Tuesday, November 9, 2010

That time I was in DC for 10 hours (The Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear)

I slept in my own bed for four nights before I got the urge to skip town again. Lucky for me, the two funniest men in politics decided it was about time to rally the troops for a cause. Though I am usually hesitant to hop on a bus (motion sickness sucks), the 14 hour ride was worth it. I had help overcoming the usual stomach acrobats with healthy doses of generic Dramamine. We left Friday night at 6ish from Chicago, and woke up in the nation's capitol around 10 a.m. Becoming a part of the herd, Andrew (who spontaneously decided to join me with just the clothes on his back and his requisite backpack) and I walked to the mall. It was like a Rally dream. Code Pink was there, superheroes combed to field for trouble, and novice and seasoned rally goers carried the best signs I've ever seen or could imagine at any rally. Two of the best were "God Hates Crabs" and "Baconayse and McRib 2012." I wish I would have thought ahead and designed a clever sign. Next time I'll be prepared.

The last time I was on the national mall was a quiet summer day a couple years ago. But this time was anything but serene. Quiet is the last adjective anyone could use to describe the scene that day, unless you were being satirical, and with this crowd, it might have just worked. While I never got to see my nerd crush Stephen Colbert on stage, I was lifted above the thousands of people a couple of times to get a glimpse of him on the jumbotron. I have never been in a crowd that massive before. I couldn't see the end of it, even when I did get hover a couple feet over the masses. I'm sure by now you've read all about the rally itinerary, but I just wanted to share a couple of my favorite parts.

First, Roots. Then, before Colbert and Stewart even took stage, I knew I made the right decision to come to the rally when Mythbusters Adam Savage and Jamie Hyneman used us as guinea pigs for seismic experiments. I really wish that show was shot in front of a live audience, but explosions probably don’t work all that well in a studio. During the main event, my favorite, besides the poignant speech Stewart made at the end, was the train song battle. And yes, Yusuf Islam, Ozzy Osbourne and the O'Jays were all live and in person performing their songs "Peace Train" "Crazy Train" and finally "Love Train." Who wouldn't want to get on the love train? I can’t think of a more appropriate and fitting compromise song. Then there were the medals. The best? Anderson Cooper's black T-Shirt winning Colberts Medal of Fear, and a 7-year-old girl (who has more courage than the award winners) accepting for the media outlets. Stewarts best? The award of reasonableness to Velma Hart. After all the cheering, laughing and satirical awesomeness, Stewart's speech wrapped up the rally. Here are a few excerpts I found on Wikipedia (which I know could have been altered by Colbert fans, like the elephant site, but I'm trusting it. I feel like this is in fact what I heard that Saturday and rings true for me):


This was not a rally to ridicule people of faith, or people of activism, or look down our noses at the heartland, or passionate argument, or to suggest that times are not difficult and that we have nothing to fear. They are, and we do.

But we live now in hard times, not end times. And we can have animus, and not be enemies. But unfortunately, one of our main tools in delineating the two broke. The country’s 24-hour politico–pundit' perpetual panic "conflictinator" did not cause our problems, but its existence makes solving them that much harder. The press can hold its magnifying glass up to our problems, bringing them into focus, illuminating issues heretofore unseen. Or they can use that magnifying glass to light ants on fire, and then perhaps host a week of shows on the "dangerous, unexpected flaming-ants epidemic!" If we amplify everything, we hear nothing.

There are terrorists, and racists, and Stalinists, and theocrats, but those are titles that must be earned! You must have the résumé! Not being able to distinguish between real racists and Tea Party-ers, or real bigots and Juan Williams or Rick Sanchez is an insult – not only to those people, but to the racists themselves, who have put in the exhausting effort it takes to hate. Just as the inability to distinguish terrorists from Muslims makes us less safe, not more.

Americans don’t live here or on cable TV. Where we live, our values and principles form the foundation that sustains us while we get things done – not the barriers that prevent us from getting things done. Most Americans don’t live their lives solely as Democrats, Republicans, liberals or conservatives. Americans live their lives more as people that are just a little bit late for something they have to do. Often something they do not want to do. But they do it. Impossible things, every day, that are only made possible through the little, reasonable compromises we all make.

We know, instinctively, as a people, that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light, we have to work together. And the truth is, there will always be darkness. And sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the Promised Land. Sometimes, it’s just New Jersey.

Unfortunately, even with this speech and rally, the election went wayward. All I hope is that people can work together for the greater good, and that politicians don't lose site of the golden rule. It's really the only one that matters, and sadly, I think it's one that politicians most overlook. In reality, here in my life, I'll just keep trying to be optimistic, cautiously, while supporting causes that I think are striving to make this world a better place.


Thursday, November 4, 2010

Blood sausage is not vegetarian (neither is the risotto)

I finally posted the second half of my Seattle photos on Facebook, and figured I should probably write a bit about the rest of my trip too. So, let's see how much I can remember about the second half of Seattle three weeks later.

I'm going to start with the Sci-Fi Museum. While on its own merit it is a marvelous hub for nerds of all kind, and has collections even a person with nerd-like tendencies could enjoy, I contend it would have been made a million times better with my extremely nerdy, and oh so loveable friends back home in the Midwest. Watching them geek out over the robots like R2-D2, aliens like ET, famous/infamous spaceships and spacesuits would have been priceless. Taking into account my life aspirations being inspired by the leading women in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and The Adventures of Superman, and my sci-fi loving friends, I should have been less surprised by how much I related to and recognized in the museum. It rocked.

The Sci-Fi Museum ticket is a two for one with the Experience Music Project. The history of the guitar greets museum goers as the first exhibit, and a large multi color tornado outside the Jimi Hendrix room dwarfs anything in its path, almost as much as Hendrix blew away his audiences when he performed. Music always has a way of bringing me back to a place and time in my own history, but the museum has of showing how music shaped and reflected the moods of the nation as a whole that I loved.

