After Guadalajara, I then traveled next to Guanajuato, a beautiful city in the central highlands of Mexico. Before I try explain this city, a warning: it is probably the most beautiful city on Earth and no words, nor pictures, can do it justice.
It is built in a very narrow valley, and constructed in such a manner that many roads run on top of each other. Because of size constraints, most streets are very narrow and more closely resemble alleys, and cars cannot fit through. It was built on massive silver weath that accumulated in the region centuries ago and thus most of the architecture is old, colonial style. It all adds up to make one incredible city.
The other incredible feature of Guanajuato is its arts scene: it's a University town and known as one of Mexico's most cultured cities. Each day and night it's easy to come across free cultural performances scattered throughout the city, whether that be music, street performers or dancing. Wonderful!
However, because of its altitude (around 2000 meters) it does get quite chilly in the evenings. I know this goes against all popular opinion in Canada, but Mexico can be damn cold. I think one of the coldest nights of my life was spent in GTO - I was shivering all night long in my bed, unable to sleep because I couldn't feel my feet. I cursed myself for not bringing warmer clothing (I too was guilty of thinking Mexico would be tropical all over) and desperately longed for a toque. The houses, because they lack both insulation and central heating, only make it worse and create a sort of refrigerator effect, leading me to think that sleeping outside might be better. Luckily for me, the next day I stumbled upon the stash of extra blankets at the hostel and took 3 more for myself. ;)
Guanajuato has become quite famous recently for the discovery of mummies in their cemetary. The dry climate and soil conditions create the perfect recipe for mummification! This was only discovered somewhat recently, when people were taking out bodies from graves to replace with newer bodies (due to lack of space). What they found was not decomposed remains, but perfectly preserved mummies! Accordingly, a museum was built to showcase them. (Although I'm not sure how I feel about this. These people obviously didn't give their consent to be put on display. I wouldn't want to be in a museum, left for gawking tourists to stare at). They're very well preserved - the hair, the hands, the shoes, it's all there. And the whole process only takes about 7 years.
Guanajuato also has a wonderfully fun traditional activity called a callejoneada - which I was lucky enough to participate in! Traditionally, big groups of people would be led throughout the street by musicians and dancers, and everyone would sing and dance as they went. Occasionally they would stop and tells jokes and stories, and a burro would be loaded up with wine for all. It's similar now, except there is no burro, or wine, and instead we drink juice, out of a very funny looking, bong-shaped glass. Still, it was a ton of fun, and lasted about 2 hours. We snaked through the streets, singing (me not so much, as I'm not an expert on traditional Mexican folklore music) and dancing. The jokes I couldn't quite understand, but I believe they got a bit racy - hand gestures are understandable in all cultures and languages.
After Guanajuato is was time for San Miguel de Allende, yet another gorgeous town set in the highlands of Mexico. The only qualm I have about SMA is that it's a bit too perfect. The paint on the buildings isn't faded and there's neither garbage in the streets nor grafitti marking most of the buildings. For me, in Mexico, most of the appeal lies in its less-than-polished demeanor. Yes, it is a bit rough around the edges. Yes, it can be dirty. But that's what makes it unique and what makes it Mexico. San Miguel, while gorgeous, lacks this character and seems a bit too 'Disneyland-ish'. (It is actually referred to as the Disneyland of Mexico). While a nice break and a great place to relax, it doesn't convey the spirit and energy I feel in the rest of Mexico. Perhaps that's due to the 12,000 foreign residents who live there.....hmmm....
I had a great couchsurfer in SMA and was treated to wonderful cooking and hospitality (such a nice break from cheap street food. Quesadillas are great, but when you have them for days on end...) I even got my clothes washed in a machine rather than by hand in a hostel sink! What has my life become when the biggest luxury for me is having my clothes washed for me rather than done myself? Oh no...... But seriously, it was so refreshing to feel at home somewhere and not have to pack my bag up every night, or cringe at the smell of my shirt, or roll my eyes at another taco stand. And I made a friend! Gotta love couchsurfing! Truly the traveler's best friend.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Guadalajara: Lucha libre y tequila!
