My ombligo and el vértigo mexicano

1.

Carmelita, our cooking instructor, explained it to us like this: one way to say where you’re from is to say “allí está enterrado mi ombligo,” which means something like, my umbilical chord (only it’s more literally your belly button) is buried there; because that’s a tradition, I guess, to bury the umbilical chord where you were born.  At the time, after several hours of cooking, exposure to spices and kitchen humidity, I thought this was very funny, and I cried.

2.

So this past Thursday, Mexico celebrated its 200th birthday and a 100 year anniversary of the Mexican Revolution.  The program director Rodolfo is doing his best to make us question both Mexican independence and the success of the revolution; this did not, however, stop us from celebrating or gritando or trying the mezcal.

3.

On Thursday night, to celebrate independence but also because I’ve been longing for familiar flavors, I baked cookies for my host family.  It was a big mess – because I had to translate the recipe, then convert the measurements, then improvise and add some leche – and I was afraid the cookies would not leave the oven as cookies.  But they did, and I ate most of them.

4.

On Saturday, we comi-ed (combis are Mexican public transportation, not buses but vans with benches around the edges) our way to the neighboring pueblos to see the house in which Emiliano Zapata was born, then also the entrance to the hacienda where he was killed.  His remains are actually buried aquí in Cuautla, but his ombligo is elsewhere, i.e.  Anenecuilco.

5.

I also played pool in the family billiard hall for the first time, with some of my amigas from the programa, and also the sister and sister’s boyfriend of one of these amiguitas.  I wasn’t good, but I plan on being tiburón by the time I leave.

6.

And this past weekend, we combi-ed to Tepoztlán and climbed up the pirámide there for a spectacular vista of the city below.  We also edged our way around the very narrow ledge of the pyramid and (I) experienced some Mexican vertigo.

1.5.

And I love Mexico very much, but sometimes I hear my ombligo calling, ¿you know?

Me enamoro de Sor Juana

0.

It’s been raining a lot lately (ya viene la lluvia), so that’s mostly what I listen to when I’m falling asleep.  But when it’s not raining, I like listening to the sound of balls colliding in the billiards hall beneath my window.

1.

Mucho leer a Sor Juana, and here’s my favorite part from her autobiography:

After she cuts off a bunch of her hair, she tells herself that she has to learn and learn and learn more things before her hair grows back to its previous length.  So she didn’t end up learning enough, and she cut her hair again and said: “que no me parecía razón que estuviese vestida de cabellos cabeza que estaba tan desnuda de noticias” (55); that translates to something like: it did not seem reasonable to me that a head should be clothed in hair when it was so naked of knowledge.

Yesterday we went to the Centro Cultural de Sor Juana in Nepantla and saw what remains of the kitchen of SJ’s old house.  At the museo, I fell in love.

2.

Name-calling exists in every culture, I guess, or at least in the U.S. and in México.  While walking home a couple days ago, this guy was staring at me, de una manera muy siniestra, and when we passed each other he said, “Güero,” under his breath.  

My family assures me it wasn’t offensive.

3.

I’ll be working in the Biblioteca/Library in the Centro/Downtown de/of Cuautla.  It’s a beautiful building, a mural on one wall.  And hopefully, in addition to librarial things, I’ll be able to lead some kind of creative writing (escritura creativa) workshop, and (con esperanza) we’ll be able to publish an anthology at the end to be housed in the library.  A ver.

4.

At the beginning of Laura Esquivel’s Como agua para chocolate, the narrator says, “Les sugiero ponerse un pequeño trozo de cebolla en la mollera con el fin de evitar el molesto lagrimeo que se produce cuando uno la está cortando” (3); “To keep from crying when you chop [the onion] (which is so annoying!), I suggest you place a little bit on your head” (4, trans. by Carol Christensen, who added that nice parenthetical).

Carmelita, our cooking instructor, did the same for me, put the onion on my head, and I did not cry.  Carmelita said it was una brujería, a piece of withcraft.  Una brujería que funciona, I said.

5.

Food: for dinner we made picadas and dobladas de pollo, de flor de calabaza, de champiñones, along with agua de tuna and salsa verde.  Also in México, I eat all the foods I didn’t in the EE.UU: onions, tomatoes, chiles, nopales, lengua (yep, tongue on tongue), mushroom soup, pan dulce (which is the greatest), chocolate (which is better than USAmerican hot chocolate).  

6.

Also, last Saturday I went to an antro and ordered a margarita de fresa (obviously with the intention of transgressing gender boundaries).  That was a new experience: being able to ask (legally) for alcohol.

