Another great thing about Mexico City - tons of wonderful tourism opportunities are always waiting just around the corner! For example, if you wanted to see a 5-block radius of medical schools, clinics, research institutes and laboratories, all you have to do is get off at the metro stop Colegio Militar and wander around. Don't forget your camera!
[Rolls eyes].
It all started with an innocent trip to get vaccinated for yellow fever. Matt and I are heading to Peru and Bolivia (and paying the $100 visa, calm down Madre) this Monday and need the proper shots to enter the country. Monday night I headed to a free clinic nearby, which pointed me to the Tropical Illness Institute. So that's where I went today, only to find out that the institute had changed its name and stopped providing vaccines...like 20 years ago. They directed me to a pharmaceutical lab, who directed me to a university biological sciences school, who directed me back to the defunct institute, who directed me to Tlapan (didn't go there, it's 1.5 hours towards the south). Eventually I walked into a small family health clinic and asked the lady at the front desk. She told me the ONLY place to get these types of vaccines is in a clinic in Condesa, the borough directly next to mine.
Three hours later, the rest went surprisingly smooth. After traveling across the city to Condesa and accidentally walking into an AIDS clinic and asking for my vaccine, I arrived at the public health clinic Dr. Angel Brioso Vasconselos, on Calle Benjamin Hill 14. I forked over a copy of my passport and some 200-odd pesos and walked into the doctor's office. She first asked me to leave the clinic, walk around the corner to a street vendor and buy a bottle of water. When I came back, she pricked me in the arm with some yellow fever goodness and popped an Alka Seltzer-type tablet into a cup with my bottled water...cuz I don't want no cholera. She didn't giggle when I praised the tablet's strawberry flavor, but she did promise I might get some intestinal "discomfort" as a result of the pill.
To wrap this up, sometimes I hate Mexico because no one knows where anything is and it isn't necessarily on the Internet. Other times I love it, because at least the last leg of the Tour de Vaccine was quick and, most importantly, cheap. I don't think the Tour is in any Frommer's or Lonely Planet guidebook, so you might just have to wander around aimlessly near Colegio Militar to get the full experience.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Guadalajara in 32 hours (or less)
Another weekend has come and gone, an all too short reprieve from "The Hokey Pokey" and "I'm a Little Teapot." I've often wondered what would happen if I got sick or lost my voice, as most of my 5-hour day involves singing and yelling at children. Well, I found out. For some undetermined reason, I lost my voice this weekend and am slowly gaining it back. If you spoke to me on the phone, it might evoke images of a 90-year-old woman puffing on a long cigarette and swilling her whisky tumbler with decrepit hands as she screams at a soap opera. That's what I sound like.
In other news, after an article-writing marathon on Thursday and Friday, I hopped on a 7-hour sleeper bus to Guadalajara at 12:20 Saturday morning. To my Mexico readers (i.e. Laura), I highly recommend the ETN bus. It was about twice as expensive as a regular coach bus, but with half as many seats and twice as much room. I popped in an Ambien, tied a scarf around my eyes and passed out for the ride.
After stumbling off the bus with a prescription drug hangover, I caught a small bus then metro ride to my hostel, where I met up with Karra. The genius at the front desk had no idea that I'd reserved our room online the night before, so we got in a sassfest that was eventually resolved after I checked my bank statement online and saw I hadn't been charged. He did fun things like play 50 Cent all day and forget to stock the bathroom with toilet paper or, you know, man the front desk. Either we both hated each other, or I hated him and he was unsure how to handle it.
My main reason for traveling to Guadalajara was to interview with the English-language community newspaper there, Guadalajara Reporter. We're still in talks regarding me starting in July, which essentially just depends on a "yes" from me and good timing on the part of the reporter I'd replace, as I can't start until school's out.
Before I met up with the editors, Karra and I explored the city's historic center, which is absolutely beautiful. Lots of old churches and buildings, tall arches, open plazas, lavender trees and a sunny sky. Before my trip I'd heard various times that Guadalajara is a much more "Mexican" city than the rest, having been the birthplace of mariachi and tequila; however, my 1.5-day research suggests otherwise.
The city seemed kind of empty of these qualities I expected from it, and it had a much more suburban feel than Mexico City, with its less-condensed stretch of newly constructed restaurants and office buildings. With a tiny two-line metro and buses reaching fewer areas, my first impression is that it's much more driving oriented as well. The lack of 1960-make VW bugs was also disconcerting, and the sheer invisibility of street vendors left me disoriented and woozy.
