High heels and Michael Jackson (o zapatos de tacón y Michael Jackson)

And so begins my effort to increase my elementary school vocabulary. From here on out, my secondary headlines will serve as a way to learn new terms, too bad this time I chose Michael Jackson to feature giving me little opportunity to use my dictionary. Anyways, on to why I've chosen to include any mention of Michael Jackson...

A couple of nights ago, after my evening classes and a bite to eat with my neighbors, I went home to catch some zzzs. (For those of you worried about my ability to find meatless food in Mexico, I was able to get a fantastic salad at this place complete with avocado, cucumber and carrots. But, I do have to stop ordering the most expensive beer, but really Bohemia is the best beer in Mexico.) I laid my head down, cuddled up next to my pup, and when I closed my eyes, what did I hear? None other than Michael Jackson's "Lean on Me" playing in the distance. It made me smile, and added a comforting sense of "home" to my place that night.

Despite Jackson's downward spiral from greatness, his music is still some of the best, and has made its way around the world. "Lean on Me" speaks to something tried and true, something of utmost importance -- friendship. I am lucky enough to have the best friends a girl could ever ask for, even if most are thousands of miles away at the moment. I've said it before, but the only way this Mexican adventure could get any better would be if I could transplant my gringo friends to sunny Tuxtla Gutierrez.

There is no way to smoothly transition from sappy to heels, so I am going to just go for it. And abruptly change subjects... The women of Mexico have a soft spot for heels. And, considering the never level, constantly cracked, sometimes slippery tile walkways between the concrete sidewalks, their ability to walk down the street without breaking their ankles a skill I am hoping to master. Not everyone wear's heels, and I haven't done a study or anything, but I would guess 7 out of ten women in Tuxtla between the ages of 16 and 46 are wearing heels to walk around the city. Today was my turn to try. I left my house and embarked on my six block walk to school in my favorite purple heels. It was a success, no broken ankles or broken heels. This surely won't be a daily endeavor, but I'm hoping with time I will be as good as the other women I see struting their stuff on Avenida Central.

An intro to Tuxtla Gutierrez

If someone asked me where Tuxtla Gutierrez was three months ago it would have taken me more than a minute to find it on a map. Now, it is my home. Tuxtla is the largest municipality in the Mexican state of Chiapas, and has about as many people as Milwaukee. Chiapas is the southern most state of Mexico, and boarders Guatemala, the Pacific Ocean, Veracruz and Oaxaca. And, if you're more of a visual learner, here's a map.

Enough about geography, right? Don't worry, I'm about to tell you about my first few days in the city. I touched down in Tuxtla Sunday, January 2. Even on the luggage conveyor belt, Pipsy was all smiles in her crate. Having her wagging tail greet me was a great way to be welcomed. The school I'm teaching at sent the deputy director to pick me up. I was a little nervous because I wasn't sure what she looked like, but she found me right away. We collected my luggage and headed outside. The climate was a welcome change from the blistering cold of Wisconsin winter. I left wearing a dress, unexpecting how windy it would be upon arrival. I'm sure it was comical to watch me try to keep my skirt down while dragging my luggage. Luckily, Lety has an SUV and was able to fit Pipsy's unnecessarily large crate and my two pieces of luggage. The drive from the airport was a pretty straight shot, and after being in Guadalajara, I was less worried by the amount of graffiti I saw on the way into town (and in town as well). It seems almost every street has at least one building or sign with a street artist's rendition of his or her name or favorite animal. It isn't a sign that one neighborhood is worse than another, it seems to be a part of the landscape here.

We stopped first at my apartment. The apartment building is behind a locked gate, a plus, and my place is on the ground level, another plus, considering Pips. I have a small kitchen with a semi-stove top and a small fridge (about 1/3 larger than your average college refrigerator). I knew it would be small, and really, I don't need that much space, but it's going to take some love to make it a home. The walls are concrete, giving it a very dorm-like feeling and the front door is metal. Knowing me though, I won't be spending too much time in my apartment. And having a place to rest my head after exploring and teaching is all I really need.

And, the best thing about my place is that when I walk outside and look north, or south, I have a great view of the mountains. It is expecially beautiful at night, with the lights on the foothills leading up to the mountains.

Lety then took me to lunch at Toks at the Plaza Americas, and then to Soriana (similar to a Walmart, which they have here too, sadly) to pick up odds and ends I would need for my place. The first night I procrastinated unpacking by roaming the city a bit and of course, getting a good night sleep. My second day Lety showed me around the major parts of town. Marimba Park (just four blocks from my place) is a gathering place for young and old. There is live marimba music nightly and a cute cafe (BioMaya Organic) that will fast become my writing space. We walked to the intersection of Central Avenue and Central Street where the San Marcos Cathedral, and main plaza are located.

