I went and pinned it with a little piece of paper to Jesus' long purple robe. I knelt to pray in thanks and when I stood up, a small grey flurry of motion flew into the side of my leg, there in the church. It was a bird; a very small and very scared gray and black pidgeon, partly blown in by the wind and partly chased in by the 5-year-old child who followed soon after. The child picked up the bird and carried it out the side door of the church. I was speechless. I think that God wanted a way to say that he was hearing me. I think that God wanted to comfort me, to let me know that He will be with me, even when I can't be here.

My paper that was pinned together with the Heart of Mexico to Jesus' robe was a message of Thanksgiving for this beautiful place, my beautiful memories, and the almost inaudible heartbeat of the mountains and the valleys and the sky, a heartbeat that will softly thud in my dreams for a long time. And this is what it said:



"HIJA, TU FÉ TE HA CURADO"
(Daughter, your faith has made you whole)

Thank you, Lord, for bringing me back to life.

Thank you, Lord, for Mexico.

The End

Day 25: Guanajuato, Inside and Out (literally)

9:50 pm

This morning we got up at what felt like waaaay to early to go and catch a bus for our day trip to the city of Guanajuato. The six of us piled into a tiny taxi and went to the bus station. Our trip to Guanajuato was terrible; we were stuck in the back, so it was bumpy and smelly (near the bathroom) with no air circulation and I almost yakked several times. By the time we finally got there, we all piled out of the bus, gasping for air. And we were in Guanajuato.

We caught another cab (two cabs for the six of us this time) and went to meet our teachers at the Iconographic Museum of Don Quixote. That's right, Don Quixote de la Mancha. Apparently, back in the days that the mining economy of Guanajuato was in decline, they decided they needed a new gig. So they declared themselves a cultural center of Mexico and took as their literary patron saint the old oddball dreamer that was already very dear to the people of Spain; Don Quixote himself. The museum was a collection of various paintings, etchings, drawings, ceramics, sculptures, murals, and even a deck of playing cards that were all depicting or inspired by Don Quixote. I never knew that there were so many people from so many different eras and parts of the world that were inspired by that story. It also showed me that any single subject can inspire a very wide spectrum of reactions. If you'd like to see some of the works and learn more, their website is located at http://museoiconografico.guanajuato.gob.mx/ .

Then we decided to take the bus up to the mines on the outskirts of Guanajuato, which once kept the town booming and have long since been depleted. We went to a mine called San Ramón, but not after a long bus ride up the side of the mountain with a bus fuller than the UT Forty Acres during a passing period. And they kept letting more people on. And a guy walked through the aisle of the bus, pushing and nudging, to collect fares AFTER the bus was already moving. Let´s just say it´s a way to make new friends fast.

The best part of the mine visit was when we actually went down INTO the mine. We had to climb down a flight of very steep steps with a very low ceiling to get down there, not for the very claustrophobic or tall... ahem.



Later we saw a map of what all the mines under Guanajuato looked like before they were all shut down, and there was layer after layer after layer of tunnels. They must have been at least 2000 feet under the Earth. I can´t imagine being that deep under the Earth; the one we were in was only 25 meters below ground and I already missed the sun.


Also, something else interesting about Guanajuato is that a lot of its major streets are tunnels under the city. So a big part of Guanajuato´s existence is underground. We definitely saw Guanajuato, both inside and out, today.

After the mines we had lunch and then went shopping at the Mercado Hidalgo. I was so happy, because I got the chance to buy souvenirs for my little cousins and everyone; I hadn't found anything good in San Miguel. We also got the chance to explore the town a little bit. It´s a beautiful city. It´s definitely more of a city than San Miguel, which is relatively small. The two towns are very different, but I love them both. They are both so beautiful and there is so much to explore and learn there.


This is Aneesha, Mickey, me, Peggy, Daphne, David, Simone, Laura, and Clea on a typical Guanajuato street. See how vertical the background is? Guanajuato is in a valley, and it seems that they built directly into the sides of the valley. That´s part of the reason they need tunnels to get around.


Hmm... Kinda creepy. This face is about 4 feet tall and sticking out of the side of a building on the street.




This is Laura, one of the high school interns, and me playing around with one of the "musicians" in downtown Guanajuato.

Then, before we went home, we stopped for ice cream at a place called Michoacana. I ordered Choco-Chip ice cream, and, oddly enough, the ice cream part was a medium yellow color. (The chocolate chips were regular.) I think they put a lot of butter in the ice cream, because it tasted different than usual ice cream (And I don´t think I´ve ever seen yellow chocolate chip ice cream before). But it was really really good. They have Michoacana stores in San Miguel; maybe it´s a good thing I only discovered their ice cream this late in my stay, hehe.

I can´t believe how soon I´ll be home. Tomorrow is my last full day here in Mexico. I can´t believe how the time has flown! But I miss you all, and even though I will miss Mexico after I´m gone, I´ll be so glad to be home with all of you.

Day 24: Already Almost Missing Mexico

8:37 pm

I can't believe that I'm coming home on Monday! I only have one weekend left here in beautiful Mexico. Tomorrow we're taking a day trip to Guanajuato, the capitol city of this beautiful state, and it's going to be amazing!

Here is a group picture from our farewell dinner last night...

Today I finished my paper, so my official work here is done. (Yay! hehe) There are still a few pieces that I would like to write, about the campo, but mostly for my own benefit, so they can wait a little while. For now, I am doing my best to soak up what is left of Mexico for me.

Since not much happened today, I'll talk a little more about Cieneguilla.

Wednesday, July 5 and Thursday, July 6, 2006

Days 15 and 16: A Whole New World

Most of Wednesday, my first full day in the campo, was spent watching and learning and trying very hard to not look as awkward as I felt. The highlight of the day was when Erica and Simone stopped by for a visit in the afternoon. After more than 24 hours of straight Spanish and unfamiliar faces, I was so happy to see them that I almost ran to give them hugs. The majority of what I did on Wednesday was watching the amazing art form known to every woman in Cieneguilla and many men too: carrizo reed stripping and basket making.

First, this picture, from Doña Vicki's (Simone and Erica's) yard, shows the carrizo in three forms, so you can get a better idea of what it looks like. Sorry it's not that clear, but the long vertical plants in the background are carrizo growing. They grow about 15 feet long, maybe a little more. The pile in the foreground is harvested but unstripped carrizo, and the long light yellow reeds leaned against the tree on the right are old stripped carrizo, which are also used for firewood and fence building.

First, they strip all the leaves off the outside of the reed. Then they cut the reed straight down the middle to make two U-shaped halves. (This was the fatal step for my poor finger.) Then they decide whether they need wide pieces for the frame of the basket, really thin pieces for the sides of the basket, or medium-sized pieces for decoration. For the wide pieces, they pound the half flat and then strip the top layers of wood off till the carrizo is as thin as a ribbon. For small or medium pieces, they just subdivide the U-shaped half until the pieces are the right width, and then they just shave and shave and shave until it's thin enough to bend. And then they make the basket.

If you have any more questions, ask me later. I took a video, but for some reason I can't figure out how to post videos here.