At night, Karra and I met up with a few of her Aussie friends for pizza and to sample caustic cocktails at a cantina. Through the white saloon doors awaited a table of friends and plates of snacks - complimentary with your booze - including peanuts, boiled potatoes, sketchy orange corn puffs and styrofoam-esque jícama fruit.
Sunday was a slow day, as we mostly just walked around the historic center again and enjoyed the art galleries and music stages that had been set up for the day. We walked along the main thoroughfare, which each Sunday is closed to cars and open to bikers and pedestrians, just like D.F.'s Paseo de la Reforma. Short on time, we ate lunch in the bus station, a surprisingly delicious cheese torta.
Dinner came halfway through the return trip, when our bus pulled over to the side of the road. Hungry passengers filed down the bus steps as we surrounded a man selling tamales (tasty corn mush with a cous cous-like texture) from his steaming vat, mine served on a bun and mixed with bell peppers. Most of my dinner ended up in the bus seat/all over my lap as it missed its way to my mouth.
It's hard to say if I actually like Guadalajara as a city, because I love Mexico City so much and feel that leaving is the equivalent to my parents making me transfer schools halfway through high school. As for now, I'll be putting off decision-making and eating another bowl of Corn Flakes.
In other news, after an article-writing marathon on Thursday and Friday, I hopped on a 7-hour sleeper bus to Guadalajara at 12:20 Saturday morning. To my Mexico readers (i.e. Laura), I highly recommend the ETN bus. It was about twice as expensive as a regular coach bus, but with half as many seats and twice as much room. I popped in an Ambien, tied a scarf around my eyes and passed out for the ride.
After stumbling off the bus with a prescription drug hangover, I caught a small bus then metro ride to my hostel, where I met up with Karra. The genius at the front desk had no idea that I'd reserved our room online the night before, so we got in a sassfest that was eventually resolved after I checked my bank statement online and saw I hadn't been charged. He did fun things like play 50 Cent all day and forget to stock the bathroom with toilet paper or, you know, man the front desk. Either we both hated each other, or I hated him and he was unsure how to handle it.
My main reason for traveling to Guadalajara was to interview with the English-language community newspaper there, Guadalajara Reporter. We're still in talks regarding me starting in July, which essentially just depends on a "yes" from me and good timing on the part of the reporter I'd replace, as I can't start until school's out.
Before I met up with the editors, Karra and I explored the city's historic center, which is absolutely beautiful. Lots of old churches and buildings, tall arches, open plazas, lavender trees and a sunny sky. Before my trip I'd heard various times that Guadalajara is a much more "Mexican" city than the rest, having been the birthplace of mariachi and tequila; however, my 1.5-day research suggests otherwise.
The city seemed kind of empty of these qualities I expected from it, and it had a much more suburban feel than Mexico City, with its less-condensed stretch of newly constructed restaurants and office buildings. With a tiny two-line metro and buses reaching fewer areas, my first impression is that it's much more driving oriented as well. The lack of 1960-make VW bugs was also disconcerting, and the sheer invisibility of street vendors left me disoriented and woozy.At night, Karra and I met up with a few of her Aussie friends for pizza and to sample caustic cocktails at a cantina. Through the white saloon doors awaited a table of friends and plates of snacks - complimentary with your booze - including peanuts, boiled potatoes, sketchy orange corn puffs and styrofoam-esque jícama fruit.
Sunday was a slow day, as we mostly just walked around the historic center again and enjoyed the art galleries and music stages that had been set up for the day. We walked along the main thoroughfare, which each Sunday is closed to cars and open to bikers and pedestrians, just like D.F.'s Paseo de la Reforma. Short on time, we ate lunch in the bus station, a surprisingly delicious cheese torta.
Dinner came halfway through the return trip, when our bus pulled over to the side of the road. Hungry passengers filed down the bus steps as we surrounded a man selling tamales (tasty corn mush with a cous cous-like texture) from his steaming vat, mine served on a bun and mixed with bell peppers. Most of my dinner ended up in the bus seat/all over my lap as it missed its way to my mouth.
It's hard to say if I actually like Guadalajara as a city, because I love Mexico City so much and feel that leaving is the equivalent to my parents making me transfer schools halfway through high school. As for now, I'll be putting off decision-making and eating another bowl of Corn Flakes.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Taxco Takeover
Saturday was a perfect example of why I love living in Mexico City: something new and exciting is always just a 2.5-hour bus ride away.