I didn't go to the top of the needle. The top of the Columbia Center has a better view for less, and you get to see the Space Needle from above. It's like going for drinks at the Signature Lounge in the Hancock instead of the viewing lounge Sears Tower. Overall a better decision, although I have yet to go to the Sears since the section with the glass bottom was installed. I went to the Columbia Center with one of my hostel mates from Switzerland. We hung out for the last few days of my Seattle adventure.

I have a thing about drinking alone, I don't do it, just like I don't drink and drive. So, when they announced a pub crawl I convinced my new Swiss friend to join me and we trekked with the dozens of other hostellers to a few of Seattle's fine drinking establishments. We made it to Linda's, the last place Kurt Cobain was seen, and then the Comet, where bands like the Sound Garden got started (and where that night, a talented rapper whose name I can't remember, but is bound for greatness, took the mic) and we ended the night at the Cha Cha, a luchalibre (Mexican Wrestling) theme restaurant. It was already decorated for Day of the Dead. I'm still kicking myself for leaving Mexico before being able to experience Dia de los Muertos.

The next few day, my new Swiss friend and I learned never to order noir boudin, especially if you're vegetarian. After that mistake in the cafe whose decor and smells nearly transported us to France, I asked the server at Italian restaurant later that night about the Risotto I had been salivating over all day. This restaurant was part of Seattle's Restaurant week, which meant that I could enjoy a three course meal at a four star restaurant for $25. I was lucky enough to get a taste of high class dining this summer during Madison's restaurant week, and was excited to have discovered it in Seattle. So, back to the risotto. It was made with chicken stock. Dumb vegetarian rules I made up. They made me a main dish sans meat. It, and the tiramisu, were the perfect dishes for my last night in Seattle. After dinner we meandered back to Oliver's, the bar where the chocolate tour began. I had to try the Flatliner again, this time a full martini glass worth. It. was. amazing. And only made better by the crazy Chicagoan we met at the bar, and the insane sports conversation I miraculously was able to participate in because I could recall some sports info my cubs fan family members recite on a regular basis. Mostly that people from Chicago are used to disappointment. There was even hockey talk. Switzerland is big into hickey I guess, there team beat the Blackhawks last year. Leana was still psyched about that. I just thought it was great that on my last day of being away from home I ran into someone from Chicago. If I was the kind of person who believed in signs, I would say it was a sign that I was ready to go home. For now.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Chocolate is the new coffee (and coffee and chocolate are the new peanut butter and chocolate)

My detour to Seattle was in part to see if I've been romanticizing the city since I went there in junior high with my family. I haven't been. I'm falling fast for this city. Having the Public Market so close is the relationship equivalent of getting flowers every day, and not just the standard beautiful red rose, but the funky, fun interesting blossoms that create unique bouquets each day. On my first walk through the market, I watched the enthusiastic fish throwers toss around a crab, and then a fish (I'm not versed enough in fish to know what kind it was. It was huge and was probably alive earlier that morning swimming around in the cool water). I picked up a pint of fresh, organic raspberries, sampled apple spice tea and ogled a cashmere hat and arm warmers. There's still time, and I might forgo The Script concert tonight to buy them. For lunch I grabbed quite possibly the best mac n' cheese from Beecher's Cheese Market and found a bench in the park overlooking the mountains and enjoyed the outdoors and my comforting cheesy meal. Street performers have always been one of my favorite part of cities, and Seattle is no different. This performer, however, was the first of his kind I've ever encountered. He was a poet, using his art to travel. He politely asked me if I'd be interested in hearing his poem, and proceeded to recite amazing lyrics about the pursuit of happiness. I wish I would have asked him to write it down for me. But, as the saying goes, people might not remember what you say, but they always remember how you make them feel. And this traveling poet, brave enough to express himself to complete strangers gave me hope and added even more sunshine to my day.

From the market I made it to the Art Museum, which had an extensive Picasso exhibit. There's not much I can say about Picasso that hasn't been said, except for how much I enjoy seeing his evolution and life unfold through his paintings. His blue period will always be my favorite, and an inspiration that after even the darkest of times, bright colors and unique shapes can alter even the saddest perspective for the better.

Yesterday I continued my exploration with guided tours. The first, and the second best tour I've been on throughout my travels (the first being the Epicurian tour in Portland), was the Chocolate Indulgence Tour. I love that all the food tours always begin at an upscale hotel. It gives me a chance to play make believe and pretend that I am actually a guest at such a hotel. The first stop on the tour was Oliver's. The first "daylight" bar in Seattle after prohibition is located on a great corner for people watching, and the bartender makes a delicious Flatliner. What's a flatliner? it begins with espresso over ice. Then, the bartender adds cocoa liquor, Baily's and rum, shakes and pours topping the tasty beverage with three espresso beans. Since our tour started at 11, we just had a little sample, not a full martini glass so we could enjoy the rest of our chocolaty samples.

Next stop, Dahlia Bakery. We walked to the Tom Douglas District (named for, you guessed it, Tom Douglas, a chef who owns about a handful of restaurants in a four block radius). Dahlia is one of his famous places, and his pasty is worth the hype. The triple coconut creme pie topped with white chocolate shavings and chocolate truffle cookie dusted with powdered sugar were enough to satisfy the most aching sweet tooth, and this was just the beginning.

Next we were served a mini cupcake, a chocolate wrapped brownie and chocolate gelato with a surprisingly delicious lemon sorbet beneath adding a level of freshness to the chocolate deliciousness. The tour guide explained the lemon chocolate combination the best when she said it was like a tuxedo and tennis shoes. You wouldn't necessarily put them together, but it can be charming. They even gave us milk at the Chocolate Box, adding to the kid in a candy store feel of the tour.

