The Accidental Tapatia

3 tips to keep mosquitoes away

2010-08-28T13:02:00.001-05:00

It is the height of mosquito season (if there is a season) thanks to the intermittent rainy days and sweltering heat. Besides mosquitoes being really annoying and making it impossible to sleep, dengue is a huge risk this time of year, so we have to combat them.

Here are 3 tips I've discovered and used this year, none of which include spraying chemicals all over my body, although I've done that on occasion too.

1. Make your own mosquito repellent.
This tip comes courtesy of a local radio station. You'll need a small handful of cloves (the amount you'd use to make clove tea), some rubbing alcohol and baby oil. Use 1 part rubbing alcohol to 10 parts baby oil.

Directions: soak cloves overnight in the rubbing alcohol. Discard cloves, and mix alcohol with baby oil and apply to skin. Obviously the solution won't "mix," so whenever you're going to use it, shake well and apply quickly.

Results are mixed. You will smell like gingerbread (a plus, in my book), but I don't like feeling oily so I haven't used it much. Seems to keep away mosquitoes for a while but you'll need to reapply often.

2. Burn smelly oils and incenses.
We have burned a lot of citronella incense in our household this rainy season, usually in the late afternoon, and it seems to have had the best effect against mosquitoes. Recently we bought a small oil burner at a tianguis to burn citronella essential oil. Basil (albahaca) essential oil works too. Dilute the essential oils in baby oil to make it last longer.

Everything mentioned above (essential oils, incense, oil burners) can be found at most outdoor tianguis as well as natural stores.

3. Buy an electric tennis racket.
This is by far the most ridiculous solution, and won't help with a larger mosquito problem, but it certainly is fun! If you're out in the street a lot you've probably seen these being sold at intersections. I was kind of against getting one but Gustavo is obsessed with all kinds of odd gadgets and couldn't resist.

A minimal static current runs through the inner layer of the racket, and "explodes" any small insects upon contact. It makes a loud spark, audibly and visibly, which always makes me jump. If you drive by our street around dusk you'll probably find Gustavo blindly swinging the racket in our front garden, just to hear the satisfying "zzsstt! zzsstt!" every few seconds.

Additional advice: This is common sense more than a "tip," but using a fan at night not only helps with the heat, but is the only thing apart from mosquito netting that will keep bugs from buzzing around your ears. We lost electricity for just one night and I woke up covered in bites.

Good luck!

The best pizza in Guadalajara: Funicula

2010-08-26T12:03:00.002-05:00

In 2007 I interviewed a surfer-photographer based in Bucerias for a Guadalajara Reporter story on expat bloggers ("Expat bloggers add fresh perspective to Mexico"). While I didn't include it in the story, he told me that he never misses a chance to stop by a pizza joint called Funicula when he passes through Guadalajara.

I never forgot the advice. It's taken me three years to finally visit Funicula, and now I'm an addict. They serve traditional wood-oven pizzas with not-too-thin crusts and toppings that are difficult to find elsewhere in town: artichokes, capers, sun-dried tomatoes, anchovies, fresh herbs.

The menu includes creative ingredient combinations, and although I couldn't find an online menu, I do remember one thing we ordered recently: "la pazza," half pizza, half calzone. They also serve pastas and other Italian specialties, plus showcase a long wine and beer list. Price range is excellent: 70-80 pesos for a pizza (one size fits all, about medium, easily shared between two people).

And to rave a bit about the setting: it's gorgeous. Downstairs includes an outdoor patio, the second floor hosts the kitchen, and upstairs you have warm, romantic lighting with an open eating counter overlooking the street.

The only drawback is that seating becomes very limited on prime nights at dinnertime, and wait times can reach an hour. The last time we went was a weeknight around dusk when Funicula was just gearing up for a rush, and only a few tables were occupied.

Lopez Cotilla 1906 (Col. Americana). Tel. 33-3615-1237.

Mariachi Festival coming up!

2010-08-21T13:39:00.000-05:00

I admit that when I first came to Guadalajara, my taste for mariachi music was on par with my taste for polka. I still can't say I'm a fan, but I do recognize the difference between hearing mariachi on the car radio and witnessing it live.

Mariachi is loud, brassy, impressive and very fun. It proves there are power in numbers. If you ever have a chance to be within a few feet of a mariachi band at a party or wedding, it's hard not to love it.

Guadalajara's international mariachi festival starts in a few days, and if nothing else, it's fun to watch the opening parade. Here's a summary of the festival and it's opening events (in English):

Wednesday, August 25, 8 p.m. Mariachi Tradicional El Carrizo will play at the opening of the “El Mariachi de mi Tierra” art exhibit at the Museo Regional (Liceo 60, city center). No charge.

Thursday, August 26 and Friday, August 27, 5-7 p.m., traditional mariachi groups will perform in the Plaza Fundadores behind the Teatro Degollado. On Saturday, in the same place and at the same time, they will be joined by more modern mariachi bands dressed in their elegant attire. No charge.

Two grand traditional mariachi galas close the festival-within-a-festival on Sunday, August 29, at the Teatro Degollado. They take place at noon and at 6 p.m. Both have free admission.

Guadalajara’s 17th International Mariachi Festival swings into gear Saturday, August 28 with a host of events in different locations (see chart right).

The schedule will be much like last year’s, with nightly galas in the Teatro Degollado and free performances in restaurants, public malls and plazas and local churches. The colorful parade takes place Sunday, August 29, 10 a.m. in downtown Guadalajara.

Read more in the full Guadalajara Reporter article.

Molcajete style salsa, sans molcajete

2010-08-19T16:46:00.002-05:00

I know, I just got a new molcajete, so could use it to make just about any molcajete salsa I like. But for anyone without a molcajete, a blender (arguably the most important device in the modern Mexican kitchen) works just fine.

By "molcajete style" salsa I mean that chunky, fresh, hot-off-the-stove flavor. It's the kind of salsa that's perfect for tacos or grilled meats.

The ingredients are very basic:

4 tomatoes
1 to 2 green chiles (I used 3, but wouldn't recommend it. The salsa was so spicy I couldn't see straight.)
1/2 a white onion or a 1 very small onion, finely chopped
1 to 2 cloves of garlic, depending on your taste, finely chopped
salt to taste

STEP 1. Place tomatoes and chiles on a comal or small flying pan on medium to medium-high heat. Turn them over frequently to char the sides.
(The idea isn't to completely burn them -- we're leaving the skin on for flavor.)

STEP 2. Put charred veggies in the blender along with salt. Pulse until smooth(ish).

STEP 3. Add the chopped onion and garlic to the blender. Pulse a few more times. At this point if you feel the salsa is too thick, add a couple tablespoons of water.

Have a taste and season with more salt if needed.

THE RESULT:

*I'd like to add that there are probably a million variations to a molcajete style salsa, and this is a very simple one. Any other suggestions are welcomed!

Parrot update

2010-08-18T12:31:00.001-05:00

We now have two parrots. Last Thursday Sabina was sunbathing on the back patio and a male parrot arrived out of nowhere and wouldn't go away. After luring him into the house with Sabina as bait, he decided to stay.

Meet Chicharito (Little Pea).

The new Chivas stadium: high expectations, no planning

2010-08-14T20:13:00.001-05:00

Wednesday night we braved the drizzling rain and general clusterf*ck of people and traffic to see the finals of the Copa Libertadores in the new Chivas stadium. Short summary: the new stadium was amazing and designed for great views, but zero infrastructure was planned around it.

It took us over two hours to drive less than 10 miles, and once we managed to get to the periferico, the entire highway was collapsed. It was a free-for-all. Chain-link fences on the periferico were pushed down, and the way people were driving should have been filmed for a National Geographic program called "human nature: survival of the fittest."

We made it to our seats by minute 9 of the game. Adolfo Bautista (el Bofo) scored a nice goal at the last minute of the first half, then the Chivas were obliterated by two goals and lost.

A photo recap of the journey:

The collapsed periferico.

Me hanging out of the window, now stopped on the one lane entrance down to the stadium.

The stadium, at last! Thousands of fans dressed in their red and white best.

It would make for a good Where's Waldo setting.

The halftime show had fireworks bursting from the spaceship. Pretty impressive.

A happy Chiva, in the end.

Click here to view the full set on Flickr of my Chivas game night photos.

My new molcajete

2010-08-04T16:18:00.001-05:00

I just picked up this molcajete at the San Juan de Dios market. The molcajete is an essential part of the Mexican kitchen, primarily used to make salsas. It's the Mexican version of a mortar and pestle, made of porous volcanic rock.

It's great for just about anything you want to smash: garlic, whole cloves, chiles, guacamole. It's also the name of a dish served in a molcajete: grilled meat or shrimp with nopales, onion, cheese and salsa, fired up in a hot oven and served with hot tortillas.

The molcajete is going to be dusty right after picking one up at a market, and will need to be cured before use. To cure a molcajete, rinse it a few times then throw in a handful of uncooked rice. Grind the rice to a powder, dump out, and repeat until the rice looks white and clean.

Alternative methods to cure a molcajete:

Do the same as above, but with rock salt instead of rice.
Boil the molcajete in water (no soap) for 30 minutes.
Grind a whole head of garlic in the molcajete, spread the garlic paste on the sides and leave overnight. Rinse off the next day.
Do the above (garlic), but instead of leaving overnight, bake the molcajete with paste in the oven for 30 minutes. You can also add onion and a bit of cooking oil to the paste before baking.

The molcajete seasons over time just like a cast iron frying pan.

The castillo: awesome spinning tower of fireworks

2010-08-03T16:26:00.003-05:00

I was raised in a culture that obligates padded jungle gyms, seat belts and crosswalk ladies. If I were raised in Mexico, I probably would have gotten to do fun things like ride around in the bed of a pickup truck, or better yet, experience the awesomeness that is the castillo.

The castillo is a tall, wobbly wooden structure affixed with fireworks that spin and spew sparks and colors in stages from bottom to top. It's a really impressive show to see, even if you are a gringo (and can put aside your inborn fear for everyone's lives).

We saw a castillo last night in front a the church that was celebrating its 35th anniversary. Below are my photos, although the spectarcularness is hard to capture on film at night.

To the left is the castillo at dusk, pre-ignition.

It is set up in the middle of electric lines. No one seems too worried.

Blast off!

The castillo rains sparks all over the cheering crowd.

Kids run under the sparks, trying to get rained on.

This kid tries to get a better view by climbing the ladder on a truck (labeled "Hazardous Materials").

The grand finale! The corona (the top part) ignites in a glorious plume, and suddenly...

...the corona detaches completely and shoots straight up into the sky!

It extinguishes mid-air and lands near a car on the side street.

To witness a castillo, pay attention to when your local churches hold their fiestas patronales, or any other town festivals. You'll probably find lots of castillos during the Christmas season too.

Agua de capulin (Mexican black cherry)

2010-07-29T14:04:00.001-05:00

Not much time ever goes by before I encounter a fruit I've never laid eyes on. This time it was the capulin, which according to one translation is the "Mexican black cherry"; another said it's capulin in English too.

I'm not sure how common capulines are because Gustavo had never tried them either. A lady in the street sold them to us along with some mangoes. She instructed us to make agua de capulin by mashing them up with our hands.

Capulines are the size of small grapes, and have a large pit and not too much flesh. We did as we were told, and squished the capulines in a glass bowl until the pits were mostly separated from the fruit. Then we strained the fruit, pushing as much juice through as possible. The result was a thick capulin concentrate to which we added sugar and water to fill the pitcher.

The result: a pretty refreshing agua fresca, but a less than appetizing color. I think I might name it the "Mexican brown cherry." (I'm not fond of agua de tamarindo for the same reason.) The flavor was agradable but nothing to write home about. For one, it didn't taste anything like cherry. The capulin has a very earthy flavor, and the only other fruit it reminded me of was mulberries.