As is usually the case during Mexican day trips, noone in our travel threesome got enough sleep the night before. I went to sleep at 3:30 a.m. and woke up at 6:45. Mano the Frenchie and I met up at Enzué la mexicana's house and set off at 8. Unfortunately, I've never been able to sleep well on cross-country buses, so the nearly 3 hour jaunt did little more than shake me around and force me to watch a dubbed version of Santa Clause 3. My Spanish is lamentably not as strong as I'd like it to be, and this bout of tiredness probably made it sound like half of my tongue was cut off. However, I spent the entire day speaking in Spanish, which hasn't happened since my study abroad in Spain in 2006.
First stop: Las Grutas, a series of huuuuuge caves standing more than 30 stories high (that's not a fact, that's I guess I made whilst staring up into the abyss). Most people go in groups of 20 or more, led around by the nails-on-chalkboard voice of a tour guide. The three of us, however, walked through the labyrinth by ourselves, so most of the 2 hour walk in the caves was very, very peaceful and calm. The entire path is smooth concrete and abuelo accessible, so there was no trolling through mud or bat feces for us.
Mano and Enzué also taught me how to change the ISO function on my camera. Despite the button labeled "ISO" on my camera controls, I'd never heard of it before. It allowed me to take majestic pictures like this -->
We emerged into the glaring white sunlight and hopped in a taxi to Taxco, a city mostly known for its impressive silver markets and beautiful, Tuscan-esque houses built into the side of a mountain. The cab ride was a 30 minute, twisty-turvy rollercoaster ride that made me fearful I might have the Gallucci vertigo strain in my DNA. Or it could be the fact that I was insanely tired...let's hope for that one.
Taxco is a gorgeous city, and I'm sad we only had a couple hours to give to it. All the narrow streets run up a hill, and the city is under some ordinance to keep the original colonial flavor to its architecture, so everything has simple, smooth white walls and terra cota roof shingles. We were nearly crippled with hunger by 4:30, as we hadn't eaten since our hurried bowl of cereal before take-off. We got lunch/dinner in the restaurant of a nice boutique hotel in the town's center square; I ordered chile poblano (green pepper, not too hot) stuffed with creamy white cheese and served with a side of refried beans and rice. A vanity photoshoot ensued soon after, which seems to be the theme of all of my weekend adventures here.
After such a day, one might think we'd be content to relax and possibly sleep. But no. We made it into our respective homes at 11, showered, I scarfed reheated black beans and met up again at Enzué's. Last night was La Noche de Primavera, kicking off three months' worth of concerts, art shows and other events in the Centro Histórico. Despite arriving downtown at midnight, we still made it in time to see the singer of Putamayo shake her booty on the stage. But seriously, the jumbotron zoomed in on her butt as she swished it quickly back and forth.
The line for the dance party at Centro Cultural de España was way too long for our short attention spans, so we walked a couple doors over to a youth hostel, whose restaurant/bar is open to the public. We ordered a couple "cuahuamas" (40 ounces, but not a King Cobra "40"), squeezed in a few limes and added some salt: homemade micheladas. The other two danced while I worked on my knee bend, a move to show that I can hear the music, but that I'm also not going to dance to it. I finally made it back into bed by 3:30 a.m., bringing the Mexican hoedown full circle.
As is usually the case during Mexican day trips, noone in our travel threesome got enough sleep the night before. I went to sleep at 3:30 a.m. and woke up at 6:45. Mano the Frenchie and I met up at Enzué la mexicana's house and set off at 8. Unfortunately, I've never been able to sleep well on cross-country buses, so the nearly 3 hour jaunt did little more than shake me around and force me to watch a dubbed version of Santa Clause 3. My Spanish is lamentably not as strong as I'd like it to be, and this bout of tiredness probably made it sound like half of my tongue was cut off. However, I spent the entire day speaking in Spanish, which hasn't happened since my study abroad in Spain in 2006.
First stop: Las Grutas, a series of huuuuuge caves standing more than 30 stories high (that's not a fact, that's I guess I made whilst staring up into the abyss). Most people go in groups of 20 or more, led around by the nails-on-chalkboard voice of a tour guide. The three of us, however, walked through the labyrinth by ourselves, so most of the 2 hour walk in the caves was very, very peaceful and calm. The entire path is smooth concrete and abuelo accessible, so there was no trolling through mud or bat feces for us.