We carried on to the market and stopped at The Confectional. Best name for a chocolate shop/bakery ever. Their slogan is, "Forgive me chocolate for I have sinned. I have not yet had my daily confection." We had chocolate crust raspberry cheesecake and Columbian sipping chocolate made in a European style making it thicker than traditional Latin American drinking chocolates. They also have pumpkin cheesecake. They are on my list for today, even though I've already had my Starbucks pumpkin scone and Chai.

Popcorn was next. The people at Kukuruza (Russian for popcorn) Gourmet Popcorn hand drizzled dark chocolate over their air popped corn and in their Rocky Road version added marshmallows and pecans. I may have to order online for the holidays to share their awesomeness with friends and family.

Our last stop was the Tiffany's of chocolate shops. The chocolates are kept in glass cases like Tiffany's diamonds, and the boxes resemble Tiffany's in that they come with a silk ribbon adorning the recognizable square box. The last of the tour bites was world famous. It is Obama's favorite chocolate, a chocolate covered salted caramel to be exact. If you were to have dinner at the White House, you would be sent home with two of these delicious treats, one dark and one milk. And, if you're like me, and your chance of coming to Seattle far outweighs your chance of being invited to a state dinner at the White House, you have to visit Fran's to join me in saying that you adore the same chocolate as the president.

Then, sweet tooth satisfied 10 times over (which might have been part of the happiness the poet was talking about), I walked to Pioneer Square to walk off a bit of my sugar/theobromine high. Pioneer Square is where the Seattle Underground Tour started. Like most US cities, Seattle had a seedy underbelly. It probably still has some dodgy business going on, again, like most cities, but this literal underground has been open to tourists for nearly 60 years. The sidewalks underground are condemned now, and the smell is definitely palpable. Today's Seattle is the second or third version of the city. Originally settlers homes were swept into the water by the tide, and then the entire city was ablaze. As we walked through the former streets, we heard tales of how women "seamstresses" saved the economy, and how in the early 1900s the sidewalks looked as though they were moving due to the rat infestation. The city eventually offered 10 cents per rat tale to encourage residents to help exterminate the disease ridden rodents, but upon following kids who were regular tail deliverers, they found the 10 year olds were breeding rats and cutting the tails off for money. This stopped the tail payments and closed off the underground until the tour was open. All the spider webs, bricks and rubbish is original. And, if you believe in this sort of thing, many visitors and guides say the place is haunted. I'll check my photos for orbs, but really it might just be the light playing tricks on us.

Well, the Sci-Fi museum (yep, I'm a nerd, but really part of me is doing this to make my nerdier friends a little jealous) and Experience Music Project await. Too bad I'm a week too soon for the Battle Star Gallactica exhibit. Maybe next time...

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Not goodbye, only see you later

I said a bittersweet goodbye to Mexico yesterday. I really felt at home in Guadalajara, and being away for only a few days has me reconsidering my plan to work on the coast. Thursday, my last night in the city before my coastal vacation, new friends and I listened to Radaid (check them out, their world/rock sound is amazing) at Teu Lloc and then enjoyed the awfully awesome early 90s music and videos at Wall Street bar. For me, it was the best way to say goodbye (well, not goodbye per say, maybe until next time) to the city.

Friday I took the bus to Mazatlan, a beautiful beach town on the Pacific Ocean. The promise of crashing waves, summer-like sun and a poolside lounge chair were the only things keeping me sane on the eight our ride. Remind me never to take that long of a bus ride again. Bus plus curvy mountainous roads equals nausea like none other. I got into Mazatlan at around 11 p.m. Friday, crashed and woke up to rays of sun peaking through my window at the Old Mazatlan Inn. (If you're thinking of a Mexican holiday, think Mazatlan, and think Old Mazatlan Inn. Then, after all that thinking, book it. You won't regret it.)

I had the relaxing vacation I was hoping for to end my Mexican adventure. I walked the boardwalk, climbed a mountain to the tallest natural lighthouse in service in the world, dipped my feet into the pacific, cooled off in the pool, ate fantastic food and had a couple beers with friends on the beach. Oh, and made some progress on the Spanish book I bought from the Liberia in Guadalajara that has the best vanilla cappuccinos. For three days I walked down to La Copa De Leche restaurant for breakfast, dug into huevos rancheros and read with the sound of the waves crashing in the background (and surprisingly, I understand quite a bit, but also have made it a point to underline all the new words and look them up to help with my vocab). Yesterday, I walked around town, soaking in all the Mexico (and summer sun) I could before coming back to the US. I packed up my last things at around noon, hopped in a cab and bid Mexico farewell.

What a difference a few hours can make. By 9:30 last night I found the Green Tortoise hostel in Seattle, and settled in to this new city for my next adventure. And now, I'm sitting in in Seattle Coffee Works, next door to my hostel and half a block from the Public Market drinking coffee and working on my laptop like everyone else in the thousands of Seattle coffee houses. It's odd to understand with ease everyone's conversations (not that I'm eavesdropping, the words coming out of people's mouths actually are easy for me to understand, so I find myself hearing bits and pieces of conversations without meaning too). This trip is completely spontanious, nothing planned. Any ideas, send them my way.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Just dance (a spontanious encounter with choreographed movement)

No more English. For four hours each day I have been emersed in Spanish in what has turned out to be a amazingly productive review class. My use of tenses has improved, and I'm remembering vocabulary that I thought I had long forgotten. Lucky for me the brain has a way of retriving information once dusted off. While at IMAC, I have met some fantastic new friends who are learning English, and with whom I can practice my Spanish and they their English while happening upon great locales and events in the city.