So after all the excitement in Vallarta, I decided it was finally time to leave and head on to my next destination, Guadalajara. (I also wanted to get out of that compound in case I ran into the people whose house I tried to break into).
After a nice big lunch with Paty and Gustavo, I embarked on my first Mexican bus experience! All in all it was pretty uneventful, with the only ´exciting´ event being that I couldn´t figure out how to flush the toilets, and thus spent the whole 5 hour journey in discomfort (I did not want to run the risk of overflowing the little travel potty and REALLY embarrass myself). The ride itself was really pretty - the land is speckled with big fields of cool blue agave, which I initially thought were pineapple plantations. They look similar enough.
A bit about Gaudalajara.....Guadalajara is the second largest city in Mexico (Mexico City, or the Distrito Federal, is by far number one). It´s hard to find the exact population, and no one really seems to know for sure, but I´ve heard 4.5 million a few times, so it must be around there. Regardless of exactly how many inhabitants it has, it´s a big city, and thus a lot of fun to explore! The downtown is an interesting mix of old, elegant colonial buildings infused with modern structures housing fast food chains and brand name retail stores. You can be walking on a broad avenue, similar to one you´d find in any large metropolis, and then turn a corner and be facing a tiny little cobblestone street flanked by 16th century edifices. It´s a neat mix.
Being such a large urban center, there´s always something going on. After dropping my bag off that first night, I grabbed some quesadillas from a street vendor and wandered around a few of the main plazas, only to come upon this huge free concert being held in front of the cathedral. While I can´t say that I particularly loved the music, it was incredibly atmospheric to sit there, amongst thousands of people of all ages, listen to music and eat my late dinner. It is moments like these that I find the most joy in Mexico.
My time in Guadalajara was mostly spent exploring the downtown, visting museums and other historical monuments, walking through artistic neighborhoods and making new friends in the hostel.
On Monday night I went out searching with two other travelers for some good mariachi music (Guadalajara is the home of the infamous Mexican music). After unsuccessfully trying every place we could think of (even the plaza called Plaza of Mariachis) all we came across was a creepy drag queen and some men dressed as mariachis waiting for the bus. Oh well.
The really big night of the week was Tuesday - lucha libre night! Every Tuesday GDL hosts a lucha libre, or Mexican wrestling, match. I was skeptical about going, as I´m not really into wrestling, but decided to explore this part of Mexican culture and see what the big fuss was about. And what an experience!!!
As you approach the stadium you can feel the energy radiating through the air. There´s music, kids are running around with the masks of their favorite luchador on their heads, and the streets are overflowing with people grabbing a quick bite and making excited predictions about the outcome of the match. You can´t help but get excited about what´s to come.
After going through security (as a girl I wasn´t checked - which means I could have snuck in my little camera and captured some of the mayhem) we proceeded to the balcony section and found some empty space on a bench. Within minutes the show began - and I say show, because it was truly a comedic, not a sporting event. A very scantily-clad woman comes out, prances around and then leaves. Then the luchadors come, completely masked, accompanied by smoke effects and their very own soundtrack (one even had the Ghostbusters theme, adding to the hilarity of it all). Some posturing and attempts at intimidating the opponent. And then - the cheesiest, most scripted, but completely hilarious ´wrestling´ moves you can think of. A lot of jumping, slapping, kicking in private areas and belly flopping from the ropes on to the poor soul below. A lot of overacting to get the attention (and admiration) from the audience. But to our surprise, it didn´t end when the match was over - it was followed by another match, this time a tag team, then another, then a 3 on 3, and then the final, ultimate match. Which is apparently the showcaser, and in this instance, included a man known as ¨Super Porky¨, a man whose name aptly fits his physical characteristics. With each match the skill of the characters noticeably increased, and there was indeed some impressive acrobatic/gymnastic feats, such as backflipping off of the ropes. Authentic, no. But requiring skill, yes.