So, an interesting culinary experience--it's always fun to try out new flavors. But not sure I'll become a capulin fan.

Solutions for the summer heat

2010-07-26T23:16:00.004-05:00

The heat isn't too bad now because of the rain. But a few months ago it was more than insufferable. In the middle of the heat wave up to July, our house would heat up during the day and by dusk was at least 10 degrees hotter inside than outside.

Our first summer investment was an oscillating fan. Then when that didn't cut it, our second investment was a bad of ice we'd grab from the 7-Eleven and place on a giant plate in front of the fan. (Gustavo likes to call this "Mexican technology.") If the room got any cooler with the ice, I didn't notice.

The third investment was two plastic garden chairs for our front yard. That worked much better than a fan and a bag of ice. Add a couple of beers from the corner store and it was almost as good as air conditioning.

The fourth and current investment is a more permanent solution. Not an air conditioner, but a solid wood bench. We might save up for air conditioning for next year, but for now, this is the spot.

Last chance to see Orozco exhibition at the Instituto Cultural Cabañas

2010-07-25T20:33:00.003-05:00

I just went to see the amazing Jose Clemente Orozco collection at the Instituto Cultural Cabañas, where more than 400 of his works have been exhibited since March. If you haven't been yet, don't miss it!

For anyone like me who only knew Orozco by his murals in the Hospicio Cabañas and the Palacio de Gobierno in Guadalajara, this exhibition shows you Orozco from every angle: from his "House of tears" watercolors of prostituting women to his sketches of the Mexican revolution to the estudios for practically every mural he has painted.

His unique sense of color (dark, bold, reds and grays) and of the human form is what impressed me most. I took some illegal photos (without flash, of course) to catch a few different areas of his work shown. To read about Orozco and the exhibit in Spanish with English translation, click here for a PDF of the catalog.

Here are some illegal and not especially color-accurate takes from the exhibit José Clemente Orozco, Pintura y Verdad (click to enlarge):

Orozco was a political cartoonist for the magazine El Hijo de Ahuizote and La Vanguardia. An example of one of his cartoon spreads.

Los Muertos.

Estudio for El franciscano, a mural in the Escuela Nacional Preparatoria in Mexico City.

This is from the "House of Tears" series of watercolors. Not sure of title.

From a series of portraits in oil.

To read more about Orozco in English, click here for a good article published on Mexconnect.

Old stuff made new

2010-07-21T22:07:00.001-05:00

I was watching Law & Order SVU* last night when something struck me, apart from it being a rerun about endangered monkey smugglers on the same day that a man was arrested in Mexico for smuggling endangered monkeys. The detectives were investigating a tip, talking to a potential lead (you know, the guy who says, "Nope, never seen her. But you know, I did happen to see a guy tossing something in the trash can around 12:00...").

Anyway, the potential lead was a meat distributor who mentioned that he used to be a repairman, but he went out of business because no one repairs things any more. People just buy new stuff. We've all become more recycle-conscious in recent years, but that doesn't mean that if our 3-year-old oscillating fan loses a screw or begins to whir we don't put it on the curb.

In the gringo mindset everything is disposable, but not in Mexico. There are repair shops for everything here. Gustavo took an old typewriter he uses to fill out facturas to a typewriter repair shop. That's right, an entire shop that not only exists, but somehow stays afloat, repairing a virtually defunct machine.

Just tonight, Gustavo pulled out and connected two speakers. One works, one doesn't. The solution? We'll get it repaired. It'll probably just cost a few bucks. No great revelation for anyone who remembers specialized repair shops in the U.S., but it's certainly a new way to think of stuff for a generation who relies on the Genius Bar and Craigslist to solve all tech problems.

*Reruns every night at 7, and new ones Tuesday at 9, on Universal.

A night at Mexpat

2010-07-17T20:45:00.004-05:00

Mexpat is an international community of foreigners living in Mexico. Every month or so they hold an event at a bar or restaurant in town. I've attended twice: once in May and once this Thursday, and it was a great experience both times.

I'm not much for networking, but after a year of being holed up with a parrot and a long distance telephone line, I figured I need to start getting out more. Making friends abroad can be difficult for a lot of expatriates. Social customs, gender roles, language--there are a lot of differences in the way people interact and form connections. Mexpat is one way people from multicultural backgrounds can come together.

In May, Mexpat was held at a lovely wine bar called Tinto y Blanco. I was surprised to find a real melting pot of nationalities and ages. I met several young women in the translation industry and swapped cards. There were gringos, Canadians, Mexicans, Germans, and others from all over the map.

Thursday's Mexpat event was at Panoramica, a trendy bar set between two Indian restaurants. It got off to a slow start, but 50 or more people showed up by 9:00 and it kept going. I met a Bostonian retiree who just moved here in December, a Canadian member of the philharmonic orchestra (who I unintentionally offended for being Canadian and a musician, respectively--sorry, Chris), and a girl who works for a local organization that gets kids off the streets and into school. I also ran into plenty of people I met the last time around. Overall, a great atmosphere and fun time.

Mexpat has a website and a Facebook group: I'd recommend signing up for both, and coming out the next time around. See you there!

http://www.mexpat.com/
www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=39932404662

How to make Agua de Guayaba

2010-07-15T16:40:00.007-05:00

Behold the guayaba. A small, yellow, head-shaped fruit with creamy flesh, filled with hard seeds that get stuck in your teeth. Deliciously sweet, and excellent in an agua fresca.

Aguas frescas are so simple to make that they hardly call for a recipe, but they weren't in my repertoire before living in Mexico. A step by step instructional is listed below. If you're making agua with any seedless fruit you can skip the strainer.

STEP 1. Quarter 4 to 6 guayabas. I had 4, so I used 4. You can cut off the ends if you want. (See optional STEP 7.)

STEP 2. Toss the quartered fruit into a blender along with 6 to 8 tablespoons of sugar. Add 4 to 5 cups of water. (This is no exact science.) Alternatively, you can boil the water with the sugar first to make an easy dissolving syrup.

STEP 3. Blend!

STEP 4. Place a small strainer on top of a pitcher to catch the seeds. (I have a prettier pitcher than this one, but it doesn't fit in the fridge.) Pour blended mixture through it.

STEP 5. Mash the juices down with a spoon until all the good stuff is in the pitcher.

STEP 6. Add water to top off the pitcher, stir a bit, and you're ready to go! Serve immediately with ice, or stick in the fridge for later.

STEP 7. (OPTIONAL) Give extra bits of guayaba to Sabina. What a greedy parrot.

In recent years, aguas frescas have been completely taken over by sugary sodas. The weekly entertainment mag Dia Siete just put out a great article about the history of aguas in Mexico (click here to read), and the fruits and other unusual ingredients that make them. Recipes included. If you read Spanish, I highly recommend it. For those who don't, I'll translate the opener:

15 years ago, squeezed lime, sweet pineapple, juicy melon, refreshing watermelon or any piece of fruit was mixed with natural water to prepare a pitcher of agua fresca that --at the center of the lunchtime table-- not only hydrated the majority of Mexican families, but also provided many natural nutrients. Today, 8 of every 10 Mexicans consume soft drinks with their meals. As one of the regions of the world with the largest diversity of fruits, it might be worth refreshing ourselves with aguas once again.

What will we talk about now that the World Cup is over?

2010-07-12T15:46:00.002-05:00

A gringo's perspective of the World Cup is unique, if only because the U.S. is the only place in the world that doesn't seem to give a hoot. Nothing will ever compare to the experience of living in a country that lives, breathes and dies by soccer.

So, on the day after the World Cup has ended, I give my review.

THE GOOD

I've never witnessed such a visceral feeling of togetherness and convivencia with friends and strangers alike. I've only seen equal fervor during the Obama campaign in 2008, but here everyone is voting for the same candidate.
Parties! The millions of friendly games working up to the World Cup, then the World Cup itself, make an excuse to drink beers and eat tacos any time. Even at 9 in the morning.
Speaking of tacos, the taco stand on my street corner opened at 6:30 a.m. on game days.
I liked that the U.S. tried to care, even though we had no idea what we were talking about. Case in point: David Letterman's interview with Landon Donovan. "You know, it just looks like it's fun to run around on that huge, green field. Is it fun?"

THE BAD

Nothing brings out the racism here like an international sporting event set in Africa. Every morning I had to watch news anchors, comedians and Mexicans impersonating bone-clad Africans mingle on the morning news. Watch a clip from the show—out come Mexicans in full blackface at 0:36.

Gringos aren't any strangers to sexist TV ads during sports events, but I thought this one for Sol beer was just terrible. (But it's funny, so it can't be that bad, right?) Synopsis: men all over Mexico ask their girlfriends for a break in the relationship for about a month... let's just say from around June 11 to July 11. Translation: SPORTS ARE FOR MEN ONLY.

Zapopan restaurant — La Fonda Doña Gabina Escolástica

2010-07-11T19:30:00.004-05:00

On a rainy Friday night at about 10 p.m. we stepped into la Fonda Doña Gabina Escolástica for some warm home cooking. We're pretty steady customers at this place. It's a couple blocks away from la Basilica in the center of Zapopan, and it's not a well hidden secret—the place was packed.

It's tapatio soul food with a throwback look. Practically everything is a la carte: the meats, panela and eggs in a dark stewed sauce, stuffed into fresh oversize tortillas; the tostadas taller than your wide-open mouth; the enchiladas light and flavored to perfection. Oh, and the most delicious pozole you'll put in your mouth. Then there's arroz con leche, flan and atole de coco for dessert. Or if you're full, just grab a complimentary cocada on your way out.

The fonda is well lit but cozy all the same. It's one big open room the size of a warehouse with seating upstairs on the left side. Decor is retro—ancient Coca Cola bottles, old magazine covers, walls painted with the Mexican bingo cards.

Google the Doña Gabina Escolástica and you'll find plenty of great reviews, even a mention in Travel and Leisure. Very reasonably priced (5 tacos, 2 enchiladas, 1 arroz con leche, 2 cokes, 1 beer came to $160 pesos). Javier Mina #237. Zapopan Tel. 3833-0883. Open till 11 p.m. M-Sat., Sun. till 8 p.m.

Rainy days

2010-07-08T18:14:00.004-05:00

It's been raining for weeks. It's raining right now. Once it stops later this fall, October maybe, we'll all be so delirious from the humidity and gray skies that we won't even remember what a relief it was from the months of dry heat that preceded it.

Guadalajara's rainy season starts on June 13, every year. That sounds precise, but according to Gustavo's family lore the rainy season starts on San Antonio day, which they're experts on since they grew up in Guadalajara's San Antonio neighborhood. And amazingly, after a tortuous stretch of heat and sun so harsh it burned our petunias (which could also have been poisoned by an envious neighbor), the first hard rain came down this year on June 13.

I don't mind the rain, but I could have planned for it better. Like, not have started a planter-based vegetable garden in my back patio in the middle of June, or not have hung upside-down tomato plants out of holes with the circumference of an espresso cup. Here are some tips, from my poorly planned rainy season to yours:

If you plant anything in plastic macetas, make sure they have holes in the bottom. If they don't, drill holes! (Small ones for an upside-down garden.)
Get rid of all sitting water. The result of holeless macetas is a lot of water collection hanging around near your house in plain dengue season.
I barely know how to garden as it is and probably shouldn't be giving tips on it, but if you want to grow veggies here it's best to start WAY early, like February. A pleasantly warm climate year-round allows for year-round gardening, but timing is key.
Go to a natural store and buy citronella incense. Grow basil, or buy basil (albahaca) extract at the natural store and dip your light bulbs in it. Keeps away the zancudos! (Click here to read more tips for mosquitoes.)
Learn to play backgammon, and teach your boyfriend how to play so you can make him play and beat him at it. Did you know you can play backgammon on Skype?