Wednesday was another great example of this city's ability to provide dwellers with a opportunity to encounter great art just around the corner. The 13th Annual International Dance Festival was happening all last week at different venues throughout the city. After sipping Sangria at Cafe Benito we passed by their large (airplane hanger huge) space dedicated to art and city events where I had seen a BMX expo a couple weekends ago being set up for an event. In my best Spanish I asked what was happening and discovered there would be a dance performance later that evening.

By 8:30 that night the space was packed, lights were dimmed and music was cued. On stage were the five dancers of Spacio Cerio, a spectacular contemporary dance company. Watching them move effortlessly through knowingly difficult moves while they performed "Fracturas" was a reminder of just how much we can express through our bodies, of what kind of gut-wrenching emotion can be conveyed without saying a word.

Saturday, the Ballet Folklorica gave me another reminder of how, through music and movement, histories can come alive. I found comfort in the rhythm. It was constant even as it changed. And as much comfort as I found in the music, I was intrigued by the costumes. Bright, flowing skirts surrounded the dancers as they turned their way across the stage. The gracefulness of the women dancing was perfect juxtoposed to the men hitting the floor with their feet creating a purposeful noise that combined with the musicians created a beautiful scene.

In the center of the city, Teatro Degollado, was the best place to see this performance. The theatre is overwhelming, the way historic 100-plus-year-old theatres are supposed to be. Unbelievable paintings on the ceiling, elegant chandelliers in the lobby, classic red cushioned seats and box seats once reserved for the rich and famous. Imagine all the people who have spent their Saturday nights in this theatre week after week, year after year. All the people who have smiled, cried, and held the hand of the one they loved sitting in the seats all around me. There is something comforting in knowing that we all are striving to find the same thing, happiness, and that in many ways we all find it, if only for a few hours at the theatre, through similar means.

Monday, September 27, 2010

School's out (or at least it was, for a weekend)

My classmates and I, after a 140 hour, four week course including 10 teaching practices, are all now TEFL certified and prepared to teach English anywhere in the world. *A celebration was definitely in order. The school hosted a fabulous meal with a real veggie option (the best I've had since I've been here) and after a few drinks we closed down the school and headed out to a cantina called La Maestranza for more festivities. As the night carried on we tried to make our way to the next locale, but, as seems to be par for the course recently a late night torrential downpour cut my night short. I hailed a taxi for the quick ride home at 3:30, which was probably for the best considering our goal to get up for the Tequila tour in the morning.

Surprisingly Joeline and Nathan and I woke up in time to catch the 9:30 a.m. tour bus to Tequila, a great continuation of our graduation celebration. The first stop on the tour was Tres Mujeres, an small organic distillery just outside the city that still cuts all its agave by hand. The coa that is used to cut the plant is something like 8 kilos, not an easy tool to work with. We first went into the field, which were complete with a couple cows taking an early morning siesta. the view was beautiful, we were surrounded by mountains and the agave makes for a slightly blue tinted field. We then moved inside to see the actual fermenting taking place and sampled fresh tequila from the barrel. Tequila and I aren't the best of friends. This was solidified after I took a sample of the best, most expensive bottle available and still made my scrunched face signifying my inability to discover the finer qualities of the most popular Mexican liquor.

We made a quick stop in the town’s main plaza for a snack before the Cuervo tour. The cathedral is amazing, as all cathedrals I’ve stumbled across have been, and while eating al fresco at this small café we saw the barrel tour bus pass by and all felt a ping of jealousy. Yes, the barrel tour is just like it sounds, a vehicle that looks like tequila barrels, how fun is that?

The Cuervo factory is nearly in the center of town, and quite the opposite of Tres Mujeres. It felt very much like visiting Lake Front Brewery and then seeing the mammoth that is Miller. The little guy always wins in my book. That’s not to say Cuervo wasn’t a good tour, because it was, and the samples were flowing, but it just had a different feel. No photos were allowed, hair nets had to be worn (I’m sure you’ll appreciate that, Pam) and the overall corporateness of it all was evident everywhere. We did get to see the crow, who is in a huge cage at the end of the tour, which was pretty cool. Cuervo was the last distillery, and on the way home we stopped at a traditional restaurant on the way home that overlooked the fields and had beautiful mountain vistas we enjoyed on the patio. There’s not much better than good friends, good food, amazing views, and a cool breeze in your hair.

The tequila bus got us back to Guadalajara just in time to make plans to meet up for the Mark Anthony concert that was happening to benefit the hurricane victims. We had no luck making it to the show. As we left our meeting place, La Purgatoria, it started to drizzle. Rather than head back we decided to carry on. That was a mistake. We didn’t get more than six blocks when the skies opened up and poured buckets straight down on us. We scrambled to find a taxi. Once we did we had to beg the driver to let us in because we were totally soaked and then got charged more than four times the price it cost us to get there. I swear there’s a button on the meter for gringos who got caught in the rain. It was worth the $25 bucks to get out of the rain and into my warm comfy bed. That’ll teach me to leave home without an umbrella, though I doubt it would have helped in that crazy storm.

*So, where to? I'm holding out for a job on the coast. Keep your fingers crossed for Puerto Vallarta in January. As for now, I finished my first day of Spanish and will be taking classes in Guadalajara for two more weeks. I've been really good at understanding people here, but I would really like to be able to converse without sounding like a 10 year old. Anyway, after Spanish I'll be heading to Mazatlan (on the West coast north of Puerto Vallarta) for a long weekend before venturing back to the states. I’ll visit Seattle for a bit before heading home and looking for a holiday gig to tide me over until January. Any suggestions?

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Last week (a scramble to the finish)

Thanks to Independence Day Friday, the 17th was only a half day, with no teaching since the English school canceled classes all together Thursday and Friday. I did, however, have to wake up to teach bright and early on Saturday. Students that take Saturday classes only come one day a week for six hours (I only taught for one hour of their day). After teaching sentences like “You aren’t going to swimming, are you?” and new vocabulary words, it was time to test some of my “slowly coming back to me” Spanish at my classmate’s barbeque.