However, the real entertainment of the night came not from the luchadors, but from the crowd themselves. Immediately (and I mean immedately) from the start, the two sections in the arena (it´s divided into the balcony and the floor) began to engage in a sort of verbal tug-of-war with each other. Those in the balcony, all perfectly in sync, begin to hurl racy insults at those on the floor, who immediately proceed (all in sync again) to repeat it back at those in the balcony. This goes on for 6 or 7 turns, which is then followed by a brief period of calm, only to repeat itself all over again, all night long. We were laughing ourselves silly at the whole thing, and many times, would be more distracted by the crowd than the actual wrestling. At first we thought it had to do with who they were cheering for - and thus I made a conscious effort to never clap or appear to be favouring one side over the other, for fear of bringing that wrath upon myself. But later, near the end of the night, we figured out what was really going on - the balcony seats are significantly cheaper than those on the floor. So those who sit on the floor are considered ´wealthy´ while those who sit on the balcony are ´poor´. They´re yelling about money - they say things like, ¨hey poor people, go catch your bus¨ and ¨you´re so rich that.....(put your obscenity/insult of choice here)¨. The people on the floor even throw paper money at those on the balcony, and those on the balcony wear shirts and sweaters saying ¨100% poor¨. It was such a funny, surreal and strange experience. I think most of the fun of it comes from not really knowing what is going on. If you ever find yourself in Mexico, I highly recommend you go see one. You won´t be disappointed.
Next on the agenda was visiting a small town an hour or so outside of Guadalajara. It may sound a bit familiar to you all: it's name is Tequila, and it's famous for, you guessed it, tequila! Guadalajara, and Tequila for that matter, are located in the state of Jalisco, which grows the agave plant, the pineapple resembling bush I saw on my bus ride from PV. Agave is the source of tequila, and all tequila in the world is produced in Tequila - anything else is known as mezcal. (Similar to the concept of how all champagne is made in Champagne and the rest is sparkling wine). Being so close to GDL, I thought a day trip to visit the birthplace of this legendary drink was in order.
We arrived in Tequila a bit later than expected, as the only buses that run out there are second class, meaning they stop at every little village and for every passenger waiting on the side of the road. Sometimes we would pick someone up, then proceed about 5-7 meters, where we would stop for another person. I understand the convienence of stopping frequently, but this is a bit much. I mean, couldn't they just have walked and met each other in the middle? It would take at most a minute or two. But I don't create the bus system (or understand it).
So, after taking 2 1/2 hours to travel 45 kms, we arrived in Tequila! A very cute sun baked town where everyone seems to know everyone, and is immensely curious in the foreigners walking about. Thus, it didn't take long before we had arranged to tour 2 different tequila factories - while being driven in this odd, barrel shaped vehicle.
It was actually really interesting and there's quite a bit to it. First the plant (not the stem, as I had mistakenly believed) is steamed for 36 hours at a very high temperature, then it's mashed and grinded to extract the juices from it. These juices (which, if you saw them, would probably make you think twice about ever drinking tequila again) are then mixed with yeast and left to ferment for a while. (This part is really gross - when we came to the fermenting vats it looked like puss or mould growing on top and they were making these crunching noises). The concoction is then refined, refined and refined again. And there you go, you have tequila! The product is either bottled straight away (and is 'white' tequila, a more basic style), or aged in oak barrels for different time periods. There is reposado, which is aged from 2 months to one year, anejo, from 1 to 3 years, and then extra anejo, which can be aged anywhere upwards from 3 years.
At the end of our tours we got to try each type of tequila - but just a pinch of each. Good thing too, because I am not a big tequila fan and definitely a lightweight. At the end, I turned out Tristan, my travel companion, and said that I thought I was getting a bit light-headed. He turned to me and responded with, "but Nicole, you've had less than a shot total." Well, at least I know my limit (in this case).
And so that sums up my Guadalajara trip - lucha libre y tequila!