Mano and Enzué also taught me how to change the ISO function on my camera. Despite the button labeled "ISO" on my camera controls, I'd never heard of it before. It allowed me to take majestic pictures like this -->
We emerged into the glaring white sunlight and hopped in a taxi to Taxco, a city mostly known for its impressive silver markets and beautiful, Tuscan-esque houses built into the side of a mountain. The cab ride was a 30 minute, twisty-turvy rollercoaster ride that made me fearful I might have the Gallucci vertigo strain in my DNA. Or it could be the fact that I was insanely tired...let's hope for that one.
Taxco is a gorgeous city, and I'm sad we only had a couple hours to give to it. All the narrow streets run up a hill, and the city is under some ordinance to keep the original colonial flavor to its architecture, so everything has simple, smooth white walls and terra cota roof shingles. We were nearly crippled with hunger by 4:30, as we hadn't eaten since our hurried bowl of cereal before take-off. We got lunch/dinner in the restaurant of a nice boutique hotel in the town's center square; I ordered chile poblano (green pepper, not too hot) stuffed with creamy white cheese and served with a side of refried beans and rice. A vanity photoshoot ensued soon after, which seems to be the theme of all of my weekend adventures here.
Concert in Taxco's central square.
We strolled up and down the town for a little while before stumbling on a woman selling pastries from giant, woven baskets. We settled on deliciously moist cheese pies (or pay, en español), had a proper photoshoot and took them into a nearby café to enjoy them with some caffeine. Our bus boarded at 8 p.m., so we hopped on and settled in for another horrible movie and the first 20 minutes of Dreamgirls.After such a day, one might think we'd be content to relax and possibly sleep. But no. We made it into our respective homes at 11, showered, I scarfed reheated black beans and met up again at Enzué's. Last night was La Noche de Primavera, kicking off three months' worth of concerts, art shows and other events in the Centro Histórico. Despite arriving downtown at midnight, we still made it in time to see the singer of Putamayo shake her booty on the stage. But seriously, the jumbotron zoomed in on her butt as she swished it quickly back and forth.
The line for the dance party at Centro Cultural de España was way too long for our short attention spans, so we walked a couple doors over to a youth hostel, whose restaurant/bar is open to the public. We ordered a couple "cuahuamas" (40 ounces, but not a King Cobra "40"), squeezed in a few limes and added some salt: homemade micheladas. The other two danced while I worked on my knee bend, a move to show that I can hear the music, but that I'm also not going to dance to it. I finally made it back into bed by 3:30 a.m., bringing the Mexican hoedown full circle.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Caffé au Stank
It's a brilliant, sunny day in Mexico City, a light breeze blowing through the 70-degree air. Lavender buds on trees lining a walkway sway gently back and forth as the sun twinkles down on the city. What a perfect day to work on my story outside at a café near Parque España, it seems.
But I can't smell the lavender buds. I can only smell exhaust fumes and stinky trash cans. I can't hear the rustle of the leaves, just the rushing of cars whizzing around the park and the piercing shriek of car alarms. Within the first two minutes I was approached by a man peddling piggy banks and a window washer, and I suspect they won't be the last. Maybe I should just stick to the refuge of my 9th floor balcony and enjoy some soluble coffee from my microwave instead.
But I can't smell the lavender buds. I can only smell exhaust fumes and stinky trash cans. I can't hear the rustle of the leaves, just the rushing of cars whizzing around the park and the piercing shriek of car alarms. Within the first two minutes I was approached by a man peddling piggy banks and a window washer, and I suspect they won't be the last. Maybe I should just stick to the refuge of my 9th floor balcony and enjoy some soluble coffee from my microwave instead.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Tales from teaching
This week has been particularly trying with the niños, and it's only a 3-day week (we had Monday off school for some mystery national holiday). Yesterday, one of my precious toddlers was lovingly petting my face when he suddenly whipped out his claws and left me with a few little scabs on my cheek. I was holding another baby in my arms when he got really stimulated due to a piñata-bashing moment and he nearly stopped my heart rhythm with the force of his tiny fists.
Today the school hosted a first aid certification class in my classroom, so I had to move everything upstairs to the library, where there are comfy couches, tons of bright pillows and shelves of books. It's hell. Two of my 4-year-olds found a rogue (also rouge) crayon and colored on both the carpet and themselves before I noticed half an hour later. I had to sit with them after class as they scrubbed soap into the carpet and probably just made it worse. Later, my troubled 6-year-old (he has foster parent issues) decided to jump on me repeatedly, at times wrapping around my neck as he squealed with delight. He was removed from class within two minutes.