All of the streets are numbered from this point, in a grid. I love grid cities. For example, I am at 10 poniente, between second and third north (or, ten blocks west of San Marcos and about two blocks north). Lety showed me how to get to the school from my place, about a six block walk and adjacent to a park where they have an outdoor roller rink and anything else you could want in a park. A grid city, and being able to walk to work, plenty of parks, what an ideal situation (maybe I can find a place like this in the states to call home upon my summer arrival, any suggestions?).

Pipsy has also been finding her way, and has made friends with the landlord's chihuahua. She has fun chasing "Peque" around while he timidly tries to play but eventually winds up hiding under the VW bus parked next to the office. My neighbors suggested "peque" stands for pequeno (with an accent over the n, meaning small). I like to think that's what it means, it makes so much sense.

Tuesday I started training, Wednesday I signed my contract, and by Friday I was teaching. In between all that I was nursing a terrible cold. Between flying, the weather change and going in and out of air conditioning, it was bound to happen. It made the first week a little less adventure filled, but hey, I have lots of time and have already discovered some great places in Tuxtla.

This semester I will be teaching three "level 4" classes, the highest level, and one level 3 class on

Saturdays. My level 4 classes are each two hours long, every day (so six teaching hours a day) and my level 3 class is four hours on Saturdays. It will sure to keep me busy, and I will surely learn alot. Since it is a language school, the levels can be of all ages. My youngest student is about 13, and the oldest, probably 40. They are all great groups and I can't wait to get to know them all better.

On Friday, despite the sinus pressure, I ventured out with my Italian neighbors after work. We found a noisy sports bar a few blocks from our place filled with excited soccer fans all sporting orange jerseys. After some botanas (bar food, but better because here bar food can include delicious quesillo and muchroom enchiladas), we were welcomed by our soon-to-be friends at the neighboring table. I learned a bit of Mexican and Italian folklore (what I could gather from the rapid Spanish) and tried to share a bit about myself in my work-in-progress Spanish. I hope to be able to find someone take classes from while I'm here, going out and talking to people helps, but I think I really need more help to be as fluent as I want to be when I get back. I left a bit earlier than my neighbors, to rest up for class Saturday morning.

Nine o'clock came early, and after teaching for four hours we had a team meeting. I met all of the other teachers, most of them Mexican and a few other foreigners. I'm the only one from the US now. We had quesadillas at the restaurant across the street from school, supposedly the best in the city, and even though I haven't been to many other places, I'd have to agree so far. Our meeting was typical meeting banter, policy, procedure, etc. We took a group photo for the newspaper and were on our way.

Saturday night I ventured out on my own to Marimba Park. Everyone was dancing. My favorite part about large gatherings like this is that it doesn't matter if you're 2 or 82, everyone is moving to the beat. When I first got there it was a rumba, then a paso doble, then marimba. I was lacking a partner, but still moving to the beat near the sidelines when a young girl asked me to join her and her sisters for a dance. It was so much fun being a part of the crowd, alongside the grandmas and toddlers and fathers and daughters. After dancing I took a break and went to the BioMaya for the first time and had an Italian Cappiacino. I got a bit of energy, went back to listen for a bit longer and headed home feel like I was finding my place in Tuxtla.

It was a bit of a lazy Sunday for me. I took Pipsy for an extra long walk, all the way to the cathedral. When we got home I got the idea to see a movie, so ventured in what I thought was the direction of Plaza Americas. I knew it would be a long walk, but when, after 45 minutes I still hadn't found it, or any sign of it, I got in a taxi back to my place. I re-checked the movie times, and took a taxi later to catch the 6:15 showing a Gulliver's Travels (In English with Spanish subtitles). I had some time to shop before the show, and wandered around the mall. It is amazing to me how malls in most places are all the same, but each with their own little quirks. For example, in Plaza Americas there is a little train that drives through the mall honking it's horn at each pass to warn shoppers to move aside. It's fun, almost like the buses that are decked out like animals at the Brookfield Zoo. As for Gullver's Travels, it was a fun movie, made even better by the extremely American references that just didn't translate making me the only one laughing out loud in the theater and Jason Segal.

All in all, a good end to a busy week of settling in, finding my way and getting used to life in Mexico.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.