Thursday I went to Doña Vicki's house again to see Simone and Erica. One of Doña Vicki's daughters, little Vicki, was graduating from "secondary" school, which is the equivalent of middle school. It seems like graduations at any level are very big deals here; I am not sure if it's because most people don't go to high school, or if these fun-loving people just look for any excuse to have a party. We went to the graduation, which had a lot of cool dances from different parts of Mexico in between the calling of names; I think they should do that at US graduations, to break the tedium. Just my opinion. We had a party at Doña Vicki's house later, which was fun. Simone and Erica and I ate jalapeños until we thought we would die and then we made a makeshift band from bottles (for the notes) and bottle caps (for the percussion). All the children were very amused. And then a fly flew into Simone's Corona and swam around without dying for about 20 minutes. Lovely.

Okay, I know I promised to stop talking about the bathrooms here, but I have to at least give you one last parting shot, of the shower at Doña Chabel's house. Keep in mind that this is in the middle of the backyard...

... You figure out how it works. I had to! hehe

I miss you all, but I'll be home soon.

Day 23: Writing Writing Writing Like a Madwoman!

9:39 pm

Hi everyone!

Not a lot happened today; I was mostly writing writing writing like a madwoman all day. I knew that sooner or later I was going to have to do some actual work, and today I guess it snuck up and bit me on the ankle. Luckily I got the bulk of it done; I cranked out 9 1/2 pages of my report, and I'm almost out of material to write about.

One cool thing that happened today was that Cliff, one of our teachers (who lives in San Miguel but doesn't speak Spanish-- does that tell you how many Americans live here?) was trying to talk to a guy about the big conference next week, but the guy barely spoke any English. So... they asked me to be their translator! That was pretty cool; that shows how much better my Spanish is getting.

Then tonight we all got together for one last time, because tomorrow morning Erica is leaving. So all six of us interns (me, Simone, Erica, Clea, Aneesha, and Johanna-- Erendira had to leave last week) and the two new high school interns (Daphne and Laura) and Peggy and Mike and Betsy and Bob and Ata and Cliff and Arturo and his wife and Gino, and Peggy's friend Mickey, all got together to have spaghetti and sopes and wine and we talked and talked and talked.

I know I promised to talk more about the campo tonight, but the problem is that I have no idea where to start. I guess what they say is that when you don't know where to start, just start at the very beginning. So I will.

Tuesday, July 4, 2006

Day 14: A Celebration of Independence

We arrived in Cieneguilla mid-morning and our first stop was the house of Doña Vicki, where Simone and Erica ended up staying. Her kitchen was a lean-to shack made of carrizo reeds; dirt floor, the whole bit. A completely separate building from all the bedrooms. She asked us if we wanted any breakfast, and before even waiting for an answer she started up with heating beans and making tortillas on a huge flat metal circle suspended over an open flame. Then she made a sort of egg and vegetable concoction, which looked really good. It made me wish that I ate eggs. Simone also doesn't eat eggs. When Doña Vicki saw that we were only eating the beans and tortillas, she asked what was wrong. As it turned out, Erica doesn't eat meat, I don't eat eggs, and Simone doesn't eat meat or eggs. So she asked us if we wanted nopales. Nopales. I knew that word. What was it? I realized I recognized it from hours of cutting up Lotería cards for projects. Doña Vicki ducked out the side door of the kitchen shack I started flipping through my mental rolodex of Lotería pictures; half-naked mermaids, tall black boots, soldiers, parrots, drunks, and... I landed on the correct picture just as Doña Vicki burst in the side door with a huge smile on her face and two handfuls of... cactus. Yes, cactus. Nopales were cactus. And we were going to eat them.



I was actually very surprised; I liked the way they tasted after they were cooked and cut, though they were unnecessarily slimy and of a slightly disgusting consistency. When you picked up a spoonful, it left behind a long snot-like string, like glue gun cobwebs. Yum. They were especially good with a little lime and salt.

Then, a little while later, we went to the house of Doña Chabel, the lady that I ended up staying with. We walked up to the top of a hill, the edge of her property, and it was beautiful. From there, we could see all the way across the valley. On the far side of the valley, where Tierra Blanca is, there was a message on the hill: Adorado Sea El Santísimo Sacramento; Ave Maria Purísima; 1958. (Adored Be the Blessed Sacrament; Hail Pure Mary; 1958. VERY Catholic.)
Here is a picture I took of the hill later, from Tierra Blanca.




Then they told us that two of us would stay with Doña Vicki and the third with Doña Chabel. Which meant that one of us would be alone. I was a little apprehensive about that, but since Erica and Simone are working together on their project, I figured it made sense for them to be together. I think they were relieved. I really had a great time, there, though, and I think I learned even more being there by myself. My week there was amazing.

The first night, Pera and Anita Karen and I went to the neighboring community of Tierra Blanca for a fiesta celebrating the feast day of Maria del Refugio. It was chaos; a huge grandstand where a bunch of cute boys were playing a cumbia, a dancing expedition, and a huge speaker system playing Reggaeton were all vying for the title of Loudest. There were carnival rides, peddlars of everything you could think of, and kids EVERYWHERE. I was the only non-Mexican face in the crowd, but by now I had grown almost accustomed to stares. First we went to the church to pray for a short time; the church, like all the churches here, was ancient and beautiful. But partway through our prayer time, a brass band came in the back of the church and started up playing. At first I was annoyed; wasn't there a better place for them to be playing? I knew it was loud outside, but really. Until I remembered that feast days were happy occaisions; a time to celebrate the blessings that the Lord has given us. And I couldn't think of a better place for that band to be playing.

This is a cross I saw at the fiesta; more on the significance of these beautiful symbols later.

Little Anita Karen had such a good time on the carnival rides. We all rode the bumper cars together, too. That was so much fun!

I felt a little sad whenever I thought about the fact that it was Independence Day and nobody here even knew. It was my first Independence Day away from the United States, and it made me a little homesick.

"Today is our Independence Day," I told Pera. "My friends are probably watching a fireworks show right now."

I didn't see any fireworks while we were at the fiesta, though there were lots of naval flares the entire week I was there; it scared the crap out of me the first time I heard it, but by the end of the week I barely even heard it. But then, just as we were walking away from the fiesta, one huge green firework went off right above the church. That made me so happy; it was like a little part of Independence Day found me all the way in the Mexican countryside. A way to celebrate my own independence; being alone in a foreign country, staying at Doña Chabel's house by myself; proving that there are things that I can do all on my own.

Day 22: Compound Sweet Compound

10:30 am

I got back to the land of running water and microwaves yesterday late afternoon. I'm sorry I didn't write anything on the blog yesterday, but by the time I got around to thinking about the computer, I was so tired that I didn't even want to unzip the case.

Anyway, I'm back! And none worse for the wear. Unless you count the scorpion stings that I already told you about, and Sunday night's slight mishap with a carrizo knife. I was stripping carrizo reeds with the ladies, and my knife (which looks like a little 10-inch machete) slipped and gashed my finger open. (Don't read this if you're weak of heart or stomach: I felt the knife hit the bone when I cut myself!) I don't think I need stitches, though, luckily. Band-Aids seem to be doing the trick. And, right after I cut myself, Doña Vicki put a slice of an "aloe cactus" plant on the cut, and the bleeding stopped for the most part. Folk medicine never ceases to amaze me.

I will now reward your patience with a few fun pictures of my stay in Cieneguilla...