There's a tienda naturista in Col. Santa Tere called La Manzana, at Manuel Acuña #1516 (Tel. 38.25.36.30). Santa Tere is filled with other farmacias homeopaticas that sell citronella products, and there are a bunch in downtown Guadalajara too.

Strange fruit — la pitaya

2010-07-07T15:50:00.004-05:00

I laid awake in bed last night trying to come up with a way to describe the pitaya using words. It's a fruit straight out of Avatar, a thing the size of a peach that only appears once a year for a limited time only. It's trucked through the streets and markets of Guadalajara in wagons, buried in green straw. It's prickly.

Gustavo bought some, put them on a plate on the kitchen counter, and told me not to touch them (because of said prickles). I stayed out of the kitchen all afternoon, shooting sideways glances at the fruit every now and then. I've seen Invasion of the Body Snatchers. You never know.

Once you open the pitaya, which Gustavo did with a kitchen towel instead of his bare hands, you get a ball of densely packed seeds and stringy pulp that tastes like sweetened nothing. Breaking apart the fruit with your hands is not unlike opening a snowball. Some are red, others purple, and some are a pale green.

We made agua de pitaya which was blood red, almost grotesque. It didn't have much of a taste, but was icy and refreshing down to the soul. The pitaya shows up right before the rainy season in June, and I had felt chronically dehydrated since April.

The pitaya, or dragon fruit, according to Wikipedia.

The Accidental Tapatia — a new start

2010-07-06T19:17:00.006-05:00

So I’m back. Actually, I have been for a while—I'll have been in Guadalajara a full year next week! I haven’t blogged because I thought I had nothing to blog about. I’m not writing for the Guadalajara Reporter anymore, so no new articles to post.

I now work out of my home as a manager for a Chicago-based translation company, and my life revolves around the domestic upkeep of a small bungalow-style home near Plaza Mexico, a resilient 2007 Dell laptop on which I do all my work, and (somewhat limited) conversations with a greet parrot named Sabina. I live with my tapatío* boyfriend, who, among other very important things, has taught me to like soccer.

I thought I’d turn this blog around a bit, and focus on things I would want to know as a now expatriated 20-something gringa living in Guadalajara, Mexico. Things like:

How to sell stuff (furniture, old electronics) without Craigslist
Where to find other gringos, if needed (I don’t have the full answer to this yet, but I’m working it out)
How to master re-fried beans and other deceptively simple Mexican culinary staples in your home
How to get along with your significant other who does not usually speak English
The visa process, quick and painless
Mexican healthcare for the uninsured, and the best budget-friendly hospitals in the metropolitan area
…and more.

For each idea, I’d like to provide and also solicit names/contact info for the people who have helped answer the questions, like my favorite dentist and favorite FM3 lawyer. I like to recommend things that have turned out well for me and sure you do too, so maybe this we can figure all this out together.

Note #1: This blog is not intended for long-settled expats who know how to do everything already. If you know the difference between a bolillo, birote and telera, have visited the INM more times than you can count, and can point out pitaya season on a calendar, you could probably write this blog yourself.

Note #2: I'm not going to italicize or otherwise punctuate Spanish words because I assume they are part of a standard Spanglish vernacular for the audience the blog is intended for. If not, they probably should be.

*Definition of tapatío.

Goodbye

2008-06-09T15:43:00.005-05:00

Farewell to a most romantic, sunny, polluted city -- all the sweet bread and fruit ice cream, tacos and tortas, women in tight jeans and cat-calling men, city buses and cowboy boots, friends and family. I will be back.

Click on the photo above to see a set of my photos on Flickr, a collection of downtown Guadalajara facades.

"Understanding albures, Mexico's coarse, cryptic puns"

2008-05-30T16:05:00.001-05:00

(Published May 31, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

The Mexican albur has no translation. It is at once a game, a dirty joke, an offhanded pun, and an attempt to verbally disarm a credulous opponent. It is, to be exact, a spoken slap in the face (or perhaps, as you’ll see, on the buttocks).

The art of constructing a particularly injurious albur, about which books and extensive Internet forums have been assembled, is not something the average Spanish-speaking foreigner is likely to be familiar with or able to interpret – or for that matter a native Spanish speaker outside the Mexican border. Albures are intrinsically Mexican and by their nature cryptic to the unwitting outsider. But the concept is certainly worth being familiar with, lest you trip into one.

The albur (whose verb form is alburear) is the macho lovechild of a “your mama” joke and a dirty limerick, with Jon Stewart’s comic timing. Its goal is to cleverly use words with double sense in a way that will catch their recipient offhand, or to make an enemy feel like less of a man. For that reason albures are almost always sexual in nature, if not belonging to other strains of coarseness.

As they come in the form of word play or double entendre, English conversion is nearly impossible. But anyone will understand an albur’s main ingredients.

For example, can you guess what the chorizo, banana, cucumber, corncob, and chili represent in an albur’s context? How about eggs, marbles, or melons? Deconstruct just about any popular Mexican platter (did I mention cream and cheese?) and each component serves as fodder for vulgar discourse.

While most examples are not newspaper appropriate, and are more comical when spontaneous, a few tamer ones will suffice. Here’s an albur, in Spanish and English so the word play makes sense:

“Cual es la diferencia entre una silla y un pulpo?” (“What’s the difference between a chair and an octopus?”) Answer: “El pulpo tiene tentáculos y la silla tenta culos.” (“The octopus has tentacles and the chair touches backsides” – to be polite.) Get it? Tentáculos (tentacles) versus tenta (touches) culos (rear ends).

Another: “No es lo mismo papas en chile que chile en papas.” (“Potatoes in chili isn’t the same as chili in potatoes.”) The difference is subtle: The former refers to a dish, and the latter to a sexual act (“papas” is a not too common synonym for sex).

More often, albures occur naturally between two people-perhaps friends, or perhaps a taxi driver and his unassuming passenger – as a result of one party naively mentioning his sister or that he had eaten something phallic-shaped earlier in the day. The alburs are thrown back and forth like a hot potato until a clear winner emerges, rendering the losing man speechless, and thus emasculated.

The author of Albures.com.mx, a website that attempts to define and classify various user-contributed albures, warns that “you must treat the world with a certain delicacy in order to avoid what’s called a ‘French albur’ or ‘self-alburearse.’”

In other words, don’t fall into a trap. You might be treading dangerously if you mention simply that your head hurts or that you’re hungry. Come to think of it, best to avoid food talk altogether – you never know where that will go.

"Citizens desperately seeking a subway find encouragement online"

2008-05-23T16:09:00.004-05:00

(Published May 24, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

In a city where the pace of bureaucracy moves at a numbing speed and infrastructure problems soar exponentially, a group of ten young citizens has taken another route to solve Guadalajara’s greatest urban crisis.

A Facebook group called “Queremos un metro en Guadalajara” (“We want a metro in Guadalajara”), founded by Abraham Jaime Hernandez five months ago, has caught momentum as fast as the high-speed connection that brings it to computer screens all over the city. Members of the online social network Facebook, where users keep track of their friends’ hobbies, favorite videos and photo albums listed in personal profiles, have flocked to the activist group. Over 7,000 Facebook users now belong to “Queremos un metro.”

“We only had the idea to create a social consciousness, but we realized the group could go farther than that – not just as a Facebook group,” Hernandez told the Reporter last week. “We began by collecting signatures in universities, then we started contacting enterprises, unions, and government chambers, asking for letters saying ‘we support the metro, we should change the city and modernize it.’”

The Facebook group keeps a neat online archive of newspaper clippings and charts that support its case, in addition to photographs of uber-modern rail systems in cities such as Sydney and Vancouver. Envious group members, like children peering through the window of a candy shop, leave disparaging comments below the pictures.

Under Vancouver’s elevated train, user Gino Berruti laughed: “You’re asking for a lot. If only something like that was built, or even something worse that would at least help the people of Guadalajara.” To the map of Guadalajara’s existing one and a half “Tren Ligero” (light train) lines, user Aldo Vega commented, “Honestly, this looks really sad,” along with a frowning emoticon.

In only a matter of months, the group has opened Guadalajara’s eyes to a serious impending crisis. It is the most polluted city in the country, topping Mexico City, Monterrey and Toluca. There is one car for every three inhabitants, while the Mexico City ratio is one to seven. Guadalajara also boasts more car accidents that any other metropolitan zone in Mexico. Sadly, by the year 2030, it is predicted that a person will be able to walk at a faster rate than a car can drive within the city, due to mounting congestion.

With all that in mind, Guadalajara is far behind the rest of the world’s cities in terms of a modern metro system. Comparing population density with lines of metro provided, the city is at the bottom of the list, even below others with a quarter the inhabitants.

“If you have the opportunity to travel to other places, you see other metro systems,” Hernandez said. “Monterrey is building four lines. Mexico City has the subway, another line like a monorail, and a suburban train.”

Group coordinator and University of Guadalajara law student Maria Andrea Cuellar Camarena speculates that the original metro system, planned in 1975 as seven lines to be built in two phases, was abandoned as the city’s political atmosphere changed. “The project could take up to six years to complete, so a governor doesn’t want to start a project and have someone else get credit for its success.”

“You’ll remember,” added Hernandez, “that the bus system is owned by important political figures.”

The energetic group has gained more support for the metro movement in the last five months than any other organization has since the Tren Ligero project was abandoned. Thousands of signatures were collected on petitions, and in March, the Jalisco State Congress voted unanimously in favor of metro construction in a “point of agreement”-not an initiative of law, but a recommendation for action.

“There is no impediment,” Hernandez explained. “We have money from other countries [Japan, France, and Germany have expressed interest in financing the project] and from companies [Siemens, Mitsubishi, Bombardier, and Alston].”

The former director of the Tren Ligero system was also in support of the project. Current director Diego Monraz, however, is another story. The group met with Monraz three months ago when he proposed the new “sustainable mobility plan” that includes the Macrobus lines now under construction.

“We asked him why the subway is not included in the mobility plan,” Camarena recalled. “It’s the backbone of a city. He told us that if he had all the money in the world he wouldn’t do it. He has since changed his mind but that was just for political acceptance.”

A request for an audience with Jalisco Governor Emilio Gonzalez, who group members believe opposes the project, was refused.

“He just doesn’t want to get into a project like this,” said Alfredo Rodriguez Aguirre, who owns a graphic design studio. “We are planning for the Pan American Games, and he doesn’t want to have all the roads under construction.”

The group had more luck with President Felipe Calderon, who they met briefly at a press conference on April 30.

“We told the president about the project and he thought it was interesting,” Hernandez said. “We’re going to ask him to do studies of metropolitan mobility. If we have a study no one can refuse or deny the importance of having a metro system.”

“Queremos un metro” members insist that there’s an urgent need for a more extensive, environmentally-friendly transport system in Guadalajara. Sighed Hernandez, “I think we have reached our limits.”

“There was a need then,” said officer Pablo Sainz Albañez, referring to the original 1975 metro plan. “Think how much the population has grown since. For some reason, it’s no longer a priority.”

Any of the “Queremos un metro” members mentioned in this article can be contacted by email at queremosunmetroengdl@hotmail.com.

"Scholarships make Mexicans think big"

2008-05-16T15:00:00.003-05:00

(Published May 17, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

A graduate from a Guadalajara university who aims to take over her father’s air ambulance company is the first recipient of a scholarship to study abroad named for Adolf B. Horn, the former U.S. consul general and president of the American Chamber of Commerce, who died last year at the age of 92.