After a nice big lunch with Paty and Gustavo, I embarked on my first Mexican bus experience! All in all it was pretty uneventful, with the only ´exciting´ event being that I couldn´t figure out how to flush the toilets, and thus spent the whole 5 hour journey in discomfort (I did not want to run the risk of overflowing the little travel potty and REALLY embarrass myself). The ride itself was really pretty - the land is speckled with big fields of cool blue agave, which I initially thought were pineapple plantations. They look similar enough.
A bit about Gaudalajara.....Guadalajara is the second largest city in Mexico (Mexico City, or the Distrito Federal, is by far number one). It´s hard to find the exact population, and no one really seems to know for sure, but I´ve heard 4.5 million a few times, so it must be around there. Regardless of exactly how many inhabitants it has, it´s a big city, and thus a lot of fun to explore! The downtown is an interesting mix of old, elegant colonial buildings infused with modern structures housing fast food chains and brand name retail stores. You can be walking on a broad avenue, similar to one you´d find in any large metropolis, and then turn a corner and be facing a tiny little cobblestone street flanked by 16th century edifices. It´s a neat mix.
Being such a large urban center, there´s always something going on. After dropping my bag off that first night, I grabbed some quesadillas from a street vendor and wandered around a few of the main plazas, only to come upon this huge free concert being held in front of the cathedral. While I can´t say that I particularly loved the music, it was incredibly atmospheric to sit there, amongst thousands of people of all ages, listen to music and eat my late dinner. It is moments like these that I find the most joy in Mexico.
My time in Guadalajara was mostly spent exploring the downtown, visting museums and other historical monuments, walking through artistic neighborhoods and making new friends in the hostel.
On Monday night I went out searching with two other travelers for some good mariachi music (Guadalajara is the home of the infamous Mexican music). After unsuccessfully trying every place we could think of (even the plaza called Plaza of Mariachis) all we came across was a creepy drag queen and some men dressed as mariachis waiting for the bus. Oh well.
The really big night of the week was Tuesday - lucha libre night! Every Tuesday GDL hosts a lucha libre, or Mexican wrestling, match. I was skeptical about going, as I´m not really into wrestling, but decided to explore this part of Mexican culture and see what the big fuss was about. And what an experience!!!
As you approach the stadium you can feel the energy radiating through the air. There´s music, kids are running around with the masks of their favorite luchador on their heads, and the streets are overflowing with people grabbing a quick bite and making excited predictions about the outcome of the match. You can´t help but get excited about what´s to come.
After going through security (as a girl I wasn´t checked - which means I could have snuck in my little camera and captured some of the mayhem) we proceeded to the balcony section and found some empty space on a bench. Within minutes the show began - and I say show, because it was truly a comedic, not a sporting event. A very scantily-clad woman comes out, prances around and then leaves. Then the luchadors come, completely masked, accompanied by smoke effects and their very own soundtrack (one even had the Ghostbusters theme, adding to the hilarity of it all). Some posturing and attempts at intimidating the opponent. And then - the cheesiest, most scripted, but completely hilarious ´wrestling´ moves you can think of. A lot of jumping, slapping, kicking in private areas and belly flopping from the ropes on to the poor soul below. A lot of overacting to get the attention (and admiration) from the audience. But to our surprise, it didn´t end when the match was over - it was followed by another match, this time a tag team, then another, then a 3 on 3, and then the final, ultimate match. Which is apparently the showcaser, and in this instance, included a man known as ¨Super Porky¨, a man whose name aptly fits his physical characteristics. With each match the skill of the characters noticeably increased, and there was indeed some impressive acrobatic/gymnastic feats, such as backflipping off of the ropes. Authentic, no. But requiring skill, yes.