This first picture is, I think, my favorite. Yesterday morning, my last morning there, I finally got up the courage to ask Doña Chabel if I could make tortillas with her. So I did, and, as you can see, they came out a little (okay, a lot) less than perfect. But, even better, I asked her to take a picture of me with my bad tortillas, but she had never taken a picture before in her life! And, as you can see, her first picture also came out a little less than perfect... But I love this picture because it's a picture of firsts and cross-cultural experiences.

Our first morning in Cieneguilla, at Doña Vicki's house. From the left, Betsy and Yolanda (who dropped us off), Simone, me, Erica, and Doña Vicki.

This is a picture of Simone, Auralia (one of the girls at Doña Vicki's house), Erica, and me in the "garden" (public square) in Cieneguilla.

This is Doña Chabel, stripping carrizo, so you can get a better idea of what it looks like.

This is me with my little Anita Karen. She is SO CUTE!!!

My host family: from the left, Doña Chabel, Don Primi, me, neighbor Ipolita, Esperanza and Ana Karen, and Doña Chabel's sister, who lives next door. I don't think she ever told me her name, they all just call her "sister."

This is Ana Karen with her grandmother, my host mother, Doña Chabel. She calls her "Ma Chabel," which I think is hilarious. Isn't this a sweet picture?

Anyway, that's it for now. Definitely more to come! Have a great day!

Day 19: News from the Middle of Nowhere

6:36 pm

Hello, everyone! Didn´t expect to hear from me so soon, hmm? Let me tell you, the very last thing that I ever expected to find here in Cieneguilla, Guanajuato, México, was... an INTERNET CAFÉ. If you can call this that. A few really old computers in a cement and cinderblock room with bars on the glassless windows. And mariachi music blaring in huge speakers at the door. Ah, México. Anyway, of course I had to find this "internet café" when it´s almost time for me to head back to civilization, hehe.

Anyway, I´ll just give a quick lowdown on my life here; I´ve been staying at the house of a very sweet old lady named Doña Chabel (which is short for Isabel). She lives with her husband, Don Primi (which is short for PRIMITIVO. What an odd name, right?) and two of her six children. The two children are 32-year-old Esperanza (whom they call Pera) and 26-year-old Maria de Lurdes (whom they call Lulu). I´m staying in Lulu´s room, and I really like her. She has a lot of patience with my Spanish and she is a very good listener. Also living there is Pera´s 3-year-old daughter, Ana Karen, who is absolutely adorable. She really likes me, too, though it didn´t seem that way at first. On the first day that I arrived, she made a point of ignoring me the entire afternoon, but the funny thing was that she made a point of ignoring me in whatever room I happened to be in. So she was following me around and ignoring me at the same time. I gave her the puzzle of the macaw, which she seemed uninterested in until she suddenly came and asked me to teach her how to play, and I think we´ve done it about 20 times since then. I am teaching her English and she is teaching me Spanish. It all works out.

I really like this town of Cieneguilla. It´s not quite as primitive as I thought it was going to be, though it´s still a long way from anything I´m used to. When I told Doña Chabel that I was going to use the Internet, I had to spend about 10 minutes explaining what the Internet was. I´ll spare you yet another description of the weird bathroom. Also, my Spanish is enough to get me by, though it´s not always enough to say what I want to. But the important thing is that I´m learning. I´m learning a lot about life here.

There are so few foreign visitors to this town that everyone in the town can still count them and name them all, or at least where they were from and what they were doing here. I´ve heard all about the Japanese lady who loved cats, the American teacher who meant to stay a week and left after one day, and the other two Global Justice interns that came to Cieneguilla last year. There are three of us this year. Simone and Erica live "across town" (well, as far across as can be) with a lady named Doña Vicki. I kind of like being at Doña Chabel's house by myself, though. And it seems that the family enjoys the sort of cosmopolitan status that they get by hosting me. However, at the same time, they seem slightly uncomfortable with me. Maybe uncomfortable isn´t quite the right word. They are at the very least amused by my tallness (Doña Chabel comes up to my shoulder and I nearly decapitate myself with the clothesline outside my door every morning), my blondeness, my güera-ness (lots and lots of stares), my awkwardness (they constantly insist on serving me, which I hate), my clumsiness (the one time they let me do the dishes, I broke a cup), my weird accent (I have to say most things two times), my impronouncable name (which has now deteriorated into various forms of "Yazzi," "Yassat," and, get this, "Zsa Zsa"), my stories about America (which they call "the Other Side"), my contact lenses, my chancla flip-flops, and my weird habits (I think this is part of the reason that little Anita Karen likes me so much; I´m like a big blonde slapstick clown).

I have had so many adventures so far, but since I´m paying for this Internet by the hour, I´ll have to fill you in on everything and all the details after I get back to San Miguel de Allende. I´ll give the highlights, though, for all of you inquiring minds...

One of the funniest stories (well, it´s funny now, but it wasn´t then) is the story where something got into my pants... (Don´t worry, Mom, hehe)

My second morning here, I think, I woke up and put on my jeans. It had rained the night before, and so a lot of the little critters from outside decided that they were going to move into the cinderblock house with us. On this particular rainy morning, a shiny little scorpion had set up shop in my pant leg. And this particular shiny little scorpion was very unhappy when my leg suddenly invaded his new home. So he stung me once, very hard. I saw pure white for a split second as pain shot up and down my leg and I yelled something, though I can´t remember if it was in English or Spanish or that odd half-language of pure emotion that everyone in the world understands. Anyway, Lulu was at my side in half a second flat, and I was ripping off my pants as he stung me again. By the time Lulu and I had disentangled my leg from my pants, he had stung me again. So I had one big sting and two small stings. The scorpion was dully smashed for his sins, and meanwhile I was sure that I was going to die of scorpion poisoning out here in the Mexican countryside. Luckily, it seems, God was taking care of me, because the type of scorpion that stung me is the kind that hurt but don´t kill. There are others that a sting will close your throat in minutes. Doña Chabel gave me a close Hispanic cousin of Vick´s Vapor Rub to put on the stings (?) and yes, it hurt, but I didn´t die. Throughout the day, as the poison made it´s way through my bloodstream, I would get hot flashes in random places on my arms or belly that would sting and then itch really bad. But, again, the important thing is that I didn´t die.

I have really been enjoying the local culture here in Cieneguilla. It just makes it that much more special to know that there aren´t very many outsiders who get to experience these things. There will definitely be more details about this later, but so far I´ve seen a middle school graduation and a kindergarten graduation, hours and hours of carrizo reed stripping and basket making, and lots of tortilla making (since you told me to watch, Ro, hehe). Also, we have made friends with the local know-it-all, a Maestro León, who is kind of like the local shaman, since things like shamans don´t exist here anymore. He knows everything, people say, because he asks lots of questions and he listens very closely. Maybe we should all try being more like him. He knows a lot about the dying Otomi culture in this area, that most people don´t remember a lot about. We went to a temascal (an Otomi sweat lodge ritual) at his house (definitely more about that later) and he took the three of us all around the valley, telling us about local communities and religious rites. The most interesting thing, in my opinion, is the religious life of this community. Yes, they are Catholic, but their particular brand of Catholicism is highly adapted to their environment and to the Otomi beliefs of their ancestors. God is everywhere here, not just in church, and there is an odd and very rigid system of how the Jesus and saint statues in the church are cared for. The statues take field trips through the valley occaisionally (kind of like the whole Penguino thing, if you think about it) and I was lucky enough to be here on the night of one of the field trips, which was last night. The system of how they are cared for, which is called¨"majordomía," as in "majordomo," decides who their chaperones will be on these field trips.