Jessica Faubert had been accepted into several MBA programs in the United States but chose to enter the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University in Chicago.

As her father plans to retire in the near future, Faubert will return to Mexico after her studies and run AirLink Ambulance, a leading air medical transport company with bases in Mexico City, Guadalajara, Puerto Vallarta and Baja California.

“I need the finance background,” says Faubert, who studied at the Tec de Monterrey and speaks flawless English. “I just don’t have the skill set yet to be general manager.”

Faubert’s chance to study abroad comes courtesy of the prestigious Magdalena O. Viuda de Brockmann scholarship program, which gives outstanding Mexicans the opportunity to earn a Master’s degree abroad. This is the first year of the special Adolf B. Horn award.

Named for the mother of entrepreneur Guillermo Brockmann, who founded the program in 1993, the scholarships enable Mexicans to experience the values and systems of foreign universities, then apply what they have learned on their return to Mexico. In fact, each student selected is committed to staying in Mexico for five years thereafter and is chosen based on a potential to “provide a future contribution to the advancement and modernization of Mexico,” as the mission stipulates.

“We hope they will come back as bicultural people prepared to collaborate with local individuals,” says Anthony Rump, executive director of the scholarship foundation, which boasts an endowment of more than three million dollars.

As would be expected, the selection process is extremely competitive. A series of interviews narrows the applicant pool down to 12 candidates, who are promised the awards subject to proving they can finance the portion of tuition not covered by the scholarship. The applicants undergo a rigorous review by the program’s board of directors, a psychological exam, and are considered by two previous Brockmann fellows.

Faubert had no problem providing the scholarship committee with a detailed five- and ten-year plan. “I have so many ideas,” she says enthusiastically.

She would like the family business to be geared more toward information services. AirLink Ambulance currently focuses most of its energy in its infrastructural functions (the airplanes, pilots, doctors, etc.). Faubert wants to expand the company to work as an intermediary between customers and insurance companies. She cites new cost containment strategies that help save both parties money by looking out for exploitative medical services, such as hospitals that jack up bills for foreigners in crisis.

Faubert also plans to open up the business to a growing demand for medical tourism by offering package deals to Mexico for foreign patients, a booming industry that countries like India and Costa Rica have already caught onto.

Faubert was one of three applicants chosen from Jalisco; six hail from the state of Mexico, two are from Monterrey, and one from Tamaulipas.

Jose Fernandez, the selected recipient of the new Robert Leslie scholarship (awarded to a talented Mexican engineer) and ITESO graduate, is originally from Colima but has studied and worked in Jalisco for the last eight years.

Fernandez’s impressive resume already includes work as the head structural engineer at VAO Engineering, responsible for drafting and calculations of the Torrena project in Guadalajara, a telecommunications tower planned to be the tallest in Latin America.

He chose to study for a Master’s degree in order to manage entire projects such as the Torrena. He will attend a program in construction management at Auckland University of Technology in New Zealand, in part because it is a much more affordable option compared to similar schools in the United States.

“The culture there is very interesting,” Fernandez says. “It’s a mixed society – a British colony and indigenous people, which is a culture they protect.”

Rump says that the program’s international notoriety has lately generated more opportunities from universities than can be published in the scholazrship brochure. The French government, for example, will pay half the tuition of 75 engineering students who study at several universities in France (a program called Campus France); and Dublin City University in Ireland, Griffith University in Queensland, Australia and the University of Arizona all offer partial and total tuition waivers.

“This has been the highest honor I’ve ever gotten,” says Faubert of the experience. “I would motivate anyone to apply when going for higher education. It’s a reflexive process that is great preparation for university applications, and it makes you focus.”

"Shopping market flogs off-the-shelf art at equitable prices"

2008-05-12T12:25:00.004-05:00

(Published May 10, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

“If a market for art exists, why not a supermarket?” ask the organizers of the SupermercArte, a bazaar in Guadalajara that replaces groceries with economically priced, original artwork.

The SupermercArte opened May 7 and will run for one month out of a temporary cultural hub on the highest level of Plaza Galerias. Customers grab miniature grocery carts and browse hundreds of small works of art by 44 different local artists.

“It’s as if people were going to buy tomatoes and onions, but instead of the tomatoes there are works by artists,” explained Marcos Hernandez, one of the artists participating this year by invitation.

The innovative technique is borrowed from a sister concept in Barcelona, meant to bring art to people who don’t normally frequent galleries or collect pieces. On one hand, the economic gallery makes already acclaimed artists’ works accessible to the public: this year’s participants include Waldo Saaveda, Jose Fors, and Alejando Colunga, known for his fantastic bronze creature-seats in Plaza Tapatia.

Alternatively, the SupermercArte gives up-and-coming artists a platform to show their work. Hernandez, who was the best-selling artist at the 2005 market, has not otherwise received much exposure. He believes his style, self-described as “abstract figurative, with oils, collage and photographs that I take,” is a hard sell. For the SupermercArte three years ago, he strayed from his regular approach, painting little pictures of cats for a better commercial bet.

This year, SupermercArte solicited 20 works from Hernandez, requiring that each measure no more than 40 centimeters and cost between 200 and 2,000 pesos. Hernandez offers his pieces at 200 pesos each.

“It’s a mix between a commercial style and my personal work, which is more abstract,” Hernandez said of the collection of small paintings he will sell this year. One piece, for example, depicts whimsical, floral twirls painted in agreeable pastels over contrasting patterns. It's abstract and fascinating while still office-friendly.

Participating artists receive a 50 percent cut from sales, and are credited for whatever they don’t sell. How much the project ultimately earns is not expected to be much -- organizers hope for a change in the public’s view of art collection more than large proceeds. A work of art, explains SupermercArte’s website, is a “unique gift with a constantly increasing value.”

Project coordinators have worked closely with the Jalisco Secretariat of Culture to create the market, which includes selecting the artists who contribute each year. “We collaborated together to develop an artistic aesthetic,” said Jaime Mor, one of SupermercArte’s principal planners hailing from Barcelona.

Part of the aesthetic vision involves eliminating the general public’s fear of galleries. At SupermercArte, buyers are encouraged to move close to, pick up, and touch works of art, like one might scrutinize a melon before purchasing it. Plaza Galerias was selected as the market’s exposition space for exactly this reason: “Regular people shop at plazas, not at art galleries,” Hernandez said.

The SupermercArte might even change the way people view Plaza Galerias, which often hosts cultural events. “We want people to stop seeing the space as just a place to go shopping,” said Maga Hernandez, a coordinator for the Secretary of Culture.

The SupermercArte is open during Plaza Galerias’ business hours, and will close after June 7. Plaza Galerias is located at Av. Rafael Sanzio 150 (between Av. Vallarta and Sebastian Bach), in Colonia La Estancia, Zapopan.

Forgotten your English?

2008-05-06T21:44:00.008-05:00

ProEnglish recently started publishing an ESL newsletter for students and other clients, in hopes of one day converting it to newspaper form. Since its beginning I've developed and written all the content, so if you feel like practicing your English, click the links below. The articles are written at an upper-intermediate level (approximately). Enjoy!

FIRST EDITION

SECOND EDITION

(Look closely there, folks.)

"Mercado Corona, a vibrant market with tales to tell"

2008-05-02T14:48:00.006-05:00

(Published May 3, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

Calle Santa Monica, a few blocks from the downtown cathedral and running perpendicular to Avenida Hidalgo, is choked with foot traffic at midday and smells of roasted meat, spices and strawberries mellowing in the sun. A blue cement awning provides shade for the peripheral vendors at one of Guadalajara’s most historic markets, the Mercado Corona, beckoning visitors inside.

Judging from the dogged faces of shoppers waiting in lines for rice and chili in bulk, none is too concerned that the ground on which they stand has been steeped in a Tapatio insurgent’s blood, swept by a mysterious epidemic, and held the ashes of its thrice-razed market predecessors. They are, instead, picking through bruised mangoes, resting on stools to munch on freshly fried tacos dorados, and gulping down aguas frescas of mango and plum.

The Mercado Corona is ripe for exploring: it’s a less daunting version, with more specialized products, of the Mercado Libertad or the Mercado Abastos. The focus is food. Some cheap clothes, jeans and hair products are for sale, but the Sunday Santa Teresita open-air tianguis might be more suited for browsing those items.

The historic indoor market covers two floors and one city block. Fresh bread – bolillos, pan dulce, and wrapped cookies – is the main spread found along the building’s perimeter, as well as honey sold in plastic jars.

Here on the edge, fruit is also sold, but better prices are found elsewhere. Vendors benignly hound customers with calls of “Que te doy?” and “Que ocupas?” as they make their way indoors.

Inside, a thousand scents converge at once: sour, salty cotija cheese, tongue and pork sides grilling on open comales, bitter dried herbs hanging from nails and sugar-sweet pineapples dripping from their bases.

In spite of considerable chaos around lunchtime when hungry passersby swarm the small indoor restaurants, the Mercado Corona enjoys a consistent peace compared to its existence in previous centuries.

The market, named after the assassinated general Ramon Corona, was patriotically inaugurated on September 15, 1891, only to be burned to the ground in 1910 by revolutionary fires.

After two more reconstructions and two more deadly conflagrations, it occurred to city officials to rebuild with cement, and since 1962, has stoically sat in its current flameproof state.

The original grounds, long before a market was ever conceived, belonged in the mid-1500s to the bishop Cipriano de Nava, who lived in an old house on the land. In 1573 he founded a school for girls called Santa Catalina de Siena, which was converted a few years later to a convent. Years later, the ayuntamiento bought up the estate and there built the Hospital San Miguel.

A strange, unidentified epidemic hit the city just after the turn of the 18th century, and the hospital, filled to capacity with sick patients, needed help. At the same time, a religious order called the Bethlehemites were seeking asylum, and thus commanded care at the forsaken hospital, appropriating the facilities after the epidemic dissipated. A more modern hospital was built elsewhere in the late 1700s and San Miguel was officially abandoned.

The site’s incarnation as a market began in the early 1800s, as a haphazard tianguis began to spring up in the area. Guadalajara’s ayuntamiento decided to build an official market designed in a popular French style, gaining profit by charging vendors taxes.

It was on that very stage where Jose Antonio Torres, the illustrious Mexican insurgent who fought Spanish royalist troops until his capture in 1812, was executed. The particular method was a testament to his crimes against the Spanish state: the Independence hero was hanged, dismembered (each limb carried to a different town), and decapitated, after which officials displayed his head for 40 days. Once Mexico gained independence from Spain, the market was appropriately named “Mercado Independencia.”

Today the only blood shed on the grounds belongs to slaughtered livestock, splayed and pared on cutting blocks behind glass shields. But the spot’s tumultuous story will remain a legacy to a righteous figure in Mexico’s history.

At the heart of the covered building on the first floor, several competing women with giant covered baskets, elevated by stools and crates, broadcast their product with earsplitting repetitions of “Cinco por diez pesos! Acaban de salir! Calientitos! Cinco por diez pesos! Acaban de salir!” The women, selling much loved tacos de canasta with potato, bean, and pork fillings, dish out the soft tacos onto plastic plates which customers douse with thick sauces, shredded cabbage, and pickled nopal and carrots.

Wandering up the sloped walkway to the second floor, visitors pass stands selling baskets of all shapes and small tokens given out at baptisms, weddings and anniversary parties.

Upstairs is an herbarium of sorts, stands and walls piled high with dried plants used as remedies for various ailments. Among them are flor de manita (calms the nerves), cola de caballo (good for arthritis and osteoporosis), and an ostensibly cure-all mix called el boldo consisting of chopped barks and grass, boiled into a bitter tea (aids digestion). Thick, arm-length cactus stems, de-thorned and stacked like bones, are said to benefit patients suffering from cancer.