Speaking of piñata-bashing, a very lucky 3-year-old brought a nearly 4-foot Dora the Explorer piñata to class today for her birthday, in addition to a large Dora cake that I did not get a piece of (the school averages one bday cake per week, so I wasn't too upset). We rounded up the toddlers into the courtyard as the groundskeeper suspended the piñata Suddam Hussein-style (too soon?) above the grass. Only one child was able to make a dent, and he's the one who I think has the most potential to make the Police Beat one day in the near future.
Three stories up ahead: Lesbian March, "Sneakerhead" culture and the opening of some fancy restaurant at a university.
Today the school hosted a first aid certification class in my classroom, so I had to move everything upstairs to the library, where there are comfy couches, tons of bright pillows and shelves of books. It's hell. Two of my 4-year-olds found a rogue (also rouge) crayon and colored on both the carpet and themselves before I noticed half an hour later. I had to sit with them after class as they scrubbed soap into the carpet and probably just made it worse. Later, my troubled 6-year-old (he has foster parent issues) decided to jump on me repeatedly, at times wrapping around my neck as he squealed with delight. He was removed from class within two minutes.
Speaking of piñata-bashing, a very lucky 3-year-old brought a nearly 4-foot Dora the Explorer piñata to class today for her birthday, in addition to a large Dora cake that I did not get a piece of (the school averages one bday cake per week, so I wasn't too upset). We rounded up the toddlers into the courtyard as the groundskeeper suspended the piñata Suddam Hussein-style (too soon?) above the grass. Only one child was able to make a dent, and he's the one who I think has the most potential to make the Police Beat one day in the near future.
Three stories up ahead: Lesbian March, "Sneakerhead" culture and the opening of some fancy restaurant at a university.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Celebrity sighting
Today I attempted to interview Pharrell Williams, the American hip-hop artist from N.E.R.D. and fashion extraordinaire. I'm writing a feature on Mexico City's 'sneakerhead' culture, or those who collect limited edition and highly stylized sneakers, often waiting hours in line to spend wads of cash on a single pair. However, the media with video cameras were given preference to ask meaningless questions such as, "Are Mexican fans the best in the world?" I was left sans interview, standing around like a desperate fan trying to get a piece of the action. Thus, I leave you with nothing of journalistic merit, just a nice little clip to rub in your face that I saw a celebrity.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Backstreet's back...
Last night's Backstreet Boys concert was so amazing I won't even try to hide it. Not that the 3-foot poster tacked to my bedroom wall would allow it. Laura, her co-worker and I went out for pizza and chelas beforehand, rehashing all our wonderful BSB memories and discussing whether or not the venue would be so empty we could sneak from our balcony seats to the front row. To our surprise, Mexico City is filled with thousands of girls just like us! The place was absolutely packed, and everyone was singing along with the same hyena-like singing you might expect. The only downside was that I'm not familiar with any of their work post-2005, so I was unable to join Laura in singing along to the tracks off their latest masterpiece, Unbreakable. Fortunately, living in a country with a raging informal economy provided us the opportunity to buy cheap merchandise after the show (hence the 3-foot poster and a topless pic of Nick Carter brushing his teeth, all for 30 pesos!) If you think I'm a huge loser after all is said and done, maybe you can at least respect the fact that I'm not afraid to be who I really am inside? Maybe in that sense I'm a non-conformist? No? You're right. 98 DEGREES IS BETTER!
Postscript: You're no doubt asking yourself, "Wasn't there five members in the Backstreet Boys?" Sadly, Kevin left after turning 50 and deciding he no longer qualified to be in a boy band. If you look closely at the bottom of the poster above, you'll see four bodies and five pairs of shoes. At first I thought that was ingenious Mexican photoshopping, but Laura assured me it's an image from the non-pirated world as well.
Postscript: You're no doubt asking yourself, "Wasn't there five members in the Backstreet Boys?" Sadly, Kevin left after turning 50 and deciding he no longer qualified to be in a boy band. If you look closely at the bottom of the poster above, you'll see four bodies and five pairs of shoes. At first I thought that was ingenious Mexican photoshopping, but Laura assured me it's an image from the non-pirated world as well.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Spring Break!!! (or something like it)
A few weeks ahead of the American spring-breakers, I headed down for the weekend to Acapulco with a group of friends. Sometimes I like to think of where five hours driving would get me in Ohio: that's right, Indiana.
We drove down early, early, early Saturday morning to Playa Bonfil, a precious little gem of a beach about 30 minutes south of Acapulco. We spent the entirety of Saturday laying on the beach, sleeping in hammocks, frolicking in the waves and listening to the horrible thumping bass of techno music.