(Sorry, here´s a sidenote: a goat just wandered in and out the front door of this internet café. I love this place.)

I´ll definitely talk more about the religious life of this area later. There is still so much to do and to experience, and I only have a day and a half left! But I´d better go now, my time is running out. I´ll talk to you guys on Tuesday!

Lots and lots of love from "The Other Other Side!"

Day 13: What's Up, Doc? (See you in a week!)

6:30 pm

Today, our last day in San Miguel for a week, we took a field trip... to a CARROT farm! Okay, I know that sounds kind of silly, but it was actually pretty amazing. I never really thought about what a carrot plant looks like above ground, or what happens to it between the ground and the supermarket, but today I found out. We loaded on a school bus with a few of the eccentric older ex-pats who frequent the Center for Global Justice and headed for San Juan de la Vega, a little town to the South of San Miguel that has been there since the 1500s. The ex-pats were fun, though a little clueless; none of them could figure out how to let down the windows of the school bus, and few of them spoke enough Spanish to be taken seriously.

Also on the trip was Gino, Arturo's preteen son. He spent a leg of the bus ride trying to figure out which indegenous tribe each of us is from, which he deduced through some odd reasoning that only he understood. He asked us where each of us were from and used only that information. I guess in some places, it does work to ask where you live and then be able to deduce what you are. But he was having a hard time deducing what kind of indigenous Texan I was. Finally he told me that I looked like an Olmeca, if I didn't have blonde hair. I don't think anyone has ever told me that. I guess that's what happens when your mom is an indigenous Hondureña and your dad is a migration expert. I guess kids will be kids.

Our first stop was at the actual carrot farm, where they were harvesting the carrots. Take a look at this picture before I explain.

First, the guy with the pitchfork loosens up the earth. (Here he is shown just standing around, which they actually don't do that much.) Then other guys come in behind him and yank up the carrots by the plant. See, behind them? That's what carrot plants look like. Fascinating, right? Then, in a fraction of a second, the guy with the handful of carrot plant breaks off the stalks and separates the vegetables into big burlap sacks. Simultaneously, he throws any bad carrots out on the harvested land along with the plant part, which then serves as a kind of compost. Then they load the full bags onto a truck that takes them to be washed. They move so fast; it's amazing. I even got the chance to do it; check it out!

(hehe, At least I'm not in front of a bell tower!)

It was amazing; I peeled one of the carrots with a key and ate it right there! (Don't worry; they told us they hadn't used pesticides in over 6 months, and as long as we didn't eat any peel we were fine. I'm being careful, Mom.) It was the sweetest, juiciest carrot I have ever tasted; it was almost like a fruit. And it was straight out of the Earth.

Then our next stop was at a school, where these two boys gave a presentation on a water filtration system they invented to reuse the water that cleans the carrots up to four times. This would solve a lot of the town's water problems, if they could implement this. The boys won an award in Mexico for this, and are going to Spain this summer to present to some global organization that may also award them something.

Our last stop was at an actual carrot washing operation, where the work almost came to a screeching halt when all of the workers (mostly guys in their mid-20s, it seemed) saw the seven of us young female interns coming (along with all the ex-pats). They were amazed that we spoke Spanish, too, but soon they were rushed back to work so we could see how it all goes.

They dump the bags of carrots straight off the truck into a washer, which rolls them around in the water till all the mud comes off. (This is the step where the boy's invention will help save water.) Then the carrots come out of the washer along a conveyor belt in spurts, where the men stand and separate them by size. As the carrots roll past, the first guy grabs the big ones and bags them, the next guys grab medium-sized carrots and bag them, and so on. Some of these carrots are sold in Mexico, and some are sold in the USA.

As we were leaving, one of the young guys handed me a really big carrot and said something in Spanish along the lines of, "Here, Blondie, something to remember me by." Though I don't think he meant it quite as... um... suggestively as it came off. That warranted lots of giggles from the other interns. He was pretty cute.

My little friends in the alley are multiplying exponentially-- today I met five more little boys and another little girl (who, amazingly enough, all already knew my name) and a three-inch turtle (who may or may not have known my name; I didn't ask him. His name was Francisco, in case you were wondering).

And... tomorrow morning I go to Cieneguilla for a week! I'll be away from the phone and the computer and the running water until next Tuesday, so I won't be writing on this blog or emailing you guys till then! Try not to miss me too much! hehe I know I'll miss you. I'll be thinking of you.

Have an amazing week! I can't wait to hear about it when I get back to civilization! hehe

I love you all

Day 12: A Double Dose of Dios

11:10 pm

Happy Mexican Election Day, everyone! Happy Sunday!

This morning I went with Yolanda, one of my supervisors, to her church, Cristo Roca Eterna (Christ the Eternal Rock). It was a Protestant church, but it was still cool. It felt kind of like the churches of my childhood. After the service, we ate a big lunch that they had cooked; it was really really good and everyone was really friendly. Then I went back to the big parroquia church for Mass tonight, so I got my double dose of church for the day.

Today was Simone's birthday, so we went out to dinner at this cute little restaurant called Las Posaditas. It had a roof patio, so we went out there to sit, but then it looked like it was about to start pouring and it got really windy, so we went inside. It was a cute restaurant, but our waiter seemed more than a little flustered and frustrated. Here is a picture of the view from the patio... Isn't it gorgeous?

And here is a cute picture that Clea took of us at the Bagel Cafe the other day; from the left: Aneesha, Erica, Simone, and me.

In the Jardin, in front of the parroquia this evening there were a lot of kids with cheap foil and mylar versions of those Foxtail toys that used to be really popular. There are wandering peddlars that sell them in the public square. Just as the sun was setting, the children would wind up their arms and fling the ball end as high into the sky as it would go; which was pretty high, considering the size of some of those kids. The mylar caught the setting sun and sent spikes of white hot light into the eyes of the mystified children before gravity won (Gravity always wins.) and brought the ball back to the ground with a high bounce, the long, shiny tail streaming behind. There were so many of these toys, so many flying points of light, so many children staring into the sky. It was beautiful.

Thanks to everyone who has been writing me! Tomorrow is my last day in civilization for a week, so write me!

Here is a fun parting shot; a picture of all the interns. From the left: Erica, Aneesha, Erendira, Johanna, Clea, Me, and Simone.

I miss you all! Have a great day! Lots of love!

Day 11: Clean Clothes and Echoes... And Yet Another Picture of Me in Front of a Bell Tower

8:30 pm

Happy July, everyone!

Today was kind of a day off-- this morning I woke up a little later than usual and washed all my clothes by hand and hung them up on the line! I know that probably doesn't sound very exciting, but it was at least out of the ordinary and actually kind of fun. Again, something straight out of Hemingway. Do you like my "apron?" hehe (It's just a towel clothespinned around my waist.)