It is also upstairs where prayer candles and assorted “curative” soaps and oils are found.

For those seeking the best prices for fruits, vegetables and any dried fare – rice, beans, chilis, jamaica flowers, peanuts, and sugar – the streets surrounding the indoor market hold the most promise.

On Calle Zaragoza between Independencia and Juan Manuel one can buy fresh local fruit by the kilo at open-front stores where staff hand-fill orders one at a time. One shop in particular, situated in the middle of the block, is always packed with customers and has the best prices, hands-down. Following the taco stand rule, it’s hard to go wrong: the more customers, the more turnover, guarantees fresher product.

The Mercado Corona is open daily from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Most buyers frequent the stands around lunchtime (early afternoon). To avoid crowds and sun, arrive in the morning after produce is delivered; come with a large shopping bag and an empty stomach.

"Online Spanish references: the amusing & the accurate"

2008-04-25T23:01:00.001-05:00

(Published April 26, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

“Health became duck with the studies of the River Santiago.” That is the translation of Monday’s headline in Guadalajara newspaper El Publico, and also one more piece of evidence that language is tricky and electronic translators should never be trusted. Specifically, AltaVista’s online application Babel Fish (babelfish.altavista.com/), notorious for such silly linguistic conversions.

But “Salud se hizo pato con los estudios del rio Santiago,” the original text I translated, is far from silly. It seems that hacerse pato actually means to play dumb, and discovering state health officials are casually circumventing environmental studies promised weeks ago to address serious health risks, I’ll elect a different translator next time I need the facts.

A good online dictionary is indispensable. Babel Fish cannot be completely disqualified – it’s a great form of amusement, to say the least. Its name is taken from a fictional animal in Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy who can instantly translate any language. The application can convert about a dozen languages, and going from one to another can be like playing the telephone game.

In fact, a popular website called Lost in Translation (tashian.com/multibabel) allows the user to translate a piece of text consecutively ten times. “I’m a little teapot, short and stout” becomes “They are a small potentiometer, short circuits and a beer of malzes of the tea.”

The sole advantage of Babel Fish, beyond entertainment, is that it translates large blocks of text and also entire websites, so that a basic, if flawed, understanding is gained by its user.

There are countless free online dictionaries that will translate just about any language from one to the other, and many, like Google Translate, offer the same block text conversions as Babel Fish.

So where do I turn for accuracy? The single most valuable online translator is Word Reference (wordreference.com), which has offered free online bilingual dictionaries since 1999.

Word Reference, once discovered by desperate language students and linguistic junkies, will become a permanent bookmark online. It is an immense glossary, boasting a catalog of 120,000 Spanish words with 250,000 translations.

Type a word into the search box, “decir” for instance, and a long list of definitions pops up along with a speaker icon to click if you’d like to hear it pronounced aloud. Along with every definition (in this case, one noun form and five verb forms) comes an example and its translation. Decir’s third definition implies to opinar, afirmar, proponer: “¿Qué me dices de mi nuevo corte de pelo?” is “what do you think of my new haircut?”

Then the site lists countless idioms and expressions below the definitions. “Ni que decir tiene,” means “needless to say,” and “!No me digas!” is “really!” according to Word Reference.

And at the end of that list is the reason Word Reference rocks: forums. If you search a word and it doesn’t appear, or the use you sought is not addressed in its definition or idiom list, chances are another person had the same problem and requested assistance in the forum from other users.

An entire thread of the responses, including the original user’s question along with opinions from native speakers from around the world, appears when you click on the thread’s title. Under decir, link to these inquiries read “cabe decir,” “’to claim ... decir, mostrar, or afirmar?’” and “al decir.”

In order not to seem too prejudiced (I have found no site more informative and user-friendly than Word Reference), I’ll say that there are so many free dictionaries online these days that it’s probably hard to go wrong. For instance, Reverso (dictionary.reverso.net/) is a compilation of various technical dictionaries-business, medical, and computer-and will instantly conjugate any verb. If you’ve got Google Translate set up as your homepage for a quick conversion every now and then, by all means, translate away.

Word Reference, however, is the anti-Babel Fish. It insists that you read into a word before going off and using it willy-nilly, that you know its alternate definitions and compound forms, and that you understand hacerse pato is not a cooking technique for poultry.

An Update

2008-04-24T22:48:00.006-05:00

So the gods of travel, economics, and new apartments threw me into a temporary internet exile, which I survived begrudgingly, and which explains my lack of blog posts and communication with the rest of the world not in a ten-block radius of downtown Guadalajara. An update is in order.

I moved on March 5, found a place smack-dab in the historic central district, a good-sized neighborhood away from the stingy gossip of a landlady who attempted to bill me an extra day’s rent (and internet charges) for the couple hours I spent moving out in the early morning of the 5th. In our final stand I insisted her that if she charged me the day I would stay the day, the same another tenant was planning to arrive at noon (whom I’m sure would also be charged). She acquiesced but still billed me laundry dues for the entire month of March, and is holding my deposit hostage until she receives my last note from the telephone company.

My new apartment is on the roof floor of the orangest house I’ve ever seen, above the shop of a mechanic who bangs around all day on water pumps and also welds together fruit juicing machines. At half the price I was paying before I can’t complain, not even for the rustic character-building skills I’ve learned like washing laundry in a paint bucket, grappling and swishing around a broom handle and sawed-off coke bottle device per a borrowed Chiapas technique (according to my roommate).

I share the place with two artists, the owners of the flat, a portrait painter and an abstract collagist respectively. And also with a sour Swiss girl, who loafs around in a constant stream of bitterness directed towards unfaithful ex-boyfriends and her own mismanagement of a home hair dye job; and a German girl, a slight, pretty dancer with a new pink scar that runs across her neck in the shape of a smile, acquired from ongoing cancer treatments. She’ll only stay a month.

My routine of teaching and writing for the Reporter is unchanged, except I’m doing a bit more web-editing now that the new site’s up (New and Improved! Click on the link: www.guadalajarareporter.com). I find myself sitting most nights at dusk on the wall overlooking my new street, the only time of day I don’t fear sunburn at five minutes exposure, with a drink in hand and headphones on. Without skyscrapers, which Mexican cities don’t tend to build, I can make out the stars behind the dim brown haze of Guadalajara’s ozone, while tepid evening breezes try to cool off the panting hot pavement.

Facing the small intersection, I can see the caddy-cornered abarrotes shop manned by La Güera, an affectionate, middle-aged natural blonde (thus her nickname) who appears to be on a first name basis with about a quarter of Guadalajara’s population. Discovering I’m from North Carolina she bragged that her 27 year-old daughter once lived two years there at a military base after joining the U.S. army, and now she’s on tour in Italy.

An ugly transvestite works nights against the wall opposite the corner-store (she lives above it), whispering obscenities to male passers-by. I asked my roommates about her and they shrugged it off, adding only that they consider her outfit of particularly poor taste. Since I face her directly from my rooftop perch and am a liable witness to all potential encounters, I’ve begun to wonder if I’m negatively affecting her business and have felt guilty on occasion.

With lack of other personal news, some things of interest have happened lately in this part of the world. First, the U.S. Marine accused of killing a pregnant peer in North Carolina, who fled the country months back, was apprehended last week in Michoacan (a state bordering Jalisco) at a roadblock in the middle of nowhere. He was born in Guadalajara so the FBI tracked him down here—and word is last month he dropped by Zapopan to say hi to a cousin, who had no idea he was a fugitive and reported the meeting a little too late.

Also, the governor of Jalisco has developed a scheme so mightily corrupt you’d think he were trying to out-do his colleagues in other strains of fraud and crookedness. Emilio Gonzalez has found a mere $90 million pesos lying around somewhere in those forgotten stashes of money generally stored in the dark closets of Mexican tax offices, and is putting it to use: he will build the grandest cathedral ever seen in Jalisco—of course, not by donation of tax-payers’ “leftover money” directly to the Catholic church (that would be unconstitutional, you see), but though contracting companies who will then very directly fund the construction. The plan is strongly opposed by most citizens, secularists and faithful alike, but will surely be realized nonetheless. As Stephen Colbert once billed a bit on the Daily Show, “constitution, schmonstitution.”

See recent Reporter contributions below. New posts proximamente.

"Medications on your doorstep"

2008-04-24T22:44:00.001-05:00

(Published April 19, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

The new pharmaceutical company Medicity understands that for a very sick patient, a trip out of bed and to the pharmacy may be an effort. Or for an elderly diabetic patient, that simply locating the correct medications, their combinations and dosages every day is a challenge. As easy as ordering a pizza by delivery, Medicity brings medications right to your doorstep.

Delivery riders use Medicity’s colorful motorbikes to bring medications to customers’ doors within 30 minutes of an order being placed by telephone.

The company’s working concept is explained in three parts: a warehouse stocked with pharmaceuticals, from aspirin to difficult-to-find chronic medications to homeopathic remedies; knowledgeable medical consultants posted at a 24-hour call center; and a flock of motorcycles dispatched from various points in the metropolitan area (Guadalajara, Zapopan, Tlaquepaque and Tonala), arriving promptly at a patient’s doorstep with medication in hand.

To have medications delivered at home, a patient simply dials 8000-8000 (a local, not 1-800, number) and speaks briefly to a sales consultant to explain his needs. Doctors are also available to clarify questions about a prescription and to verify those called in.

A trial of the service proved any doubts I had wrong. After speaking with a representative and soliciting an order, a courier dressed like a fluorescent ghostbuster arrived at my house in under a half hour driving a cute blue-hooded Medicity motocycle. The price of my order was the same as what I pay at a regular pharmacy, though 20 pesos less than normal retail value, according to my invoice. A complimentary pill box was thrown in the bag.

Delivery can also be arranged on Medicity’s website. There is no minimum purchase required, and almost all forms of payment are acceptable, including cash, credit and debit. The service is completely free and phone reps insist no tip is required-it is included in the price.

An agent at the corporate office said that Medicity’s services are unique to Guadalajara, and have been in existence for only a month. Unfortunately, for the time being there are no English-speaking doctors available.

Medicity explains that its services are aimed at various groups of people who may have difficulty purchasing medication at a pharmacy, for whatever reason, including people who cannot drive, patients with an at-home emergency, patients with chronic illnesses who wish to pre-schedule all dosages (Medicity will program deliveries), and those who are simply too sick to leave the house.

"Face-to-face online Spanish tutoring"

2008-04-24T22:40:00.001-05:00

(Published April 19, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

When learning a new language, it’s one thing to laze on the sofa with headphones and a cassette recording, mimicking common and phrases like a parrot. It’s quite another to sit face to face with a native speaker and chat back and forth – and that’s what Hablando Live, an online Spanish school started about a year ago, seeks to offer.

Partnered with Visual Link and a Spanish school in Cuzco, Peru called Wiracocha, Hablando Live uses a method of distance learning to get students talking and interacting from day one.

“It’s very difficult to gain conversation practice through a CD or tape program,” said Chandra Bringhurst, the company’s business development manager based in the Agora Hills, California office. I spoke with Bringhurst via Skype, a free Internet phone connection and chat spot through which Hablando Live’s students communicate (in addition to Google Talk).

Bringhurst explained that the only devices required to access the program are an Internet connection and headset with both receiver and microphone. The student may also use a web-cam to see the teacher. During the live class, a virtual blackboard is present on which the teacher can sketch words or explain ideas.
After the student registers for a class, which costs from 18 to 20 dollars per hour depending on the package, he arranges a time to begin class with a Wiracocha teacher, who will remain with him throughout the course.