However, the real entertainment of the night came not from the luchadors, but from the crowd themselves. Immediately (and I mean immedately) from the start, the two sections in the arena (it´s divided into the balcony and the floor) began to engage in a sort of verbal tug-of-war with each other. Those in the balcony, all perfectly in sync, begin to hurl racy insults at those on the floor, who immediately proceed (all in sync again) to repeat it back at those in the balcony. This goes on for 6 or 7 turns, which is then followed by a brief period of calm, only to repeat itself all over again, all night long. We were laughing ourselves silly at the whole thing, and many times, would be more distracted by the crowd than the actual wrestling. At first we thought it had to do with who they were cheering for - and thus I made a conscious effort to never clap or appear to be favouring one side over the other, for fear of bringing that wrath upon myself. But later, near the end of the night, we figured out what was really going on - the balcony seats are significantly cheaper than those on the floor. So those who sit on the floor are considered ´wealthy´ while those who sit on the balcony are ´poor´. They´re yelling about money - they say things like, ¨hey poor people, go catch your bus¨ and ¨you´re so rich that.....(put your obscenity/insult of choice here)¨. The people on the floor even throw paper money at those on the balcony, and those on the balcony wear shirts and sweaters saying ¨100% poor¨. It was such a funny, surreal and strange experience. I think most of the fun of it comes from not really knowing what is going on. If you ever find yourself in Mexico, I highly recommend you go see one. You won´t be disappointed.
Next on the agenda was visiting a small town an hour or so outside of Guadalajara. It may sound a bit familiar to you all: it's name is Tequila, and it's famous for, you guessed it, tequila! Guadalajara, and Tequila for that matter, are located in the state of Jalisco, which grows the agave plant, the pineapple resembling bush I saw on my bus ride from PV. Agave is the source of tequila, and all tequila in the world is produced in Tequila - anything else is known as mezcal. (Similar to the concept of how all champagne is made in Champagne and the rest is sparkling wine). Being so close to GDL, I thought a day trip to visit the birthplace of this legendary drink was in order.
We arrived in Tequila a bit later than expected, as the only buses that run out there are second class, meaning they stop at every little village and for every passenger waiting on the side of the road. Sometimes we would pick someone up, then proceed about 5-7 meters, where we would stop for another person. I understand the convienence of stopping frequently, but this is a bit much. I mean, couldn't they just have walked and met each other in the middle? It would take at most a minute or two. But I don't create the bus system (or understand it).
So, after taking 2 1/2 hours to travel 45 kms, we arrived in Tequila! A very cute sun baked town where everyone seems to know everyone, and is immensely curious in the foreigners walking about. Thus, it didn't take long before we had arranged to tour 2 different tequila factories - while being driven in this odd, barrel shaped vehicle.
It was actually really interesting and there's quite a bit to it. First the plant (not the stem, as I had mistakenly believed) is steamed for 36 hours at a very high temperature, then it's mashed and grinded to extract the juices from it. These juices (which, if you saw them, would probably make you think twice about ever drinking tequila again) are then mixed with yeast and left to ferment for a while. (This part is really gross - when we came to the fermenting vats it looked like puss or mould growing on top and they were making these crunching noises). The concoction is then refined, refined and refined again. And there you go, you have tequila! The product is either bottled straight away (and is 'white' tequila, a more basic style), or aged in oak barrels for different time periods. There is reposado, which is aged from 2 months to one year, anejo, from 1 to 3 years, and then extra anejo, which can be aged anywhere upwards from 3 years.
At the end of our tours we got to try each type of tequila - but just a pinch of each. Good thing too, because I am not a big tequila fan and definitely a lightweight. At the end, I turned out Tristan, my travel companion, and said that I thought I was getting a bit light-headed. He turned to me and responded with, "but Nicole, you've had less than a shot total." Well, at least I know my limit (in this case).
And so that sums up my Guadalajara trip - lucha libre y tequila!
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Criminal activity in PV
A little note on what NOT to do when in a foreign country: attempt to break into someone´s house.
Some background info:
On my last night in PV, after hiking with the couchsurfers, I was attempting to make it back to Paty´s house on my own. (She lives outside of town, a bit difficult to get to, and she had always drove me, so I had never got there independently before). Before I left, she reminded me that her house number is 238. That is important.