I know you guys are probably getting tired of seeing pictures of me in front of bell towers, but I like them because they are just so unusual and so typical of this area of Mexico. This picture is from this afternoon, when we went to visit "Bellas Artes," an art school in San Miguel de Allende. The art school itself was closed because of the weekend, but it was still a beautiful building and so we walked around for a while. There was one entire room-- a huge stone room-- that was painted in geometric designs and patterns. The room was so big and empty besides the pictures that it echoed whenever we spoke or moved.

This afternoon was more down time. I found this book called Sabine's Notebook in our apartment, and I read it today. (Have you ever heard of Griffin and Sabine?) It was one of those grown-up pop-up books, with postcards and letters on the inside that had to actually be opened and taken out to be read... Do you know what I mean? I think there is a famous children's book that is like that. I really enjoyed the quirkiness of that book-- I think it may be one of my new favorites. Here is a really cute and really famous picture from it's prequel, Griffin and Sabine. Abbie, I think you especially will enjoy this picture.

After I read that book, I was inspired to begin work on my own scrapbook of my month in San Miguel de Allende. It´s coming along great!

I saw my four little friends again today; they stood at the gate to my apartment complex yelling, "YESAAAAAA!!!" at the tops of their little lungs, so I went outside to talk to them for a little while. There was a birthday party for one of the babies on the street today, so they came by to tell me that they couldn't play today. They are so adorable!

By the way, the movie Nicotina was really, really weird. I kind of liked it, just because I like weird movies, but it's definitely not for the faint of heart or stomach. We forgot to get a copy with subtitles, though, so we all were helping each other understand and we were all learning Spanish as we watched. Diego Luna was, of course, adorable, though he was a little bit creepy and scary in this particular movie... Tonight we are all getting together to have a "guacamole night" over at the apartment. It should be fun.

God bless you, everyone! Take a look at this picture...

With love from "Esprite Sin Hielo!" jejeje

Day 10: Talking to Strangers

7:30 pm

This morning I went out into the town to see if I could find some kids to talk to. The thing is, none of them would talk to me. That actually makes me very happy. I was very worried about them being out there by themselves, and, I mean, I know that I'm not some sort of psycho, but they don't know that. So I would probably be very worried if they all agreed to talk to me. I talked to three kids, and they all told me their names and their ages and what they were selling and that was it. I guess the majority of my field research will have to wait until I get out in the countryside and I'm properly introduced. That's fine. I'm just glad that those beautiful kids know not to talk to strangers.

I'm having a hard time putting my finger on the rules of ettiquite in this town. The one thing I do have mastered, though, is passing people on the sidewalk. The sidewalks here are extremely narrow; really only wide enough for one person across. In America, foot traffic mostly follows the same pattern as car traffic; everyone stays to the right. But here in San Miguel, they don't base their patterns of motion on left or right, they base it on who is closer to the street. Whoever is closer to the street usually has to step all the way off into the street to let the other pass. The men, especially polite old men, cut to the street side and step off while wishing you good afternoon. With women it's a little trickier. I try to step into the street whenever possible, especially if the lady has kids with her. But sometimes people act shocked when I do that, mostly because it seems that the Americans in this town bash around without a lot of thought to who has to step in the street for them. It seems like a gesture of great respect to step into the street for someone, and I don't think that people expect that much respect from someone as obviously American as me.

Erendira and Johanna, our two Hispanics, and Aneesha, who is Indian, but also darker skinned, with dark hair, have mentioned that they get a lot of looks at their feet, because they wear flip-flops and sandals most of the time, which is a very American thing. People can tell that they're American by their feet. But me? Nobody ever looks at my feet. Even if I wore the most Mexican shoes in existence, I wouldn't blend in. But that's fine. It's kind of odd, getting all those stares and catcalls, though... Something that never happens in the States. The other day, a woman passed me on the sidewalk with a little boy of about 5 years in tow. When they passed me, the boy turned as they walked and kept staring at me long after they passed, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes wide, as the woman kept pulling on his hand. "Stop staring!" she chided him in Spanish. "But, Mama, she's beautiful," he said. How's that for a self-esteem boost? hehe

Then, this afternoon, just as I was about to give up on finding any kids to talk to in the city, on my way up the block to my new apartment I was all but accosted by a few neighbor kids that I always see playing in the alley. I always say hi, but today they finally got over their shyness and asked to play and speak English with me. As it turns out, 9-year-old Fer and her 2-year-old brother Alejandro have a father that just returned from the United States and 7-year-old Pablo and his 4-year-old sister Sofia have a father and 2 uncles who live in the States now and paint houses. Rodolfo and Kris, I gave them a packet of those M&Ms you gave me and some of the Symphony bar. Instant friends. We spent the whole afternoon together, drawing pictures, teaching each other words, and talking about our families. It was amazing. The thing is, though, these kids don't know not to talk to strangers... or, better yet, to take candy from them. At least they were closer to home, though. And they were amazing kids.

Tonight I trekked all the way across town with Aneesha, Erendira, Clea, Erica, and Simone to the only Blockbuster in town and rented Nicotina. None of us know what it's about, but it has that adorable guy from Havana Nights and Y Tu Mamá También, so it can't be all that bad. At least that was our reasoning. I'll let you know how it turns out. Have a good Friday night, everyone! Peace be with you!

Day 9: Becoming a Bag Lady

"La mayoria prefiere tener la razon que ser feliz."

("The majority of people prefer being right over being happy.")

-Wall art at Ten-Ten-Pie

9:00 pm

I met an ex-guerilla this morning. An ex-guerilla who happens to be a woman. Julie DuRand is married to Cliff, the slightly eccentric overseer of the Center for Global Justice. She was born in Guatemala to a privileged family, and she would always see the poor and notice the class conflicts and the violence, and when she was 13 years old she left home, she said, because she couldn't stop asking "¿Porqué?" --"Why?" She was a very interesting lady. She told us a lot of things to make us think. The amazing thing was that I understood every word, even though she spoke in a very poetic form of Spanish. The things that she told us made a lot of sense, especially in the scope of the things that I saw in the campo. I tell you, I can't wait to get out there. I love San Miguel, it's an amazing town, but I have the feeling that my stay in the campo is going to be more than amazing. It's going to be life-altering.

Julie told talked about seeing life as a bag that should be filled with experiences, and she said that by the time you die, your bag should be so heavy that you won't be able to carry it anymore. She kept mentioning her various "lives;" which was a way of talking about all her different experiences in different places. She also said that it was important to not feel bad for the poor people we see; because although they are poor, it is a poverty of economics, not a poverty of the heart or the soul or the spirit. Meanwhile, people who rush around all day for no particular reason and don't get a chance to enjoy the world around them are the ones who deserve our pity. "Just be happy today," she said. "Not tomorrow, not the day after, but today. Not for me, not for anyone else, but for yourself. Just be happy." I thought it was the best advice I had heard in a long time.