The methodology is simple: each class consists of a conversation to practice material learned in the last session, introduction of new vocabulary and grammar, and a Latin American culture topic to wrap up. The program not only emphasizes speaking, but provides an overview of topics unfamiliar to many foreign learners. Subjects may include the Patagonia in Argentina, the Latin American kitchen, and costs of living in Peru.

“Where we’re focusing right now is working with different tour operators, clients who travel and like to pick up another language, or want to learn more when they come back,” said Bringhurst.

Hablando Live is unique in its connection with a school in Peru, which provides its students with consistent native speakers. But the service has many online competitors, including Interlingua, which works with a school in Guatemala and offers roughly the same service at a reasonable price. Both programs beat other methods such as private lessons, which can run up to 40 dollars a pop.

Other popular learning options include Rosetta Stone, which does not offer an online program, but courses for interactive study on the computer. The Berlitz language school uses an “audio-lingual” approach; that is, grammar is secondary to speaking and listening. Berlitz has language centers around the world as well as an online interactive course.

Bringhurst warns that other distance learning programs, while affordable, may not assure consistent communication with a native speaker. And because Hablando Live is based at a Spanish school, a student may call and chat with a teacher for a half an hour.

What all online programs can promise is a sense of confidence from the first day of learning a new language. While not ideal, simply because complete immersion is impossible, the face-to-face distance approach is possibly the best learning opportunity available aside from a private tutor.

"New tequila packs a piquant punch"

2008-04-24T22:32:00.003-05:00

(Published [in part] April 19, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

The Jalisco company Tequila La Cofradia has found a successful and rapidly growing business opportunity in the form of a unique “chili peppered-cured” tequila called Agave Loco, containing the combined flavors of six chilis. The new investment, in partnership with a Chicago wine and spirits distributor, is in step with several other tequileras hoping to boost foreign enterprise in the form of distinctive liquors.

A bottle of Agave Loco is sold exclusively to the United States with a retail price of 20 dollars, according to La Cofradia’s general director Carlos Hernandez.

“The idea came from some Americans that came to Guadalajara and demonstrated their project, and developed it with us,” Hernandez reported to El Mural. The first order of 2,200 cases was exported to the U.S. last month, and will be sold by various retailers in May.

Tom Maas, Agave Loco’s brand owner who has 30 years in the wine and spirits business in connection with Jim Beam, was discussing tequila among friends when the idea came up.

“We were at a private home and the story came up as we were talking about tequila in the old days, how it used to be made. There’s a story that people used to store peppers in tequila.”

Agave Loco’s website cites the “legend” of a man who finds a jar of chilis in his grandmother’s home, pickled in this fashion. The chilis were delicious and so was the leftover tequila, which was found to be smoother than its un-spiced derivation. El Torito, a traditional drink from Guerrero, is a version of this style, consisting of green chili, onion, tomatoes and cheese soaked in mezcal and vinegar.

Agave Loco’s own formula is based on this tequila plus hot chili concept. Pepper-curing, says the company, reduces the “harsh alcohol burn” one experiences with a normal tequila, leaving only the aftertaste of jalapeño and serrano peppers, as well as a little heat.

“It’s sweet, with the spicyness of medium salsa,” says Maas, who adds that the tequila makes a tasty margarita.

Agave Loco will be promoted intensely in liquor showcases throughout the U.S. to establish its position on the market. The spicy drink has been well-received so far thanks to successful marketing strategies, reports Hernandez.

Tequila Patron and Tequila Herradura are also establishing their standing in the U.S. market. Hernandez noted that establishing a new brand can turn around a five- to six-million dollar profit in the first year, but can expect to sell around 100 million dollars of product in the future once the company gains a stronghold. Many American entrepreneurs see already-established tequileras as a reliable business venture and are investing increasingly.

La Cofradia’s business will expand in Russia by 400%, according to Hernandez, where sales have been consistent in past years. Plans are also in order to export tequila to India in bulk, where it will there be bottled and distributed. He explains the measure is used to circumvent protective tariffs imposed on shipping pre-bottled tequila, a practice whisky and beer companies already follow.

Maas says that Agave Loco will soon look for distribution in Mexico. “It’s the only kind of its type, and we really feel it’s going to be tremendous.”

"La Santa Muerte: A Catholic cult celebrates death"

2008-04-24T22:17:00.005-05:00

(Published March 29, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

Cecilia Varela, a follower of the Catholic cult of la Santa Muerte, wore red and black, thick eyeliner, and a small animal claw pendant around her neck. She carried with her a white mantle meant to be draped over the daunting female skeleton guarding a corner of the altar, with scythe, flowers and rosary in hand.

The altar devoted to la Santa Muerte, the personification of death called an "angel of god" and "la Nina Blanca" by her followers, is the first established in Jalisco. It is located on a dusty corner of Juan de la Barrera in Tlaquepaque next to a railroad crossing. Devotee Jose Sam and his "brother," who prefers the title "el General," founded the improvised chapel on August 22, 2007. The Catholic Church refuses to recognize worship of la Santa Muerte as a valid form of Catholicism, as it deviates from the doctrine of holy trinity.

When asked about the Santa Muerte mass, held on the 22nd of every month at the Tlaquepaque altar, Ms. Varela said she wishes people would come to the service instead of asking about it (refering to recent attention in the press), and insisted there are no distinctions between their and a traditional Catholic mass.

"Our lord God is the only god," Varela said. "He is the only one. Our father blesses you, and she [la Santa Muerte] protects you."

Followers of la Santisima treat her with a distinct, personal affection, and believe that, just as humans were brought into this life by God, they will one day be taken by death, thus la Muerte is owed equal respect.

"In the end, who will I remain with? It's better to get close to death now," Varela said.

Varela, for instance, brought the mantle not only out of respect, but to complete her end of a bargain with la Santa Muerte. She had asked la Santa to bring to her the "love of her life," a favor the angel did not fulfill. Varela said she realized she asked for too much, but even so, she promised to look after la Santa's effigy, and now feels at peace.

Members of the Catholic sect have often neared death themselves. Along the dangerous crossing between the United States and Mexico border, vendors sell candles and medallions of la Santisima. And in Mexico City's rougher neighborhoods, la Santa Muerte has gained popularity within marginalized communities -- delinquents, drug-traffickers and prostitutes, among others.

The local temple's co-founder Jose Sam led such a life at one time, and it was "el General" who saved him. They refer to each other as brothers, although by blood they qualify only as good friends.

"He showed me what it was to be a Catholic," Jose Sam reflected. "I took my vows 13 years ago. Before that there wasn't a bigger drug addict than me. I barely had any veins left. I walked around with no shoes and I didn't have any conscience."

Jose Sam and his "brother" now lead a wholly sober life. They made a pact together promising to live by "honor, loyalty, and discipline."

Because la Santisima is so sharply criticized and often believed to be a form of Satanism, the "brothers" refrain from judging others, and consider harmony to be the most important principle they have learned from la Santa Muerte. A prayer air-brushed on the altar's wall reads, "I pray for my friends and my enemies, for world peace…Let harmony and understanding flourish."

Devotion to la Santa Muerte's image is also essential; both men are quick to pull their t-shirts over their heads, revealing tattoos of religious script and the morbid figure herself.

What would surprise most people, said Jose Sam, is that on each day of mass, the little room is so packed that devotees spill out into the street. "A lot of people criticize us, but you wouldn't believe how many people come."

People of all backgrounds attend, he said, including neatly dressed children with their grandmothers -- not the expected image. A priest from Puebla leads the congregation every month, and as a video clip on Varela's cell phone showed, the proceedings appear quite ordinary.

What the "brothers" believe this indicates is that there are many more Santa Muerte followers that practice the alternative religion in closed quarters for fear of condemnation. Since the establishment of the altar, people in their community have been supportive, and there is no fear of the church.

Jose Sam and "el General" welcome anyone curious to attend the mass, which begins at 5 p.m. The Santa Muerte community will celebrate the one-year anniversary of the establishment in August, complete with a bounty of food and a mariachi band.

"Putting worthy literature in the hands of children"

2008-04-24T22:04:00.005-05:00

(Published March 22, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

Petra Ediciones, a small children's book publisher based in Guadalajara, operates out of an office appropriately situated in a neighborhood where all streets are named after literary greats. The company, in existence since 1990, has been recognized internationally for its innovation in a country whose market, as the publisher's director Peggy Espinosa remarked, "doesn't have the custom of buying books for children."

Each book Petra Ediciones publishes, from preschool-aged, cardboard picture books to larger reference books about geometry and famous authors, provokes an experience rarely observed in children's literature. The company collaborates with contemporary Mexican artists to create visual stimulation for its readers, providing early exposure to complex concepts.

"We offer images of high quality," Espinosa said. "We think about how we can present books to young readers so that they can have a deeper reading experience, something they can enjoy but also find meaning in."

In one way, it's like pouring chocolate over broccoli, a tasty incentive to dive in and get to the stuff of substance. For example, Petra Ediciones publishes an "art game" called the Photographic Mexican Lottery. Each bingo card in the set contains four-by-four rows of simple, black and white photographs of objects from Mexican culture taken by Jill Hartley, along with a name for the image.

One square, for example, features a long-straw broom leaning against a wall, and is titled "La escoba." Young children playing the game, more likely drawn to cartoon characters than to black and white photos, can then locate "La escoba" in the game's handbook and read a short verse: "Teque teteque/ Por los rincones/ tu de puntitas/ yo de talones."

On the other hand, Petra Ediciones isn't just hiding deeper concepts under pretty pictures. They are doing what good children's books do best: enhance and exaggerate a story with visuals until the narrative peaks, and in that breathless moment, words disappear altogether and the art speaks for itself.

It's like when Max, the boy protagonist of Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are," proclaims himself king before threats of mutiny. There is that moment where the page turns and the narrative pauses -- and in an act of pure hubris and elation, Max swings joyously from jungle branches along with the Wild Things. The wordless two-page spread is exhilarating, managing to accomplish more within the narrative than any other page in the book.

Such is "Primavera," one of Petra Ediciones' latest publications, illustrated by Manuel Marin. In fact, the book is entirely wordless, a technique the author calls "cinematographic."

It uses color as its narrative catalyst, as whimsically tinted insects that look like glider planes fly over a minimalist white garden of line-drawn geometrical flowers and go about pollinating. Page one shows only the sparse garden, each flower of a different silly shape; on the next page a yellow insect arrives, bleeding yellow color into the flower it visits. The last spread is a full, rainbow-dyed garden, surely waiting to be discovered.

"Image by image, it puts you in a little universe of that art," Espinosa said of the effect.

"I like insects and they agitate me," Marin explained. "They pollinate and they are of great importance for the existence of all kinds of life on the planet. However we rarely think about them. So, I imagined the pollination of the flowers, and I exemplified what the insects do by making them give color to the flowers through their contact. In the end, all the flowers have color thanks to the insects' pollination."

"Primavera" was recently nominated for the IBBY (International Board on Books for Young People) Honour List 2008. Every two years IBBY selects books from around the world to be included in a catalogue, considered to be the best representatives of children's literature from each country. Marin will travel to Copenhagen in September of this year for the official presentation of his book.

Petra Ediciones has an impressive history of international accolade. Another book called "Dias Tonaltin," by Greek illustrator Lanna Andreadis, won the Bologna Ragazzi Award in 2006. The book contains 20 monochromatic images painted like thick Japanese calligraphy, each a representation of one day in the Aztec calendar. The images are labeled in both Spanish and nahuatl; crocodile, for instance, reads 'cocodrillo/cipactli.'

In 1997 the Petra Ediciones book "Una Cabeza de Caballo" was selected as one of the best children's books by the pretigious Banco de Libro de Venezuela. It is a fully interactive design experience: the reader follows sculptor Sebastian's monument in Mexico City's Glorieta del Caballito, from its construction to its geometric principles, then can construct his own model from paper cutouts provided with the book.