The bus system in Mexico is a bit confusing, to say the least, and there are a million different buses going everywhere and no one, even long time residents, seem to understand the system. You just hop on a bus and hope it´s going to take you to where you need to go. Since this is my third day in Mexico, I have no clue what to do, but everyone tells me I have to grab the bus from across the street from the Sheraton. So I go there, and wait patiently for my bus to come. I wait, wait, and wait a bit longer. I´m starting to get nervous because it´s getting late and the buses stop running at 11:30. I still haven´t seen a bus heading to where I need to go.
Finally, two of the couchsurfers who are waiting with me suggest I take any bus to Wal Mart (yes, there´s a Wal Mart in PV) and try get one there, as it´s a more popular spot. So I get to Wal Mart and it turns out that´s where I should have been in the first place. Ahhh the joys of taking public transportation in foreign countries. Luckily I get the last bus of the night, and even manage to get off at the right spot, on the side of the highway by an underpass.
I get to Paty´s compound. If you thought Canadian suberbs were boring and conformist, then you have to see this neighborhood. ALL the houses are EXACTLY the same. Not one distinguishing feature on any of them. I take a few turns and end up at house number 238. Something strikes me as off, but I can´t put my finger on it. But it has to be her place, it´s the right number after all, and there´s even her white Honda CR-V in the driveway. I can hear a lot of people talking inside, so I figure she must be having some people over. Since I´m sleeping on her futon in the living room and am exhausted, I´m not thrilled about this, but really, it´s not my house so I can´t complain.
I put my key in the door, and it goes in, but doesn´t turn properly. It´s my first time using it, so maybe it´s just a bit sticky. I start turning it more aggressively, but it still won´t turn. That´s when I hear everyone inside go quiet. A few people start making panic-sounding remarks in Spanish. Maybe this isn´t her place after all, I start thinking. Then someone starts shouting - I couldn´t understand the words, but the context was clear. ¨Who are you? What do you want?¨ I quickly decide I am in the wrong spot and I have to get out of here ASAP. I turn on my heel as fast as I can and start speed walking in the opposite direction (I didn´t want to run, as I thought that would bring extra unwanted attention to me). Too late. The door swings open and a man rushes out. I look for a plac to hide, but decide that will probably make me look more guilty. I freeze like a deer caught in someone´s headlights and start yelling anything I can in Spanish, while holding my hands in the air to show I´m unarmed. ¨Sorry! Mistake! Mistake! No problem!¨ He looks at me a few times suspiciously but then must decide that this stupid blonde girl yelling out random words in Spanish can´t be much harm, and slowly walks, backwards, back inside his house.
I finally make it back to Paty´s REAL house (which is also numbered 238 and also has a white CR-V parked in the driveway). I have two thoughts going through my head - why the hell are there TWO number 238´s and I have to learn this language better if I want to avoid getting myself into serious trouble.
The next morning I´m recounting the story to Gustavo, Paty´s boyfriend, who was raised in Texas. ¨You´re lucky this happened in Mexico,¨ he says. ¨If it had been Texas, they would have shot you automatically.¨ Just another reason, among many, why I do not want to go to Texas. Of course I keep this thought to myself.
Some background info:
On my last night in PV, after hiking with the couchsurfers, I was attempting to make it back to Paty´s house on my own. (She lives outside of town, a bit difficult to get to, and she had always drove me, so I had never got there independently before). Before I left, she reminded me that her house number is 238. That is important.
The bus system in Mexico is a bit confusing, to say the least, and there are a million different buses going everywhere and no one, even long time residents, seem to understand the system. You just hop on a bus and hope it´s going to take you to where you need to go. Since this is my third day in Mexico, I have no clue what to do, but everyone tells me I have to grab the bus from across the street from the Sheraton. So I go there, and wait patiently for my bus to come. I wait, wait, and wait a bit longer. I´m starting to get nervous because it´s getting late and the buses stop running at 11:30. I still haven´t seen a bus heading to where I need to go.