Tonight we went to a fun restaurant called Ten-Ten-Pie. I had sopes de pollo, which were like little fat tortillas that were formed like plates, and there were beans and avocado and tomato and cheese and chicken in the little fat-tortilla-plate. The guacamole was great, too, and everyone was raving about how great their respective dishes were. And, let me tell you, it's very hard to please all of us at once, because we have a few vegetarians, a few tightwads, and a few just really really picky eaters. But the food was amazing and really reasonably priced, unlike most of the restaurants around here that take advantage of the citizens of "Little America." The odd thing was, though, the restaurant doubled as a kind of art gallery, so as soon as we could get over the naked women staring at us from the walls, we were fine. We had fun, too, laughing and gossiping about our various professors that seem to have a lot of tension between them for some reason. (Did that sentence make sense? I am still having a hard time with English. Also, today I couldn't for the life of me remember if I was 19 or 20 years old. I had to really think about it. I must be getting too much sun.)

Tonight, as we were walking home, an adorable little boy with black eyes and chubby little hands came up to us to beg for money. I think I may go back there tomorrow to talk to him and see where his parents are and see if he might have some insight for my research. He was so sad and so beautiful.

Those hummingbirds keep coming back in droves. I got a pretty good picture today, but it's not great. I'm going to get at least one great one before I leave. It's funny, I sit out here in the courtyard with my readings, and every time the hummingbirds come back, I quietly sit and try to take good pictures of them. They are so cute! So, here is the good picture...

I miss you all, but I am falling more in love with Mexico every day. I already feel that by the time I leave here, my "bag" that Julie was talking about is already going to be very, very heavy.

Day 8: On the Move (Just Up the Street)

"El mundo puede cambiar; sólo hay que intentarlo. No hay que odiar, hay que amar. No hay que odiar, hay que amar. Hay que intentar, hay que intentar. No hay que perder la fé. Dame fé, dame alas, dame fuerza para sobrevivir en este mundo."

("The world could change; we just have to try. There's no reason to hate, we must love. There's no reason to hate, we must love. We have to try, we have to try. There's no reason to lose faith. Give me faith, give me wings, give me strength to survive in this world.")

-"Fé," by Maná

8:30 pm

This afternoon, we went into town to just explore a little bit. We found a fun little city garden with lots of kids playing and I found a knockoff version of the pineapple soda that I love. We went to a bagel joint and I ordered a fajita; go figure. It was a great fajita, though. Also, I wrote postcards and sent them today; did you know it costs 10.50 pesos to mail a postcard to the US?! That's almost a full American dollar! All I've got to say is that my little cousins better appreciate those silly postcards! And it seems as though the Mexican postal service tries to make up for the fact that the stamp costs so much by making it a really, really big stamp. I was covering up parts of the names and addresses on some cards, until the lady finally stopped staring (and probably laughing inside) and told me that the stamp could be folded over the edge if need be. Gee, thanks.

The other news from today is that the Pepto-Bismol pink upper room is no longer mine! I'm moving up in the world, or actually just moving down... the street. There are two high school girls (Crazy Jane's granddaughter and a friend) coming to work at the Center for Global Justice, and though my new room is slightly more accommodating for two people, it is also slightly less supervised, which has Jane worried. So. The two girls get jammed into that fun, though cramped, third floor room, and I get this fun subroom of the coveted "apartment" where our supervisor, Peggy, and her husband stayed previously. They moved across the complex. My new room is great! It has huge windows on every wall; one is a huge circle that takes up an entire wall. I have another (just one) patio in front of my door, and the apartment complex is so exotic and pretty! Lots of plants and wrought iron stairs. It's also safe; it has a huge locking door to even get into the complex. But now I have a lot of keys to keep track of. I now live on the Segunda Privada de las Animas, the second private drive of Animas (Persons, but not People) street, about a block behind the Center. Here is a picture of my new room; it doesn't show very much because my new window room is huge compared to the old pink one! hehe


Also, I have to apologize because I know it's incredibly unladylike to keep talking about how weird the bathrooms are, but bear with me a second here. Did I mention that the shower at the Center was a huge square tub with no shower curtain? And I know I included a picture of the painted ceramic toilet and sink in the downstairs bathroom. But my new bathroom; this is a new thing altogether... The bathroom is like one big room, with not even a lip in the floor to keep the shower water in one area. Don't worry, I won't include any more pictures of the bathroom, though I might have to at least mention the baños secos after I get back from the campo.

Not much news. Reading, exploring, enjoying... same old, same old, if that's proper to say, even though I've only been here about a week. Thanks to everyone who has emailed me; I really appreciate it! I miss you guys; take care of yourselves in my absence!

Day 7: Missions and Magicians, on Mexican Time

8:30 pm

This morning I woke up at 6:30 am to be ready to leave for the campo by 7 o'clock as Atagualpa and Yolanda, two of our supervisors, told us. We should have known better; "Aquí es México," so they say. Which means that things here run on "Mexican time." Which mostly means, be ready about 30 minutes after scheduled; if not later.

The rural village of Cruz del Palmar is only about 20 miles away from San Miguel de Allende, but it takes more than an hour to get there by way of winding dirt roads. Once we got there, Atagualpa got out of the van to go looking for Doña Vicenta, a woman who was going to "show us around." He walked a little ways up the hill and then disappeared. About 20 minutes later, he came walking up the hill on the other side (?) with a very small old woman. Doña Vicenta welcomed us with open arms and was very excited to see us, even though she didn't speak a word of English (neither did any of the other campesinos that we met) and she couldn't really pronounce any of our names except for Erendira's. (My name has now evolved into something close to "Iyahsha.") Three of the group are going to be staying in Cruz del Palmar next week, and she even seemed a little disappointed that all seven of us weren't staying. She took us around and introduced us to the three families that will be hosting Aneesha, Johanna, and Clea. After that, she said that she was going to "show us around a little." What followed was an amazing 5-hour live exposé of what life is like in the campo. I have no idea how far we actually walked, but we left the community far behind and hiked up the dried river bed of the Río Laja, passing people going about their daily business. I swear, it was like they were all on cue, in place for our tour of the countryside.

Our first stop was at one spot where there still was a little water left in a large puddle. The people of the community have noticed "tierra negra" ("black earth") in their already-questionable water pipes lately. It seems to be some sort of pollution, making their water unsafer than usual. Atagualpa, who is a little crazy, developed two theories: one, that the Cruzdelpalmareños are sitting on top of an oil reserve and are going to either be very rich or severely exploited soon, or, two, that the government is hiding something, which seems to be a classic Ata theory. The people down at the river were cleaning the community water pipes with long pieces of rhebar, like so.



Farther up the riverbed, we saw an extraction project, which is how this community makes all of its money. They separate the riverbed sand from the rocks by hand, with hand shovels and huge sieves, and then sell them separately to rich gringo construction projects in San Miguel. It seems like very hard work, and very rough on the environment. But then, farther upstream, we saw how they build a mini-dam and then let the river heal itself by backing up at the dam and filling in the holes with new sand that it carries from upriver. The riverbed was dry now, but in the rainy season, it flash floods, and Doña Vicenta told us that you can hear the river roaring as it "wakes up again." We also saw a man and his wife chopping wood in the middle of the riverbed, and acres and acres of sorgham plants (now is sorgham season) that varied in size and health depending on the owner's knowledge of irrigation techniques, and a man digging a deeper layer in a well. They dig up the mud and then let the dirt part settle, so there's water on top a little while later.



"How are you going to get out of there?" someone asked him in Spanish.

"With my wings, of course," he answered. A magician never reveals his secrets.