Tom invited the bunch of us over, along with some of his wife’s family for a barbeque. He was kind enough to seek out veggie burgers for me, and generously provided a keg of Minerva (a delicious microbrew of sorts not easily obtained) for us all to enjoy. It was nice to spend a relaxing afternoon in the sunny backyard with friends before the last week of classes began. The Posado San Pablo group made it home pretty early by recent standards, but of course trekked out to the nearby bars for a few rounds and a bit of dancing to round out the night.

Sunday afternoon I was a total tourist. I found my way to the red double-decker bus, climbed to the second level, obtained headphones to get the English tour, sat back and enjoyed a two hour tour of the city. I now know that the main municipal cathedral is surrounded by four plazas that create a cross, and that the regional museum used to be a seminary. The inscriptions on the arches translate to something like a pleasant visits ensures a return, and near the famous arches stands a statue of Minerva (the god of poetry, medicine, wisdom, commerce, crafts and the inventor of music) in the center of a traffic circle. The newer millennium arches are very modern looking, and are a looming burst of yellow amid the traditional stonework of the city. Cathedrals pepper the city, and since it was Sunday, markets outside were bustling.

After the bus tour I made my way to the regional museum. It was my first museum of this trip, which is quite odd seeing as though in most cities I visit a museum is top on the must see list. The Regional Museum of Guadalajara is a unique mixture of archeological history and historic religious paintings and relics. It was interesting to see the two juxtaposed against one another, and how crucial both aspects are to the history of Guadalajara and Mexico as a whole. Also, quite randomly, I found my favorite exhibit in the museum outside in the square adjacent to the wishing well (yes, I made a wish). It was a series of hand-crafted, beautifully painted mirrors. Photos will follow.

After my day as a tourist I made it back to the Posada to get ready for what is turning out to be one busy week. It’s the last day of classes. By Friday I’ll (cross your fingers) have my certification, and possibly a job on the coast.

** As a side note, there are huge moths here. One recently made his home outside my room, and honestly I thought he was a bat. I haven’t managed to get the courage to stand close enough to get a photo yet, but if I do, you’ll understand my utter fear when it came flying at my face as I went to brush my teeth one night. If you find one in your room it is supposed to mean bad luck, I’m hoping that since he hasn’t managed to get past my doors and we’ve only briefly crossed paths that he hasn’t muddled my luck. Maybe I’ll come across a white moth soon to balance it out.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Viva!

Celebrations started early for the bicentennial, which is officially the 16th of September. After teaching a conversation class for three dedicated students that, to be honest, I was not expecting to show, I made my way to the plaza for my first look at the Independence Day festivities. Walking to the plaza, Mia and I walked past flea-market-style shops block after block selling everything from Mexican flags, mustaches (a must for men celebrating in the plaza), and sombreros to beautiful dresses, shoes and purses.

Once we made it to the plaza entrance we waited in the security line, which to be honest, was more reassuring than disturbing , and began our 200-years-in-the-making experience. I feel so lucky to have been able to be in Mexico for this once in a lifetime event. We were in the square for no more than two minutes we got our faces painted and joined the hundreds, probably thousands, of people taking in all the sites and smells. It was reminiscent of the Taste of Chicago in that there was food and people at every turn, but it also had the intense patriotism and sense of community felt at a small town 4th of July parade. After we made our way through the plazas, we headed back to the Posada to meet the rest of our classmates.

Dinner at La Chata was probably the nicest meal I’ve had since arriving in Guadalajara. Don’t get me wrong, the food in Mexico is delicious. But, I eat most of my meals at taco stands, a standby ahogada lunch spot, the café or my hostel kitchen. This restaurant graciously accommodated our group of 16 gringos better than most restaurants I’ve been to before. The server was extremely friendly, the food came out with no errors and all at the same time, and it was delicious. Before making it back to the plaza for El Grito (a speech during which the crowd parrots the mayor’s cries of Viva Mexico!) we shared a couple cubetas of beer (buckets of 10 bottles of beer) at Kronik. Unlike the afternoon, the security line at 10:30 that night was more than four blocks long. It was worth it to make it to the center, and the line gave people the chance to buy celebratory flags. It was crowded, but not as bad as expected. I was expecting Times Square on New Year’s Eve, but we could move with more than enough room and push forward to the closest screen.

We were a part of the crowd, waiting not so patiently for the mayor. It is amazing how so many anonymous individuals, with different stories, different backgrounds, can come together with a common sentiment to create a crowd bonded by pride and joy. Everyone cheered, chanted Viva! and sang the national anthem. After El Grito there was a spectacular fireworks display. I don’t think I’ve ever been that close to fireworks before, I’m pretty sure I felt the sparks on my arms a couple times. I’m usually not one for fireworks, but this was an exception. The music was perfectly set, and the catherdral and federal building provided a beautiful backdrop and the cheers of the crowd made it impossible not to smile and enjoy the show.

We came across mariachi on the way out. Well, we saw a stage and crowd waiting for a show at first and decided it must be something worth watching. Like many of the shows I’ve been to in Mexico, there was a long, drawn out build up to the main act: music and a recording of snippets of the 200 year history of the country and finally an introduction by a local celebrity and finally the main act. The main act has always been worth the wait. We used this build up time to meet our fellow concert goers. It was quite a melting pot. In our group we had Americans, Brits and Canadians, and next to us were Koreans and of course, the friendly Mexican from California rounded out our united nations of mariachi fans.