The objective, said Espinosa, is not that children can construct a perfect sculpture, but that they can experience making it hands-on.

Marin, who is also an art professor at UNAM and teaches children's workshops, says that what most interests him about children is how they can play and imagine freely, even while reading a book.

"They're not directed by anyone. They laugh and point at figures that they're looking at. They play with what they see."

Petra Ediciones has plans to expand to a foreign market, where the books would have a more consistent promotion with large booksellers like Barnes & Nobles. The Mexican market is fickle, and at times a book might sit on the shelf for months before selling. For now, the publisher remains busy looking for artists and authors with new and provocative ideas in children's literature.

"Translation is not always as it seems"

2008-04-24T21:59:00.002-05:00

(Published March 22, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

This week during an English class I helped a student of mine, employed in the safety and health department of a large manufacturing company out of El Salto, translate an accident report from Spanish to English. A lab worker suffered a minor laceration to her palm caused by a broken flask. Although my students at that company would rather be tinkering with lab equipment than pouring over foreign languages, I gave them free range and recommended they follow the original Spanish text faithfully to translate. That is, 'especificacion' is 'specification,' 'laboratory' is 'laboratorio,' 'evaluation' is 'evaluacion,' and so on. And it worked well, at least in that scientific context.

But things are not always as they seem, as Spanish students learn on day one when the teacher explains we do not 'atender' la clase --as we certainly 'attend' class in English-- we 'asistir' it. Then what is it to 'assist' my mother with her housework, we ask. 'Asistir' similarly means 'to help': la asisto a mi mama con los deberes.

The same goes for 'discutir,' which in Spanish only means 'to discuss' if it's in the euphemistic sense your parents used when they wouldn't admit they were arguing. That's why my students gave me a funny look when I suggested we have a discussion about Helen Keller's biography, as if I assumed it should provoke a heated debate. In Spanish, instead, we would 'platicar' or 'conversar,' and leave 'la discusion' to politicians and landladies.

'Pretender' is another deceptive word whose meaning has little to do with what one might think in English: 'pretend,' as in to act in an untruthful way, is more accurately 'fingir' in Spanish. To 'pretender' is to express intention, effort, and or hope toward something planned. Pretendo ser actriz would translate roughly to I'm aiming to (or aspiring to) be an actress.

There are look-a-like words too that don't alter so drastically in meaning as pretender and pretend, more like a small tweak. Take investigar, for example. It means simply 'to investigate,' just as you'd think, only used more commonly as English-speakers use 'look into' and 'find out.' When I first came to Guadalajara and went apartment hunting, I visited a promising one found in an ad; later that day a friend sent me the text "Que investigaste?" Thinking for a moment like a detective, I wondered what it was exactly I had investigated, until I realized she simply wanted to know what I found out about the place.

I also began to wonder why Mexicans so often perceive circumstances as 'desperate.' That is, 'desesperado,' which I overhear in rather unremarkable situations that don't seem to justify such dramatic estimation.
A student once remarked that I was 'desesperada' with him, and my immediate thought was, what have I done? I mean, he's not really getting the present perfect, but I'm not to the point of desperation! 'Desesperar,' like it would seem in English, does mean 'to drive to the point of despair,' but usually it's used to express mere frustration or exasperation.

The grand prize of confusing translation would go to 'decepcionar.' One might assume the noun 'decepcion' would mean what it does in English: deceipt, fraud, falsehood, etc. But in Spanish it means what one might feel after being deceived: 'disappointment.' The verb that actually means 'to deceive' is 'engañar.' So, tu me decepcionaste means you disappointed me, and tu me engañaste means you deceived me. Whew!

And the list goes on. The early days of my Spanish education are gone, when I was apt to twist the pronunciation of an English word, maybe add an 'a' or 'o' to the butt of it, and hoping it would slide (it still does, now and then…). But now, I pretendo ser more careful with my word choice, lest I be engañada.

"IXE opens string of trendy banks"

2008-04-24T21:47:00.003-05:00

(Published March 22, 2008 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

The first thought that comes to mind stepping into one of the 12 new IXE banks in Guadalajara is that you've accidentally walked into a Starbucks. And just as your eyes adjust to the warm, designer lamps you notice that there is, in fact, a café to your right…and is that Norah Jones playing overhead?

IXE Grupo Financiero has, since only October of last year, neatly established its attractive, trendy bank branches all over the city. The company plans to open a total of 20 locations, each one appearing to be pulled straight from an Ikea catalog with a striking absence of every hassle a bank trip normally entails.

IXE, a word in nahuatl that essentially means "he who practices what he preaches," has for the last 13 years been one of the front-runners in Mexico's investment sector, providing foreign exchange, asset and wealth management to corporate and private clients. IXE most recently added banking services to that list.

Roberto Manuel Bejar Orozco, director of the Ladron de Guevara branch in Guadalajara, explains that the bank grew out of their investment house (casa de bolsa) in Mexico City. Clients of IXE's services there complained of having to use separate institutions for banking and brokerage.

"It was our clients that asked for the bank services," Orozco explains. "It was very successful in D.F., and now it's growing at a national level."

Many current members of IXE bank services were top clients of other investment firms, as well as former clients of IXE employed bankers who brought them along when they joined the new company. Orozco refers to IXE's clientele as the "premier" sector.

That explains the absence of long, ticker-tape lines-the idea is to maintain few clients, exclusively of professional and corporate backgrounds, in order to provide a high quality experience. The more clients a bank has, says Orozco, the more it will lose. In fact, IXE bank barely advertises; most new clients come by word of mouth.

Unlike most banks that require a minimal sum to start an account, an IXE account opens at a hefty 20,000 pesos. This exclusivity, however, is exactly what a typical bank does not provide even to its premier customers, and is what draws big investors to the new bank. Because investment and banking services are combined, IXE is able to offer lower fees than most brokers.

Pamphlets and signs inside the bank emphasize the bank's personalized services. "Because you deserve it," says one, referring to a rewards program. "We treat every client as if he were the only one, and every client is the most important one."

This sentiment is immediately perceived: customers are genially greeted upon entering and promptly offered a beverage from the coffee bar. Three shiny Macintosh computers are available in the front window for browsing the Internet. IXE prides itself on small details, such as a toll-free phone line for clients sans robot assistance-a live voice will always answer inquiries. The bank even provides a free document courier service to clients' home or office addresses.

"The main benefit is that at IXE bank you are treated like a person, with unique and high quality service," Orozco says.

"Sour times for sugar sector"

2008-03-07T14:20:00.004-06:00

(Published March 8, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

January 1, 2008 was a distempering milestone for the Mexican sugar industry. After years of restricted trade between the U.S. and Mexico per NAFTA laws negotiated 14 years ago, tariffs and other regulations were finally phased out and the sugar market, as well as other agricultural sectors, was left open to the caprice of the global market.

 The bouleversement in the agricultural markets has not sat well with groups on many ends of the business spectrum; Mexican farmers spent the end of January marching the same trajectory Pancho Villa took during his 1914 march into Mexico City, ending in the Zocalo of Mexico City where they burned tractors in protest. 

The farmers insisted they would not be able to compete with highly subsidized U.S. growers and that the Mexican government has not done enough to protect them. Despite efforts on both sides of the border to maintain the previous restrictions, a bid to renegotiate trade laws was dropped in early February. 

The tariff eliminations catch sugar producers between a rock and hard place. Take the case of Grupo Azucarero Mexico (GAM). Located here in Jalisco, it’s the second largest sugar producer in the country, turning out eight percent of the nation’s sugar from their four mills, but fast losing ground to international sugar producers. 

Hilda Alvarez, a head accountant working in GAM’s administrative offices in Zapopan, explained that NAFTA’s recent opening of agricultural trade is one impetus edging GAM downward; Mexican sugar simply can’t compete with cheap U.S. imports. In fact, Mexico will boast a 500,000-ton surplus this year and produces more than enough to cover domestic demand, but still imports cheaper sugar so as not to sell below production costs. 

But GAM knew long ago that NAFTA would have a deep effect, said Alvarez, and planned ahead for this day. “To prepare us, our CEO made trade with sugar companies in Brazil in order to share information about costs of production.”

 It is not NAFTA that is most affecting GAM’s production costs, Alvarez believes, but the unions that represent sugar mill workers. Alvarez said the sugar unions’ power and demands have become too strong. Because the growing and production period divide the year in half, a union’s refusal to work during the essential processing time will cost the company a great deal of time and energy. 

In November 2006, union workers at Jalisco’s largest mill in Tala went on strike: over 1,000 union members in the milltown and thousands more nationwide petitioned for the consistent payment of their workers’ pension plans after retirement. The group demanded 3,000 retired workers be caught up for stopped payments as far back as 1998. They claimed industrialists were ignoring agreements that provide for fair pay. 

The strike ended within a week, but another threatened in January of 2007 when the union claimed the issues unresolved. The strikes put 1,500 tons of sugar produced per day at risk. To an estimated 2.5 million people employed in the sugar industry, guarantee of payment has become increasingly important in the weakening market. 

Sugarcane farmers also stopped deliveries to mills last December to protest their falling payment, which is based on the 50-kilo load’s selling price in the Mexico City market. Alvarez said that last year in January and February, a 50-kilo load of sugarcane, the raw product the company buys to process, cost 350 pesos. Today it costs around 270 pesos and the price is dropping. 

The government created a plan last year to bolster sugarcane prices to maintain fair wages for farmers. But the plan came into effect at the beginning of this year, the same time as trade restrictions were lifted by NAFTA.

 Consequently, the dawning of 2008 was a double blow for GAM. The price for raw materials suddenly rose at the same time they were forced to sell at lower prices to compete with international markets. 

The only players that appear to benefit from the sugar market’s surplus are industrial consumers, soft drink or baked goods companies who can buy the sugar at its domestic crisis price or buy on the international market, often from Brazil, a country that faces little union pressure and whose climate is conducive to a longer, more productive growing period than Mexico. 

“Those companies can buy sugar at lower prices than before, but the consumer doesn’t know,” Alvarez said. “The last consumer has not noticed any changes in the price of products they buy, although the sugar has lower prices than ever.” 

Presented with a multilateral industrial nightmare, GAM is working to recover its losses. “We’re looking for opportunities to lower costs. One option is in energy,” said Alvarez. The mills are able to generate ethanol from reprocessed bagazo, the leftover chaff from sugarcane; producers are currently investigating the costs. 

Alvarez does not project company layoffs, at least for the time being, and said it would most likely affect the administrative area of the company, not production workers. It is not clear if the sugar market will in fact fall into the chaos many analysts have projected this year, but Alvarez expressed fear that it would continue along its descending path if not more strictly regulated. 

“The government needs to do something,” she said. “If prices keep getting lower, no one will be able to support this.”

"Dogging the developers: neighborhood group presses on"

2008-03-02T14:39:00.008-06:00

(Published March 1, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

In the center of the Zapopan’s Colonia Jardines del Sol, not far from several elementary schools and across from rows of multi-car houses on modern, palm-shaded Wisteria Lanes, is the site of the old Motorola plant and the current epicenter of a legal and environmental nightmare.

The SSC Inmobilaria group plans to build La Ciudadela, a commercial center with five luxury apartment towers, on the former factory site. The mega-project would boost the population density of the neighborhood by 20 percent. Jardines del Sol's neighborhood association, headed by German-born musician Ludger Kellner, is vehemently opposed to the project and is fighting tooth and nail to put a stop to the construction.

The battle has been going on for some time; The Guadalajara Reporter covered the story last August when Kellner’s legal status in Mexico was threatened by an anonymous complaint to the regional Immigration office, believed to be filed by someone whose interests were aligned with La Ciudadela project.