And then we went off on a hike all through the countryside, seeing the way that the people have learned over millenia to harness the power of the river, to redirect it, to use it to grow. Doña Vicenta showed us her little plot of land, that she was very proud of. Here you can see some of the people in our group, Johanna, Simone, Clea and Ata, in front of a sorgham field. Well, you can really only see Simone and Ata, but you get the idea. See how beautiful and green it is?



But then, not too far from Doña Vicenta's land, we saw a little white building up on the hillside. Cruz del Palmar is along the Ruta de las Capillas, or Chapel Route, in Guanajuato, so there are a lot of tiny chapels, built in mission times, that have mostly fallen into disrepair, into neglect, into the deepest parts of the people's minds, barely remembered. This was one such chapel. We were going to walk right past it, but I asked if we could go see it. Doña Vicenta shrugged and said, "Sure," and led the way up the hillside. Did I mention that for such a small, old lady, she could really book it? The rest of us were struggling to keep up with her. I asked what the chapel was called, and she had to dig very deep in her memory before she said, "Capilla Blanca." The White Church. It hadn't been touched; probably hadn't even been thought about, in years. It and the smaller surrounding shrines were dark, crumbling, long emptied by robbers. ("I remember that there used to be angels in here when I was a little girl," Doña Vicenta said.) There was nothing to particularly note it as a house of God except for a white cross scratched into the far wall, above the disintegrating altar. It was amazing. Even though there was nothing left but crumbling walls, I could tell that this place was once important. I could tell that God was still here. In the silence, the stillness, the whispering of the breeze through the doorway in the half-dark and the crumbling angel faces in the ceiling, somehow God was there.



(Here is a picture of me in front of the Capilla Blanca.)

Before we left, Ata had asked Doña Vicenta if we could be back to town by 2 pm so we could get back to San Miguel. "Well, I don't have a watch," she had said, "And it seems to me that keeping track of time is a waste of it. But I´ll do what I can." So, at about 10 till 2, I was thinking that maybe having a watch wasn't such a bad idea. We had been walking for hours; we must have been miles away from the village by now. But then, all of a sudden, she cut a straight perpendicular line to our path and headed directly up the side of the mountain. We followed obediently, panting the whole way. When we came down on the other side, there was the village. Amazing. I looked at my watch as we were walking into town; 1:59 pm. A magician never reveals her secrets. (And so much for "Mexican Time" Theory. I guess now we know the secret; take away their watches! hehe)

Then we left for home. I can't wait to go live in the countryside; I'll be living next week in a village called Cienegilla. Here is a picture of a few of my new friends, on our way home: (from the left) Simone, Aneesha, Erendira, and Erica.


Today was an amazing day. It's the strangest thing. "You can be anyone you want to be in Mexico," Peggy, our other supervisor said today. Anything can happen here. It's a whole other world. The air is all at once hot from the sun and cool from the wind. The sky is all at once the highest and biggest I've ever seen it, and still so close that if I could jump a little higher I might be able to bring a handful home in my pocket to all of you. My heart is all at once longing to be home with all of you, and longing to never have to leave this place. There is an otherworldly beauty here; something that I can feel, though I can't quite understand. It's something that wakes me up inside; something that makes me feel much more alive than I have felt in a very long time.

Day 6: All Quiet on the Western Front... (...Except for that Enthusiastic Corn Vendor)

9:55 pm

Today was just one of those slow and amazing days. I actually did some work today (Yes, Mom, I AM here for a reason, hehe). I went to the FAI (Save the Children Mexico) office and talked to a really nice guy there. My Spanish is already getting so much better. I think I understood about 98% of what he said to me. Unfortunately, though, my English is deteriorating rapidly. I'm finding it very difficult to construct complex sentences, and my copy-editor eye is just sailing over all my spelling mistakes. Today I honestly couldn't remember if the word "passion" was supposed to have two s's or not.

As far as the interview, it was very interesting. He gave me a lot of stuff to read. I can already tell that my work here is going to be fascinating, but heartbreaking. My specific project is researching the effects of immigration on the children that are left behind by migrant fathers and brothers. I will also concentrate on the changes in family dynamics, about what life in the campo is like for the geographic-bachelorettes. (Is that a word? I know they always talk about geo-bachelors.) I guess I should say the geographic single mothers, since that's what they are, anyway. Like I said, it's going to be fascinating, but heartbreaking work. I spent the entire afternoon just reading the studies the FAI guy gave me, but it almost wasn't even like work because it was so fascinating and I was out here on the back patio all afternoon; just enjoying the garden and the hummingbirds and the fresh mountain air. A guy passed by a little while ago, selling corn, and he was advertising his goods by yelling at the top of his lungs something like "eh-LO-teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh." The thing is, he yelled it about 30 times in a row and we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. The word he was saying was Helotes, so I thought of home and smiled. I miss you all-- keep writing! Tomorrow we are taking a day trip to the campo just to scope things out. I hope you have a beautiful day!

Day 5: PAN? What about pan de vida?

10:10 pm

So... is your home parish as huge and beautiful and historic and featured on as many postcards as this church, the amazing Baroque parroquia that I attended today?

Ever since I got here; actually, ever since I first saw pictures of San Miguel de Allende and saw this church in all those photos, I wanted to come to Mass here. And today I did; my first Spanish Mass in a long while, and, I think, my third in history. Rodi and Kris, you'll be happy to hear that the "Mi Primera Comunión" book that you gave me as a joke came in very handy. And, those of you who have heard anything at all about my "new friends" will be surprised to hear that three of them: Simone, Erica, and Aneesha, came with me to Mass... I think, as a way to "experience the local culture" or some such nonsense, but, hey, at least we got them in the door, right?

On the way to Mass, we had to wade straight through a political rally that was all but picketing across the front door of the church, completely by coincidence. The "public garden," or town square, of San Miguel just happens to be right in front of the parroquia. And the political rally, for the PAN (Party of National Action) party, just happened to be in the town square. Just as Mass happened to be happening. So. We could hear shouts and yells and crowd-pleasing Reggaeton hits through the walls of the church as Mass was going on. The amazing thing, though, was that during certain times in the Mass, like when we were all singing the Alleluia (which, amazingly enough, has the same words in English and Spanish, hehe), we completely drowned out the rabid crowd outside. Our voices echoed up and into the high vaulted ceilings and through the centuries-old rafters. It was amazing. Also, I took the Eucharist straight to the mouth for the first time today; a little odd to have someone stick their finger in your mouth, though, strangely enough, not that gross. I did it to avoid culture shock confusion on the part of the priest. Also, the little altar boy had a long brass paddle to use as a sort of fancy crumb-catching bib, following the priest's hands in case he happened to drop anything. That was kind of funny.

This morning we went to check out the Artisan's market, but I went with Aneesha and Clea, and the prices seemed a little inflated to us. We figured we must be facing the notorious gringo tax that Jane had warned us about. We plan to go back another day with Erendira and Johanna, our Hispanic secret weapons, and see if the artesanos can't cut us a better deal. The PAN Party's party has been raging all day long in the public square; this morning we saw some amazing indigenous dances where the men were wearing less than the women. The drums were so loud that they made my whole body buzz. I also finally found the only bottle of Piña Jarritos in this entire town. I thought for sure that they would be everywhere, but apparently this Mexican soda is more popular in Texas than in it's own motherland. Or else it's just so popular that shopkeepers can't keep it in the shop. Tonight we went to a little cafe with a big balcony overlooking the public square, just as the sun was setting. Wow.