Whereas the beach for me has usually been peaceful and quiet, this time it involved a small wood hut outfitted with huge speakers and apparently a German DJ chained to the post. Attempts to switch the vibes to cheesy 80's pop (read: Rick Astley) were largely ignored. We set up our tents on a clearing in the sand, built a little campfire and sang some of my preschool greatest hits. Weddings took place on both sides of us further down the coast, which involves fireworks to kick off the first dance. It was a majestic show, and I've decided that I too will have fireworks on my big day, literally and figuratively.
A fun little fact I discovered: some restauranteurs along the beach will secure their animal remains (fish heads, chicken feet, etc.) in large plastic bags and deposit them at the water's edge; when the tide rises, it sweeps it all to sea. Yes, I did go swimming immediately after snapping the pic below:
Sunday morning, bright and early, the techno music resumed. We packed everything into the truck around noon and headed into Acapulco. I rode in the truck bed with two other girls, and while I was sunburned as a result, it was a fun experience. The last time I'd ridden into town was with Matt to catch a coach bus to Oaxaca. From the taxi-eye view, I thought the city looked dirty, horrendously overdeveloped and way too Spring Break-esque. But from the view of the truck bed, I could see the water and coastline and look out onto the jagged coves from our ascending point of view. A very beautiful vista.
Once in Acapulco, we took a small glass-bottom boat to Isla de la Roqueta, hiked a short path and found a really amazing beach spot to snorkel. It was small and secluded, the water completely clear and the fishies fascinating.
Afterwards, we humored our vanities with a photoshoot, sufficiently creeping out the Mexican family that had later joined us at the spot. As a group of gringos (plus two Mexican friends), we did look like Spring Breakers, so why not indulge in our weird gringo antics? Post-snorkeling, we ate a late lunch at a seafood restaurant along the water. I don't really remember how the food tasted, I just remember that the one-man entertainment band was amazing. By amazing I mean tone-deaf and playing one of those keyboards with pre-recorded songs. With shrimp swimming in our bellies, we set off back home to our lovely, polluted city.
We drove down early, early, early Saturday morning to Playa Bonfil, a precious little gem of a beach about 30 minutes south of Acapulco. We spent the entirety of Saturday laying on the beach, sleeping in hammocks, frolicking in the waves and listening to the horrible thumping bass of techno music.
Whereas the beach for me has usually been peaceful and quiet, this time it involved a small wood hut outfitted with huge speakers and apparently a German DJ chained to the post. Attempts to switch the vibes to cheesy 80's pop (read: Rick Astley) were largely ignored. We set up our tents on a clearing in the sand, built a little campfire and sang some of my preschool greatest hits. Weddings took place on both sides of us further down the coast, which involves fireworks to kick off the first dance. It was a majestic show, and I've decided that I too will have fireworks on my big day, literally and figuratively.A fun little fact I discovered: some restauranteurs along the beach will secure their animal remains (fish heads, chicken feet, etc.) in large plastic bags and deposit them at the water's edge; when the tide rises, it sweeps it all to sea. Yes, I did go swimming immediately after snapping the pic below:
Sunday morning, bright and early, the techno music resumed. We packed everything into the truck around noon and headed into Acapulco. I rode in the truck bed with two other girls, and while I was sunburned as a result, it was a fun experience. The last time I'd ridden into town was with Matt to catch a coach bus to Oaxaca. From the taxi-eye view, I thought the city looked dirty, horrendously overdeveloped and way too Spring Break-esque. But from the view of the truck bed, I could see the water and coastline and look out onto the jagged coves from our ascending point of view. A very beautiful vista.
Once in Acapulco, we took a small glass-bottom boat to Isla de la Roqueta, hiked a short path and found a really amazing beach spot to snorkel. It was small and secluded, the water completely clear and the fishies fascinating.
Afterwards, we humored our vanities with a photoshoot, sufficiently creeping out the Mexican family that had later joined us at the spot. As a group of gringos (plus two Mexican friends), we did look like Spring Breakers, so why not indulge in our weird gringo antics? Post-snorkeling, we ate a late lunch at a seafood restaurant along the water. I don't really remember how the food tasted, I just remember that the one-man entertainment band was amazing. By amazing I mean tone-deaf and playing one of those keyboards with pre-recorded songs. With shrimp swimming in our bellies, we set off back home to our lovely, polluted city.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
A really good interview
Tender moment alert:
Today I had the wonderful opportunity to interview Gerardo Nigenda, a blind Mexican photographer whose work will be on display this month in Mexico City. During my initial research on Nigenda and his work, I read a few blog posts of journalists or artists who'd met with him and reported with such overwhelming and generous praise that I nearly rolled my eyes. But since I've met with him, I can understand why.