Finally, two of the couchsurfers who are waiting with me suggest I take any bus to Wal Mart (yes, there´s a Wal Mart in PV) and try get one there, as it´s a more popular spot. So I get to Wal Mart and it turns out that´s where I should have been in the first place. Ahhh the joys of taking public transportation in foreign countries. Luckily I get the last bus of the night, and even manage to get off at the right spot, on the side of the highway by an underpass.
I get to Paty´s compound. If you thought Canadian suberbs were boring and conformist, then you have to see this neighborhood. ALL the houses are EXACTLY the same. Not one distinguishing feature on any of them. I take a few turns and end up at house number 238. Something strikes me as off, but I can´t put my finger on it. But it has to be her place, it´s the right number after all, and there´s even her white Honda CR-V in the driveway. I can hear a lot of people talking inside, so I figure she must be having some people over. Since I´m sleeping on her futon in the living room and am exhausted, I´m not thrilled about this, but really, it´s not my house so I can´t complain.
I put my key in the door, and it goes in, but doesn´t turn properly. It´s my first time using it, so maybe it´s just a bit sticky. I start turning it more aggressively, but it still won´t turn. That´s when I hear everyone inside go quiet. A few people start making panic-sounding remarks in Spanish. Maybe this isn´t her place after all, I start thinking. Then someone starts shouting - I couldn´t understand the words, but the context was clear. ¨Who are you? What do you want?¨ I quickly decide I am in the wrong spot and I have to get out of here ASAP. I turn on my heel as fast as I can and start speed walking in the opposite direction (I didn´t want to run, as I thought that would bring extra unwanted attention to me). Too late. The door swings open and a man rushes out. I look for a plac to hide, but decide that will probably make me look more guilty. I freeze like a deer caught in someone´s headlights and start yelling anything I can in Spanish, while holding my hands in the air to show I´m unarmed. ¨Sorry! Mistake! Mistake! No problem!¨ He looks at me a few times suspiciously but then must decide that this stupid blonde girl yelling out random words in Spanish can´t be much harm, and slowly walks, backwards, back inside his house.
I finally make it back to Paty´s REAL house (which is also numbered 238 and also has a white CR-V parked in the driveway). I have two thoughts going through my head - why the hell are there TWO number 238´s and I have to learn this language better if I want to avoid getting myself into serious trouble.
The next morning I´m recounting the story to Gustavo, Paty´s boyfriend, who was raised in Texas. ¨You´re lucky this happened in Mexico,¨ he says. ¨If it had been Texas, they would have shot you automatically.¨ Just another reason, among many, why I do not want to go to Texas. Of course I keep this thought to myself.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Mexico: The beginning!
Hola!
So, this is it...the start of my blog. A little late, I know...but come on, I´m a busy lady and it´s hard to find good internet cafes. Wireless, on the other hand, is readily available. Which leads me to think I should have perhaps brought a little netbook.....hmmm lessons learned, part one.
So I´m in Mexico. Have been for a full week now. And it´s been interesting, to say the least.
Upon arriving I definitely experienced all the regular culture shock/disorientation/confusion/uncomfortability that comes when you first arrive in a developing country. The chaos, disorganization, poverty, pollution, it can all be so overwhelming. Everything is so different, you don´t know how to get around, where to buy anything, and you can´t even ask anyone because they don´t speak your language (and you don´t speak theirs properly). I had forgotten about that, forgotten how it felt. I think I also built up this image of myself as ´Ms. Seasoned Traveler´ and believed myself to be immune to those feelings. Nope. I was wrong. My first full day in Mexico, on the bus into town, I had a paranoid conversation running in my head, convinced that everyone was staring at me (which, truthfully, they probably were), wanted to steal from me and that I was going to get mugged at any moment. Luckily, I was just going temporarily insane and nothing bad at all happened to me.