(Sorry, Mom, I'm really tired, so the jet-lag style of writing is coming back, I know.) Just wanted to let you guys know what I'm up to and how much I miss all of you. Have a blessed day and think of me-- you know I'm thinking of all of you.

Day 4 (Evening): TODAY: On Sale Here

9:05 pm

This morning, on the way to the botanical gardens, I saw a sign outside a store that said "se vende HOY aquí." ("TODAY: on sale here") Now, those of you who are familiar with Spanish language periodicals would recognize the title Hoy right away and keep right on moving. But, for me, maybe it was the way that the light-paved Calzada de la Luz was making the buildings glow, the odd hot-cold mountain air, or the fact that I was just so happy to be here, but when I saw the sign, I thought to myself, TODAY: on sale here, and I started humming "Who Will Buy This Beautiful Morning?" ("Oh, my, I don't want to lose it, so what am I to do to keep the sky so blue? There must be someone who will buy...")

In case you can't tell, I find this town perfectly suited to my dramatic, romantic, dreamer side.

The botanical gardens, though not quite what I expected, were beautiful in their own desert arroyo kind of way. To me, when I think of botanical gardens, I think of bright colors and exotic flowers, probably an assumption based on past trips to Hawaii. So, I was a little taken aback at first to realize that this particular botanical garden was the home to over a thousand varieties of cactus... and little else. But soon I realized that even the cactus could be beautiful. I never knew that there were so many kinds. There was also a canyon and a floodplain that had chest-high plants and a dam across it. We sat on the dam for a while and had collective quiet time.

None of my pictures from today turned out all that well, and besides, I think that pictures without people get pretty boring, so I'll have some of my new friends take pictures of me doing San-Miguel-ish things soon.

We walked home from the botanical gardens and got back just in time to see the Mexico - Argentina soccer game. The entire town was out and in the restaurants to see the game; we finally found a place to sit and watch after walking up and down almost every street in the town. We climbed the narrowest, steepest winding staircase I've ever seen in my life to a teetery little balcony in a smoky bar that could have safely held about 20 people (it seemed like there were about 200 in there). The balcony was so close to the ceiling that some of the men up there had to stoop to move around. I had some sugar right before I went, so I was bouncing off the walls. I wish I had been that awake for the Ecuador game... When Mexico scored their first (and, sadly, only) GOOOOOOOOOOOL, I leapt up from my little corner of an unstable wooden bench... and cracked my head on a ceiling rafter so hard that I blacked out for a second. It was an exciting game, even if the outcome left the whole town sort of down in the dumps the rest of the day.

Then, this afternoon, we went to a free dance show at a little corner theatre. It was mostly folkloric and traditional Mexican dance with some hip-hop and ballet. There were lasso dances, breakdancing, and a traditional folclórico number where the dancers balance open jugs of water on their heads. Also, one of the dancers was probably the most beautifully formed human beings that I have ever seen. Unfortunately for me and my drooling friends, he also seeemed to be one of the most... ahem. Let´s say that he seemed to kick with the other foot, since that´s what they say in Spanish. Que lástima. The dancing was very good, but the professionalism of the show was about as professional as the shows that Abbie and I used to put on in the living room when we were kids. It was just very, very informal. Very, very Mexican. Afterwards, we went and ate enchiladas at a place called, get this, Las Enchiladas. They were amazing enchiladas.

Well, I promised no pictures without me in them, but I have to leave you with this fun parting shot from the botanical gardens...

...I HEART you all! Lots and lots of love!

Day 4 (Morning): The Heart of Mexico is Still Beating

10:18 am

This morning I woke up (finally) naturally, without any noises to wake me. I just wanted to mention that in response to a command from somebody that I love very much, I went straight out the door to one of my balconies and just smelled the air. The air was all at once cool from the mountains and hot from the sun, just like I said, and the air smelled fresh and beautiful. I think that today in San Miguel is a great day to be young and free and alive. And, if I listen closely enough, I can still hear the gentle thudding of the deep and ancient heartbeat of Mexico.

More to come...

Day 3: Pepto Pink and Matters of Practicality

9:30 pm

This morning I woke up to the sound of something like a very loud thudding heartbeat. I wasn't able to figure out what it was exactly, but in my half-awake stupor, I thought to myself, "¡Es el corazón de México!"-- "It's the heart of Mexico!" because that's what San Miguel de Allende calls itself in all of its tourist propoganda. I learned today that yesterday was the feast of the Sacred Heart, and that was the reason for all the bells that woke me up yesterday. Well, this morning I woke up to the sound of the Sacred Heart itself, and I'm not quite sure that I want to know exactly what it was, because my more romantic side wants to be able to dream about the Heart of Mexico.

Today I confronted a few more of the practical aspects of life in San Miguel; first, I had to wash some of my own clothes in the sink and then, get this, hang them on a line on my rooftop patio. I swear, it's straight out of Hemingway and I'm loving all of it. I am also trying to find ways to avoid the thin layer of dust that settles on everything. As soon as you stand up, your seat gets filled with dust. The computers, etc., are all covered in sheets when they're not in use.

Not much happened today. We discussed our individual projects this morning, and I think I may concentrate on the effect of migration on the family unit, particularly children. Mini-investigations begin next week, but we mostly get the weekend off. Tomorrow I'm going to the botanical gardens with some of the other interns.

I also forgot to mention yesterday what a small world it is after all. I went into town to the market with some of the other interns, and two of the girls stopped off at a birrieria for lunch. "We're getting birria!" they said, "You should try some." Since I had know idea what birria was, I took a leap of faith and ordered a bowl, keeping in mind that I wouldn't eat it if it looked at all sketchy. So, I ask for birria and the lady hands me... a bowl of pho. I swear! It's exactly the same as that Vietnamese soup that we love, except here you're supposed to put hot sauce in it! Que locura, ¿no?

I promised more pictures, so here they are. First, here is my very own upper room; the Pepto-Bismol pink room with the two rooftop balconies. I am the only intern here without a roommate; mine simply never showed up. Not that I'm complaining. The room is mostly the right size for one person. But I wouldn't mind having to co-habitate in such a small space. I see these mini-sacrifices as a way to learn a little bit more about those who have less. My week in the campo is going to be amazing. Anyway, here's the room...

This is the top of the stairs leading up to my room.

And here is one of my rooftop balconies, and the proof that I washed and hung my own pants!

Here is our cozy sala, the main room.

The sala has a door that leads directly up to the back patio.

The back patio is amazing. It's so beautiful, and this is where we do most of our work.

See the hummingbird, right up and to the left of the arch?

The bouganvilleas are in full bloom.

Okay, personally, I feel that all these pictures are getting a little boring, so one more fun one and then we're done, I promise. At least for today, anyway.

I've got nothing for this one.

Anyway, now is my whining section. I want you all to EMAIL ME!!! I'm getting lonely without all of you! You all know my email, right? It's hppyjessa@yahoo.com and now you have no excuse! Thanks to those of you who HAVE kept in touch, especially to Claudia for here helpful comments to fill out the cultural holes in this blog...

I miss you all! God bless and have a happy day!