After we got our mariachi fix, we met up with the rest of our group who headed straight from El Grito back to the bars. And like most evenings out in Guadalajara, we danced, we drank and we wound up at a gay bar at the end of the night (or really early in the morning). The DJ even incorporated sound bites of El Grito in his techno spinning.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Cuidado (watch out for that hole)*

Remember how the last time I posted I made grandeous plans about making it to exercise day. That was before I knew what Saturday night had in store. There was an outdoor musical festival on one of the avenues not too far from my place featuring fantastic live music and a collection of various music fans based on the multiple state layout of the festival. I'm a sucker for live music. There's nothing like the feeling you get when the music flows through your body and the energy of the crowd is powerful enough to light up a dark night. This music festival would be the first of three live bands I'd see in the coming week. For nearly two hours we roamed the street catching a few songs of each band, making our way down to the most crowded stage on the street. The band deserved the large crowd. Check them out, they are called The Liquids.

We got back to the Posada early enough to run into our new friend from Mexico City. Marysol is a doctor and came to Guadalajara for the weekend to take her exam to become a gynocologist. She's 26. It definitely makes me think I should get going with this "what do I want to be when I grow up" thing. Anyway, we met earlier that week, and made a game plan to go out after she finished her test. Communicating with our less then stellar Spanish and her almost there English we spent the night dancing at Kronik (yes, I know the misspelling-to-be-clever nature of the name should have made me run at first site, but it was a blast). We shared a cubeta (a bucket of beers) and danced until about 4:30 in the morning. We ended the evening back at the Posada with cumbia lessons before calling it a night.

Needless to say, I missed exercise day. But did manage to enjoy a relaxing day in Guadalajara preparing for the busy week of school and teaching. The week nights have been filled with lesson planning and essay writing. I've taught five classes now, and the certification program is half way done. Thursday we managed to sneak away from school work for a bit and a bunch of my classmates came by for dinner and a few drinks, which a few of us turned into night cap at the bar a couple blocks away. The bar was unique, maybe an old government building, with tall ceilings and several rooms set up for lounging, large painings on the wall and an out of this world local band playing. In an attempt to desribe their unique sound, I will say it was a combination of traditional folk, with classical strings and edgy rock undertones. Each member of the four-person band played several instruments, and the vocalists had almost operetic qualities that added a great touch. The intensity of the violinist made me nastolgic for Tom's cello performances (Tom is an old college friend, a phenomenal musician and brand new father to an adorable baby girl).

Friday night the class went out to celebrate Shellena's 22nd birthday. A quick taxi ride to Provedencia and we were transported to a tiki bar with sand on the patio called, ironically, Wall Street. It was everything opposite that one thinks about when they hear the words Wall Street. Shellena's fiance is in Medical School here, and so our two groups came together to celebrate. The pop music was a great primer for the live bands. First an original called Purpuresuite (or something like that), and the next was a dynamic cover band that managed to play songs from The Killers, Metalica, Katy Perry and Michael Jackson in one set. Dancing was an obvious must. Time flew. It was at least four by the time the taxi brought us back, and about five by the time I fell asleep.

I was so proud of myself for making it up to go to the lake Saturday. Lake Chapala is about 45-minutes away from Guadalajara. It is the largest freshwater lake in Mexico, and like most waterfront destinations a great place to get away and clear your head as you listen to the crashing waves (even if the water has questionable toxicity levels). The hills around it and the mountains across are a lively green and the boardwalk was a great place to take in the views. After a calm sunset we took the bus back. The lack of airconditioning made my carsickness an inevidibility. It was so bad that I called it a night when we got back to town, around 9:30.

Today I got up in time to make it to Catholic mass for the first time in months. The cathedral was peacefull and beautiful. The stainglass windows were what every Catholic church strives to have, and the architecture created a feeling of stability and structure you can only find in buildings with hundred of years of history. Catholic mass is Catholic mass, whether in English or Spanish. I followed along, kneeling when appropriate and sharing the sign of peace. But, despite the overwhilemingly beautiful surroundings, and challenge of understanding mass in Spanish, I couldn't help but play scenes from Dogma over in my head. If you haven't seen Dogma, do, unless you can't laugh at yourself and get offended easily (Kevin Smith has first hand believer experience which is why it's so great).

Anyway, later I finally made it down to exercise day. The city closes down Juarez, a main street a couple blocks north of my posada, people ride bikes, rollerblade and run. There are places to play giant games of chess, checkers and dominoes. And everyone is smiling and waving at eachother. A ton of people come out to be active and interact with their neighbors. I wonder if it would work in Milwaukee. I would love to see them try. Maybe close down Water street for an afternoon. Someone should get on that (maybe I'll write a letter telling the city how awesome it is in Mexico).

After all that, it's time to get some rest before the third busy week of classes...

*As for the title, I fell in a hole. Well, I tripped into one that was half full of garbage on the sidewalk. No damage, except my ego, because the man behind me clearly saw me falling and even tried to warn me but it was too late.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Finding my way around (which way is North?)

Last night I saw Edward Scissor Hands. Not the Johnny Deep cult classic, but a man walking past me on the street dressed in head to toe costume complete with the metal scissor hands. The other day I passed a cat, an Emo teenager chose to wear kitten ears and a tail. Today, it was Little Bo Peep. After sharing these sightings, it is needless to say, Guadalajara is an eclectic city. It’s so refreshing to see people so secure in who they are free to express themselves, one might even say, inspirational. Not that I have an inner desire to dress as my favorite animal (I prefer a skirt, chunky jewelry and impractical shoes), but it’s nice to see people doing what makes them happy, not caring if strangers give them a weird look. What does it matter what they think anyway? And, it’s not just the extremes. Everyone seems to be more expressive here. Everyone is holding hands, and in the plazas couples are not shy to show their affection for one another.