We sat in a small, quiet garden this afternoon within the very large home of another artist in Coyoacán, the smaller, more colonial part of D.F. We talked about the technical aspects of his work - how he takes photographs without a visual point of reference, his preferred artistic concepts, etc.
The most inspiring point of our conversation, however, had nothing to do with the plot of a Lifetime movie, a blind man defying artistic conventions and societal expectations and everyone weeping with inspiration as the credits roll down the screen. It really just came from him talking about his take on life, completely aside from his blindness, and about finding the positive in every situation. He didn't even really have to say anything, his personality just radiates warmth, and it put a little skip in my step afterward as I headed towards a 3-peso 'pesero,' a smaller, more ghetto version of your childhood schoolbus. He said he makes up for his lack of vision by igniting his other senses; he orients himself by sound, smell and touch, and he's inspired to take pictures when he feels deeply moved by the way these elements reach him.
Maybe I'm biased because we share a love of bossa nova music and the ocean, and my inability to speak Spanish during interviews is more or less a social handicap. But inappropriate comments aside, it was a great interview. I'll post the story Monday!
Today I had the wonderful opportunity to interview Gerardo Nigenda, a blind Mexican photographer whose work will be on display this month in Mexico City. During my initial research on Nigenda and his work, I read a few blog posts of journalists or artists who'd met with him and reported with such overwhelming and generous praise that I nearly rolled my eyes. But since I've met with him, I can understand why.
We sat in a small, quiet garden this afternoon within the very large home of another artist in Coyoacán, the smaller, more colonial part of D.F. We talked about the technical aspects of his work - how he takes photographs without a visual point of reference, his preferred artistic concepts, etc.
The most inspiring point of our conversation, however, had nothing to do with the plot of a Lifetime movie, a blind man defying artistic conventions and societal expectations and everyone weeping with inspiration as the credits roll down the screen. It really just came from him talking about his take on life, completely aside from his blindness, and about finding the positive in every situation. He didn't even really have to say anything, his personality just radiates warmth, and it put a little skip in my step afterward as I headed towards a 3-peso 'pesero,' a smaller, more ghetto version of your childhood schoolbus. He said he makes up for his lack of vision by igniting his other senses; he orients himself by sound, smell and touch, and he's inspired to take pictures when he feels deeply moved by the way these elements reach him.Maybe I'm biased because we share a love of bossa nova music and the ocean, and my inability to speak Spanish during interviews is more or less a social handicap. But inappropriate comments aside, it was a great interview. I'll post the story Monday!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
LA Times saw my story
The LA Times keeps a blog about Mexico and Latin America. A post they had up today referenced a few quotes from my News story on urban cultures! Nice to know somebody is reading my stuff :)
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/laplaza/2009/03/emos-in-mexico.html
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/laplaza/2009/03/emos-in-mexico.html
Merry March!
Hope you all enjoyed my latest story below. Tomorrow I'll be covering the opening of an exposition by a blind photographer. I've seen a few of his pictures, and it's surprisingly more than the back of his lens cap. Stay tuned!
Writing the story on the so-called "urban tribes" this weekend was both fun and stressful. It was fun to intermingle with the subjects of my story, the goths, punks, emos, etc. I was painfully reminded every second that I am very, very mainstream, but not quite cool enough to be hipster. I did put on eyeliner and wear a second set of earrings and skinny jeans, as if it might help my cause. And I did share a tender moment with the 18-year-old goth mentioned in my story, who nervously approached me 20 minutes after the interview and asked me to hang out afterwards. It took me back to high school, so much to the point where I almost forgot I didn't have to say 'yes' just to keep things from being awkward in the hallways. However, despite my efforts, I think I solidified my sociocultural status when I bought tickets to the Backstreet Boys concert for next Thursday. I'm going with Laura and her co-worker, and I think it might involve a nice tequila drink beforehand to erase whatever is left of our dignity. Sidenote: I've always loved 98 Degrees more.