7.

So, all these new sabores, which are wonderful and great and culturally expansive.  But sometimes I still find myself longing for more familiar flavors.

And you all – espero que todo les vaya bien!  Love and abrazos.

Que conozcas mejor a tu cuerpo

It’s been a week that feels like a Kenyon April, so I have a lot to say, but I’ll keep it brief and quick so you don’t get bored – exchange student honor.

1.

“Soné con detectives helados en el

gran refrigerador de Los Ángeles

en el gran refrigerador de México D.F.”

– Roberto Bolaño

I arrived in Mexico City, Distrito Federal, last Friday, taxi-rode with a fellow participant to the Hotel Isabel (only after our taxista took us to a different hotel with Isabel in the name), and upon arrival realized that the program director was not present.  Nina (fellow participant, and female) and I spoke with the recepcionista about getting into our rooms, and the guy wanted us to share a double and pay for the room, which he claimed was not yet paid for.  So we waited for Rodolfo, and when he showed up, he straightened things out, and thus began our adventure in the refrigerator of México D.F.

2.

We stayed in el D.F. for three days, two nights, exploring and eating and sleeping, but not very much.  The first night, Norma (another program director) took us on a tour of the Zócalo and in front of the Palacio de Bellas Artes, qué precioso.  The next day, Rolando Guillermoprieto, marido of Jacqui (another director) and also cousin of Alma Guillermoprieto (¡no way!), guided us through the Palacio, and we saw some Diego and Siquieros and some Tamayo.  The murals were immense, and it cost 30 pesos to take pictures – so I didn’t take any.

3.

An excerpt from my journal from the night before the murals:

“Abbe laughed at the lesbianas kissing in front of the statues of Aztec kings whose names we could not pronounce.”

4.

Later on Saturday, we had the opportunity to explore el D.F. on our own – bueno, not completely on our own, but in parejas.  I was sitting in the lobby, chatting with la hija muy simpática de Rodolfo, waiting for the girls who never came down from their rooms; eventually Rodolfo gave me permission to wander on my own.  I did, I picked up the pedestrian speed-walk of Mexico City, and I visited the Zócalo and some cathedrals and a bookstore.  The bookstore was a little crazy because it’s back-to-school season, and the lines are enormous and scary, but I was still able to snag a volume of Roberto Bolaño.

Also while Walking Around, I realized that there were very few extranjeros/foreigners in Mexico City, different from the metropolises of the United States (I think?).  The exciting news is that, for a few minutes, I forgot to look at my skin blanquísima, forgot how tall am and how red my hair is, and forgot that I wasn’t mexicano.

5.

[Foto of la Santa Muerte, my favorite of México’s “icons”]

6.

And although I’ve been running in the mornings with my host hermano (como a las 6:00 de la mañana), never have I been more sore than after scaling las pirámides / the pyramids in Teotihuacan.  At the top of the Pirámide del Sol, I received the sun (as Norma suggested) for energy purposes.  Of course, while receiving the sun, I also received a sunburn.

7.

Sunday night we arrived in Cuautla, Morelos, nerves on end because we were (all seven of us) about to meet our host families for the first time.  And nuestros papás decided it would be a fun game to make us guess who belonged to whom.  My host mother, Isabel, muy amable, rescued me from the pool of squirming foreigners and drove me five blocks to her (pink) house, which is attached to a billiards hall that she owns and operates.  I met her sons (Isaac, Octavio, Oscar), and we chatted for a while on her patio about lots of things, like how tall my brother is and how hard it is to be vegetarian in México.

8.

The next day we had orientation, and the next day we had classes, and classes the day after that, etc.  I’m taking a class on colonial texts in Mexico, another class on Sor Juana and some writer on the revolución, a cooking class with Carmelita, grammar with Goyo, México de hoy with Norma, a field study, and then starting next week we’ll also be talking with some students from a university in Cuautla.

9.

It’s hard for me to sleep here because of the roosters and the dogs barking and the church bells across the street that ring every morning (or almost) at 6:30, 6:45, and 7:00.  It’s hard, but I like it, and I’m going to get used to it.  I would prefer to be colonized.

10.

“Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack” (Ke$ha)

“Antes de salir, me cepillo los dientes con una botella de Jack” (trans. C. Gordon & C. Philpot)

And it wasn’t quite Jack that I was brushing my teeth with, just the tap water, which was stupid of me.  Stayed home sick today, and that’s how I had the time to write this.  

Love to all, and I love México.  You should come visit me here, because I’m thinking I might not come back.