It’s only been a week, but I think I’ve found my café. The wall leading to it is decorated with bright, detailed graffiti, inside they offer caffeinated and alcoholic beverages, free wifi, an art installation customers are welcome to contribute to, and a gallery upstairs currently housing a photo exhibit. If you’ve seen my pictures it’s the place with the Stewie paper character on the register. I see many assignments, like my recently completed essay, being worked on there.
In attempt to better familiarize myself with the city I have roamed around the last two evenings. I’ve stumbled upon at least four last public squares complete with large, historic cathedrals, couples taking dance lessons in the park, a group of people doing a traditional dance in the plaza, a Quinceañera, the fashion district (or at least that’s what I guess it was with the amount of shops selling puffy princess dresses in vibrant pinks and oranges) and the mariachi district. I must say that watching the couples learn to dance in the park made me miss my Fred Astaire friends, and contemplate yet again applying to be an instructor. Who knows what I’ll be when I grow up, hopefully this teaching adventure will help me figure it out…


Anyway, I hear tomorrow is “Exercise Day” on Juarez Street. I guess on Sundays they close down the street and people bicycle, run and play games. I’m excited to go for a run, I haven’t worked out since I got here (besides the copious amounts of walking). For now, it’s time to find out the plans for my first Saturday night in Guadalajara.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

My first official Mexico post (home sweet temporary home)

Before even stepping foot on Mexican soil, a Mexican man (a Mexican-American named Rigaberto flying from Chicago to visit his family in Leon to be exact) reinforced my often ill-advised blind faith in mankind. Never has my heart sunk on an airplane as much as it did when I picked up my bag as we were about deplane in Dallas, and I get motion sickness, horrible motion sickness. I noticed that a few items had fallen out, chapstick, a granola bar. But upon further inspection I realized that not only had these trivial items fallen, but that my wallet was missing. I turned to the man sitting next to me, Rigaberto, and asked the people in front of me and the row in front of them. I got on the floor after everyone got off the plane, still no wallet. I had to catch my connector, and since I had my passport and some cash, I had decided even walletless I’d be on the plane to Guadalajara. As I was leaving my name and contact information with the flight attendant, Rigaberto walked back to the flight attendants with my wallet in hand. He had seen a man in the row ahead pick something up, and after I asked him about my wallet he had the courage to follow the other passenger, as him if he had my wallet, and retrieved it. Not only returning it, but returning it will all of my money still inside. I was speechless. I wanted to give him a hug, but didn’t. I thanked him profusely, and still in awe, rushed to my connecting flight.

At nearly 10 p.m. my flight landed in Guadalajara. I made it through the long customs and immigration lines without being recalled for random inspection. You push a button and if it’s green you’re free to go and if it’s red, they go through all your bags. I held my breath, pushed the button and walked on through when it lit up neon green. The teacher training program I’m in covered my taxi from the airport to Posada San Pablo where I’m staying, and within 40 minutes I arrived at my new temporary home. I have my own room, a room about one and a half times the size of my bedroom at home with two queen size beds in case I want to switch it up every once in a while. I share a bathroom with the other guests and have access to the kitchen. Tonight, one of my classmates, Nathan, cooked a fantastic pasta dinner after we taught our first classes. Anyway, Posada San Pablo is just one and a half blocks from the training center, and right next door to a bakery. I’ve managed to resist the sweets every day except for Tuesday. The chocolate croissant had my name on it (ok, not literally, but seriously having to pass it every day is rough).

I’ve been in class for about eight hours a day since Monday learning how to teach English as a Foreign Language. We spent three days covering techniques, classroom management, grammar, lesson planning and more. Today I taught my first class. I think there’s a phrase for that, something with a little more of a bite than “hitting the ground running.” Regardless of what we call it, at 6:15 this evening I found myself writing “Ms. Mysker” on the board with a blue dry erase marker waiting for my students to arrive. I was teaching, and will teach nine more classes, as a substitute for a teacher at the training program’s partner school. I was supposed to have eight semi-beginner students. When only two arrived I was a bit thrown off. My lesson plan and activities were all designed for a larger class. I tried to adapt the best I could. I tried to shake my nerves, and once I got rolling they all but disappeared. I hope that as I teach more classes my nerves will calm down a bit, and I’ll be more at ease. And since this was my first class, the only way I can go is up. Each of my classes will be observed, and end with a short feedback session. It was a little intimidating at first, but definitely helpful and reassuring. Who knows, I might even be good at this some day?

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Down Home (a story about country living, from another country)

It's been three days since my American Airlines plane landed in Guadalajara. There is so much to tell. But, before the stories from last American adventure get pushed aside, I thought I'd write about my trip to southern Illinois before catching everyone up on my first few days in Mexico. There is much to tell, and photos will be posted soon. Promise. So, here is the tale two city kids down home on the farm.

About a week after getting home from my north woods adventure, I packed up the car and headed to the country. This time, I drove south and was flanked by rotating fields of endless corn and soybeans for nearly five hours until reaching "down home," a sleepy part of southern Illinois that many of Andrew's relatives call home. Again, the drive, like the one to the north woods, was more than worth it.

We first stopped at Aunt Martha's to say hello, greeting the free range chickens in the backyard on our way in (if only all chickens were raised like this, I might be able to be a carnivore again). Aunt Martha was sweet enough to give us a dozen eggs and make a fresh pitcher of iced tea for our visit. Sent on our way with hugs, we continued on our way to the drive in theatre. We parked the car, ordered sugary snacks and popcorn, tuned the radio to the theatre's frequency and settled in to watch Despicable Me. (If you have't seen this movie yet, please do. It's funny, charming and everything an animated feature should be). We went from chickens to the big screen all in one day, and looking back, it seems like that would be the theme of the vacation, something country-ish followed by television series dvds or Redbox movies.