Fortunately for me, I arrived in Mexico (Puerto Vallarta to be precise) to a wonderful couchsurfing host, Paty, which made the transition that much easier. I couldn´t have asked for a better host and more importantly, friend while I was there. She picked me up from the airport and gave me tons of resources for finding my way around the city. Even better, however, was the fact that she introduced me to a bunch of other couchsurfers in Vallarta. These guys kept me so busy and made me feel (almost) at home in the city. I was only planning on staying a day or two in PV, but ended up staying four because I felt so welcome there. We did a day trip to a small beach town, and then spent another day hiking along the coast from one beach to the next. (I managed to accomplish this in sandals and a sundress - they had told me we were going sailing, and the plan changed but the gringa was never informed).
Ironically, it was from this group of Mexicans that I learned something about my own culture. While eating some delicious tostadas after our hike, one of them made an offhanded comment about Canadians being horrible tippers. I hadn´t even begun to absorb the news when one by one, they all chipped in with a personal anecdote of their own about awful Canadian tipping. (I should add that as they live in PV, most work in the service/tourism industry in some way). The best I heard was from Steve, who charters yachts, ¨Canadians always spend our tip money on extra beer.¨ While I was embarrassed and a bit surprised, all I could was give a bit extra at the end of our meal. Another lesson learned.
So it appears this trip isn´t only about learning about other countries. I´m also learning how others perceive my country and people. Which can be just as, or maybe more, valuable.
So, this is it...the start of my blog. A little late, I know...but come on, I´m a busy lady and it´s hard to find good internet cafes. Wireless, on the other hand, is readily available. Which leads me to think I should have perhaps brought a little netbook.....hmmm lessons learned, part one.
So I´m in Mexico. Have been for a full week now. And it´s been interesting, to say the least.
Upon arriving I definitely experienced all the regular culture shock/disorientation/confusion/uncomfortability that comes when you first arrive in a developing country. The chaos, disorganization, poverty, pollution, it can all be so overwhelming. Everything is so different, you don´t know how to get around, where to buy anything, and you can´t even ask anyone because they don´t speak your language (and you don´t speak theirs properly). I had forgotten about that, forgotten how it felt. I think I also built up this image of myself as ´Ms. Seasoned Traveler´ and believed myself to be immune to those feelings. Nope. I was wrong. My first full day in Mexico, on the bus into town, I had a paranoid conversation running in my head, convinced that everyone was staring at me (which, truthfully, they probably were), wanted to steal from me and that I was going to get mugged at any moment. Luckily, I was just going temporarily insane and nothing bad at all happened to me.
Fortunately for me, I arrived in Mexico (Puerto Vallarta to be precise) to a wonderful couchsurfing host, Paty, which made the transition that much easier. I couldn´t have asked for a better host and more importantly, friend while I was there. She picked me up from the airport and gave me tons of resources for finding my way around the city. Even better, however, was the fact that she introduced me to a bunch of other couchsurfers in Vallarta. These guys kept me so busy and made me feel (almost) at home in the city. I was only planning on staying a day or two in PV, but ended up staying four because I felt so welcome there. We did a day trip to a small beach town, and then spent another day hiking along the coast from one beach to the next. (I managed to accomplish this in sandals and a sundress - they had told me we were going sailing, and the plan changed but the gringa was never informed).
Ironically, it was from this group of Mexicans that I learned something about my own culture. While eating some delicious tostadas after our hike, one of them made an offhanded comment about Canadians being horrible tippers. I hadn´t even begun to absorb the news when one by one, they all chipped in with a personal anecdote of their own about awful Canadian tipping. (I should add that as they live in PV, most work in the service/tourism industry in some way). The best I heard was from Steve, who charters yachts, ¨Canadians always spend our tip money on extra beer.¨ While I was embarrassed and a bit surprised, all I could was give a bit extra at the end of our meal. Another lesson learned.
So it appears this trip isn´t only about learning about other countries. I´m also learning how others perceive my country and people. Which can be just as, or maybe more, valuable.
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