Putting the story together was a bit stressful because I didn't start out with a clear direction. The article was supposed to be focused on the results of a discussion by anthropologists on these "urban tribes." However, everything they said was pretty boring and academic, so much so that I left before they started passing out the complimentary glasses of wine. My patience was also tested because I had been walking around for a combined 3 hours, the result of an ATM machine eating my debit card and me having little cash (thereby only able to afford a couple 2 peso, or 15-cent, metro rides and one 20 peso cab ride post-conference). Walking around in floppy flats didn't help much either. After visiting the Glorieta de Insurgentes and the El Chopo street market, I was able to gather enough inspiration to create my own focus for the story. But, I still had to put the finishing touches on at 9 a.m. Sunday morning, very painful since I'd gone to bed at 4 after a very successful party at the apartment.
Speaking of which, we had a very successful party. Unfortunately, Drewbie was out of town, so Paul and I were the lone hosts. According to Facebook, there was an "80's Crunk" theme, but only six of us picked up on it, apparently. I eventually changed out of my black spandex bike shorts to blend in a little bit better, though I did retain my J.Lo-esque gold hoop earrings and blossoming fro. We had a great turnout, so great that when I answered the door, strangers said they were friends of 'so-and-so' at the party, who was also a stranger. Paul and I bought a mop and carpet cleaner the next day.
Things at the school are slowly but surely improving. I actually filled out a space in my lesson planner last night, though I guess I have 16 more weeks to fill out. One of the toddler teachers today told me that I was quiet and nice with the kids, which in a way is good because it counters the other teachers' more strict, stern approaches, but is also negative because the kids know they can get away with anything. I thought it would be an inappropriate time to tell my co-worker that I often fantasize about striking them with heavy metal chains across the face. Just kidding! Maybe just a plush teddy bear across the face. I also got paid for the first two weeks...tax free! [insert undocumented immigrant joke here].
Another toddler teacher gave me this necklace yesterday as a gift. Precious!
Writing the story on the so-called "urban tribes" this weekend was both fun and stressful. It was fun to intermingle with the subjects of my story, the goths, punks, emos, etc. I was painfully reminded every second that I am very, very mainstream, but not quite cool enough to be hipster. I did put on eyeliner and wear a second set of earrings and skinny jeans, as if it might help my cause. And I did share a tender moment with the 18-year-old goth mentioned in my story, who nervously approached me 20 minutes after the interview and asked me to hang out afterwards. It took me back to high school, so much to the point where I almost forgot I didn't have to say 'yes' just to keep things from being awkward in the hallways. However, despite my efforts, I think I solidified my sociocultural status when I bought tickets to the Backstreet Boys concert for next Thursday. I'm going with Laura and her co-worker, and I think it might involve a nice tequila drink beforehand to erase whatever is left of our dignity. Sidenote: I've always loved 98 Degrees more.
Putting the story together was a bit stressful because I didn't start out with a clear direction. The article was supposed to be focused on the results of a discussion by anthropologists on these "urban tribes." However, everything they said was pretty boring and academic, so much so that I left before they started passing out the complimentary glasses of wine. My patience was also tested because I had been walking around for a combined 3 hours, the result of an ATM machine eating my debit card and me having little cash (thereby only able to afford a couple 2 peso, or 15-cent, metro rides and one 20 peso cab ride post-conference). Walking around in floppy flats didn't help much either. After visiting the Glorieta de Insurgentes and the El Chopo street market, I was able to gather enough inspiration to create my own focus for the story. But, I still had to put the finishing touches on at 9 a.m. Sunday morning, very painful since I'd gone to bed at 4 after a very successful party at the apartment.
Speaking of which, we had a very successful party. Unfortunately, Drewbie was out of town, so Paul and I were the lone hosts. According to Facebook, there was an "80's Crunk" theme, but only six of us picked up on it, apparently. I eventually changed out of my black spandex bike shorts to blend in a little bit better, though I did retain my J.Lo-esque gold hoop earrings and blossoming fro. We had a great turnout, so great that when I answered the door, strangers said they were friends of 'so-and-so' at the party, who was also a stranger. Paul and I bought a mop and carpet cleaner the next day.
Things at the school are slowly but surely improving. I actually filled out a space in my lesson planner last night, though I guess I have 16 more weeks to fill out. One of the toddler teachers today told me that I was quiet and nice with the kids, which in a way is good because it counters the other teachers' more strict, stern approaches, but is also negative because the kids know they can get away with anything. I thought it would be an inappropriate time to tell my co-worker that I often fantasize about striking them with heavy metal chains across the face. Just kidding! Maybe just a plush teddy bear across the face. I also got paid for the first two weeks...tax free! [insert undocumented immigrant joke here].
Another toddler teacher gave me this necklace yesterday as a gift. Precious!
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