My roommate, Jake, is an urban explorer. Abandoned warehouses, old factories, random spaces, you name it, he wants to sneak in and look around. I've never gotten a chance to tag along on one of these outings, however, after the exploration we did down home, I have an idea why he loves it so much. While Andrew had the keys to the buildings we ventured into, it didn't change the fact that these places haven't been hospitable in quite a while. A photographers dream, had I had the proper lighting. I did manage to snap a few shots of the hole in the ground, the abundance of office equipment, the piles of wires, the gorgeous painted tin ceiling and an old boat of a car of which I can't remember the make or model. One of the buildings had a wide open space that would make for a great roller rink, or dance floor, and both had excellent loft space I'd love to live in if the location was a few hundred miles north.

Despite climbing on old desks, looking through dirty car windows, examining old machines, it was nature, not an old nail, loose board or piece of glass, that would give me cause to find an icepack. A bee to be exact. I had managed to avoid getting stung for 27 years. When climbing around an old shed we came across what must have been a hive. I ran. That was mistake number one. Then I swung my arms around, trying to swat it away. That was mistake number two. The bee probably could sense my fear (and maybe the glass of wine), he found his way into my flannel shirt and stung me. First he stung my side, then, he moved to the crick in my elbow. I thought bees were supposed to die after they sting... Maybe this was a super bee. If anyone has any other reasons why this bee didn't die, please let me know.

So, after the bee fiasco, we went to the small lake a few steps from the house we were staying at on the farm. Trees were reflected beautifully in the clear water, fish jumped out of the water and dragonflies searched for their partners as I nursed my arm back to health. The icing continued as we watched "Youth in Revolt" (another Michael Cera must see).

Down home also has some fabulous mom and pop restaurants. We visited a few, the greasy spoon and the pizza place were the best. Even though all eyes were on us when we walked into the greasy spoon for breakfast, they all smiled as we sat down. And, to me, there's not much better than homemade pizza. The pizza was only rivaled by the great company we happened to run into before ordering dinner. Oh, and there was also the place where old school photos of Andrew's grandparents and other relatives adorn the walls. Grilled cheese is always a gold star offering in my book.

Last but not least, no trip down home is complete without guns, or so I'm told. I still haven't shot one. And, to be honest, don't think I ever will. Watching as the guys shot AK-47s in the yard was enough for me. Although I wish I would have had one of them take a photo of me holding the gun with my favorite peace ring that I was wearing that day. Oh well, maybe next time...

Reminder: Check back often for Mexico updates. I'm in class all day, but will be trying to start updating more regularly while I'm here. Also, become a follower and you won't have to rely on my fb status to prompt you to visit my blog.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Up Nort Der Hay

As promised, here's the recall (or at least a cloudy rendition of events that unfolded with the crazy group of people I'm lucky enough to call friends) of Athelstane. Dennis and Erin have spent the past few years planning an annual semi-outdoor adventure in the North Woods. I only say semi because we have stayed in cabins beautiful enough for me to consider giving up the city life and moving into a log cabin in the woods. For the past two years I've packed my hiking shoes, kayaking gear (which, to be honest, is just my bathing suit and workout clothes since) and favorite beverages, jumped in my car and drove north to meet the group at the Wildman Whitewater Ranch. The promise, and follow through, of a fantastic time made the 4 hour drive north more than worth it.

The long weekend began Thursday evening with a tasty cookout, brats for the masses and grilled veggies for me. Despite the heat, we built a cozy fire, had a couple drinks, even more laughs and roasted golden burnt marshmallows for s'mores. Oh, and tried to relive the previous years shenanigans by searching for an unlocked bus to pretend to steal and climbing to the top of the "lookout" tower. It's strange how one minute you're looking up at the serene starry sky reminded of how small you are, and the next minute you can be swept up in the hilarity around you. To me, that's uniquely north woods. Being surrounded by the peacefulness of nature, connected to the sounds and sights, but for as breathtaking the surroundings, the vast openness of it all calls for the bonding of friendships through questionable decision making.

The next morning, or was it technically afternoon, we put on our life jackets and helmets and boarded our kayaks for a run down the Menomonee River (all hopeful the water would be higher than last years "rock avoiding" kayaking run). The water was much higher, and made it much easier to maneuver. The Menomonee is has category four rapids, and it's awesome, but just because you make it through the first rapid without falling out, don't get too greedy. I made it through the first rapid, and it was so much fun I thought I'd try again. Mistake. The second run wasn't as successful; it was, in fact, the complete opposite. And scary. I don't think I got enough momentum, and tipped out half way down the rapid. They say to keep your feet up. Easier said than done, especially when a guide from a different tour group is screaming at you not to let go of your paddle and to swim toward the group (as if that wasn't what I was trying to do). The current was strong, and I had gone under a couple times before grabbing hold of and climbing atop a rock. One of our guides grabbed my boat, brought it over, and waited for me to regain my composure before continuing down the river. The rest of the run was a little less nerve wracking, and I made it the rest of the way without tipping again. Success.

The sunny afternoon led to another warm evening around the fire. More s'mores, even more laughs and a new way to make root beer floats. Our "relaxing" evening lasted until early morning. After a quick cat nap, part of the group opted for golf, some, like me, opted for leisurely walks around the grounds, falling asleep while reading outside on the balcony and a sunset bike ride. In true north woods fashion, riding along the winding road, I came across a bear cub sifting through someone's trash. I pedaled quickly past mentally crossing my fingers that the garbage would keep him distracted and prevent him from chasing me up a tree. Thankfully, that little cub was far more interested in the discarded banana's and grandma's meatloaf than biting my right leg. I made it back to the cabin in time for the last night of camaraderie, found myself a comfy spot on a futon nearly six hours after the sun went down, and woke up early enough to make it to Marisa's bridal shower.