“That was scary for other foreigners who could see that even if you are legally living in the country, some financial or political interests might try to harm you with the pretense that you’re doing something illegal,” Kellner commented in a recent interview.

The complaint didn’t prosper and Kellner has continued his battle with SSC. According to Kellner, the current owners of the landsite are guilty of serious environmental violations, punishable by jail time. In a press conference last week, Kellner and other neighborhood advocates renewed their promise to prove the owners are constructing on contaminated land.

For a time, legal procedures ruled in favor of Jardines del Sol’s residents. In November of last year, Zapopan’s municipal government resolved an initial complaint the neighborhood association had filed in May; on November 23, 2007, the Ayuntamiento de Zapopan shut down the building site pending environmental evaluation.

The neighborhood’s own survey of the site’s surrounding area showed nearby residents suffered from a ten percent higher propensity of symptoms associated with industrial toxins, such as respiratory and nervous system damage.

Subsequently, the building company lost every appeal through to the Mexican Supreme Court. SSC Inmobilaria had nowhere else to go, and the site stayed closed until January 25, 2008.

On that date something happened that Kellner calls “outside any legal process.” By an inexplicable retro-appeal to the Jalisco state courts, the building company was granted legal permission to continue construction by a state magistrate.

“The legal course is the other way around,” Kellner said. “You first of all complain to the lowest jurisdiction, and then you end up in federal court, and if you lose there you have nowhere else to go. But they went exactly in reverse.

“They have continued from the 28th of January, and of course they’re going as fast as they can now because they feel we might stop them again – and we are going to stop them again.”

On February 21, in a rare public response to the neighborhood association’s accusations, the landowners said they complied with the law and found the ground within safe limits of pollutants.

Manuel de Asis Orta, vice president of SSC Inmobilaria, said that their tests found thallium (a bioaccumable heavy metal) in amounts permissible under Mexican law and that it “is false that contaminating materials exist.”

Responded Kellner: “The fact is that the authorities are not asking them to do what the law requires ... Their analysis was done in a completely incorrect way because by that time they had already taken out tons and tons of earth and thrown it into other places. That was polluted earth. They were polluting the whole city.”

Furthermore, explained Kellner, the Federal Prosecutor for Environmental Protection (Profepa) reported that samples were extracted from a depth of about one meter, while the law requires samples to be taken at zero to five centimeters as heavy metals are found on the ground’s surface.

“They took the samples at the wrong depth, and even so, they found thallium,” said Kellner. “Thallium is a very toxic heavy metal, it’s soluble in water, and even in the air; it gets though your skin and into your body, and it’s not eliminated by anything. It’s what they call a silent death.”

Since Motorola vacated the site in 1999 after a 31-year residency, the land has changed hands a number of times. When the Universidad del Valle de Mexico bought the land in 2003, they required that the previous owner, Alejandro Sanchez Garza, have the land surveyed for pollutants. The study found the land to be contaminated, the results of which were included in every subsequent deed.

“Nobody who was involved in this deal here is able to say he didn’t know about this document, because it’s cited in the deed in which the lot was sold to the German bank as a fiduciary,” Kellner said. “The funny part about this is that the two partners who have the option to purchase the land say that they never knew about this document.”

There is more that does not add up: the federal government does not have a single paper filed by Motorola or ON Semiconductors (a subsidiary of the Texas Pacific Group, which bought up the semi-conductor division of Motorola worldwide) registering their industrial waste – how much, what type, if transported by government authorized hazmat freight companies – for all activity during the 1980s and 90s. Toxic waste registration is obligatory under federal law.

Recently the Jardines del Sol neighborhood association went to federal criminal courts to file a complaint requesting the builders be held responsible for their crimes. They are also at the point of petitioning federal courts once again that the construction be stopped.

SSC Inmobilaria insists that La Ciudadela will benefit the community. They announced they will donate 1,200 square meters of land so the Federal Electricity Commission can build a substation that could provide 1,200 area homes with energy.

Kellner will continue to combat the project. “We know that this is a lengthy process that might take several years, because you cannot remedy a polluted site within weeks.”

Not included in the Reporter's edition but worth mentioning:

Kellner noted that two water bottling plants, Bonafont and Arco Iris, are not far from the contaminated landsite, as well as the Sabritas factory.

“The government favors investment. Investment goes first, because it generates employment, it generates prosperity. But this is not prosperity if you have people die on account of investment.” - Ludger Kellner

"Gabacha reporter grills Orange County's most informed Mexican"

2008-03-02T14:28:00.006-06:00

(Published March 1, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Gustavo Arellano isn’t just Mexican, he is “The Mexican” – the voice of the United States’ newest and largest minority who answers every question gabachos and latinos have “wanted to know about Mexicans but [were] too pendejo to ask.” Arellano smashes stereotypes one at a time in his nationally syndicated OC Weekly column called “Ask a Mexican,” and released a book last May by the same name. A Spanish version of the book will soon be released in Mexico.

Last week The Guadalajara Reporter’s MEREDITH VETO spoke to Arellano via telephone from his Orange County, California office.

MV: The questions you receive are strongly worded, often with racist undertones. You obviously take this in stride. But do you ever get discouraged by this gabacho mentality?

GA: Oh, no, I love the racist questions. They’re the best ones. I get all kinds of different questions, not just racist white people who write in to me, but from Mexicans who are racist against whites or blacks or other Mexicans. I get questions from Mexicans in Mexico wanting to know about some aspect of Mexican history or culture. No matter how much I write the column, no matter how much I try to debunk stereotypes, racism’s going to exist. So the best thing I can do is tackle it and ridicule it.

MV: I understand you received a Masters degree from UCLA in Latin American studies. How much does your historical foundation come into play when you answer questions? What is your research process like?

GA: My college education was great for a number of reasons but really the main reason was that it taught me how to do research, get a lot of information and then boil it down to the particulars you need. For instance if there’s a question about etymology, I’m going to consult etymological dictionaries, I’m going to talk to language professors, I’m going to consult history books. If somebody has a stupid question like “Why do Mexicans sell oranges on the side of freeways?” that’s not going to take a lot of research. That’s just going to be a joke off the top of my head. [The answer: “What do you want them to sell, Steinway pianos?”]

MV: You are also, and firstly, a food critic for the OC Weekly. You write a column called “This hole-in-the-wall life.” I liked what you said a few weeks ago about small Mexican restaurants in the United States, when browsing a menu: “Figure out which Spanish words have yet to become part of the Southern Californian Spanish. Order them – none will disappoint.” Would that sum up your attitude as a food critic? Is that what you look for in a good hole-in-the-wall restaurant?

GA: I used to do higher-end restaurants, but they never particularly interested me because I don’t want to spend 100 dollars on a good meal when I could have a better meal for about three bucks. When it comes to Mexican restaurants, I try to review restaurants that will feature food from a particular region nobody has ever really had. For instance, here in Orange County there are a lot of people from Jalisco. What’s a great meal from Guadalajara? Tortas ahogadas. Growing up, I never had a torta ahogada until I went to a taco truck and said, what is this? So to me, it’s foreign food as well. More importantly though, it’s great food. By doing restaurant reviews like that I’m also able to talk about the phenomenon of migration to the U.S.

MV: Would you mind answering a few of my own gabacha inquires?
GA: Sure, yeah.

MV: First, when I came to Mexico as a study abroad student, my program advisor warned female students that Mexican men are far more likely to cheat on their partners than American men. I believe she even had numbers to back it up. Does that have any truth, or was she just trying to protect us?

GA: Protect you from what? Oh please. Number one, if we’re going to play the stats game, the most comprehensive study of male cheating patterns was done by the University of Chicago, they interviewed God knows how many people, and they came to the conclusion that the fidelity stats for latinos and whites weren’t really that far apart to say this is endemic in the culture. Cheaters are cheaters all across the world. Your teacher absorbed all these stereotypes of the Latin lover, the unfaithful man, those stereotypes. I’m Mexican and I haven’t cheated on anyone in my life.

MV: Here’s another: Clowns are everywhere in Mexico. They perform on the streets, they’re featured on television and in advertisements. It strikes me as odd only because Americans tend to be fairly hostile towards clowns, even fearful of them. Any explanation?

GA: [Laughs] You know it’s funny, that’s true. I laugh because I agree with you. I personally don’t care much for clowns, but what I mean is that they neither draw fear nor happiness from me. I never understood why a lot of white people are mortified by clowns. You know, what do clowns supposedly represent? Gaiety, happiness, hilarity. Who wouldn’t want that in their lives? If Mexicans are hanging out with clowns, that just means they like happiness more than other people. They like fun stuff. Especially with the television shows, there’s a lot of goofiness, it’s really outlandish. Kind of like the Japanese. We like our humor to be as outlandish as possible.

MV: If Americans could stand to learn one thing from their Mexican neighbors, what would that be?

GA: What Americans could learn from Mexicans is that we’re not trying to take over the U.S. Up here, I think that’s always lurking in the minds of white Americans. Oh my God, these Mexicans are moving into our neighborhood, they’re trying to take over our culture, they’re trying to impregnate our women ... Aaaah! No, they’re not. It’s so nationalistic, it’s so assuming that every action [Mexicans] take against them has to be because they’re Americans. Just so you know, we don’t want to take over the United States.

Curious about Mexican culture? Write to themexican@askamexican.net with your own inquiries.

"In case of emergency, know your Spanish"

2008-02-23T13:57:00.004-06:00

(Published February 23, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Several months ago I had one of those life-flashing-before-my-eyes moments: as I stepped off the 622 bus on Agustin Yañez, a motorcyclist slipped into the bus lane on the right-hand side without a trace of deceleration. A split-second or millimeter difference would have put me in the hospital, or worse.

Thrown into the vertigo of an emergency room without the comfort of my mother tongue or an English-speaking doctor, I can only imagine how I would have reacted. The fact is, communication barriers exist even during scheduled visits with bilingual doctors in Mexico. That alone should be motivation enough to prepare in case of an unpleasant stomach episode on a rural roadtrip or an ill-fated scorpion bite on the Teuchitlan ruins.

I consulted Dr. Carlos Rodriguez Zarate, the medical subdirector of the San Javier Hospital in Guadalajara’s Colonia Providencia, for his advice to English-speaking patients being treated in a Spanish-speaking world. Zarate performs directorial duties in the morning and runs a private cosmetic medicine clinic in the afternoon, often treating native English-speakers.

It is comforting, first of all, that his hospital does much to accommodate bilingual patients: chief members of the nursing staff are required to take a medical English course, and the hospital employs two English speakers to handle administrative tasks, like working out medical insurance. But even so, many English-speakers are not happy to be there.

“Patients are often afraid, especially to be at a Mexican hospital,” Zarate said. “They want to explain their symptoms and they try to find people who speak English.”

Patients are likely to be anxious in the hospital regardless of the language they speak, but surely more so for those left out of the loop. The antidote to fear, he said, is preparation.

“I recommend patients carry a little card with their brief medical history, the medications they take, and any allergies they have. It’s a good idea, especially if they get to a place they don’t know.”

As a doctor, Zarate wants to know specific symptoms a patient is experiencing, when they started, and when they got better or worse. This requires a basic Spanish vocabulary related to time and health quality. There are countless Spanish-English medical dictionaries online that will help you sort out your symptoms, especially if you have a chronic condition like hypertension or diabetes you’ll need to explain to any doctor.

And if you’re experiencing mystery symptoms, Lorenza Ochoa, a second-semester medical student at the Universidad Autonoma, suggested a few helpful phrases to help the doctor divine your affliction. Remember, the doctor is a respected individual and should be referred to as usted.

Me siento mal tells the doctor you don’t feel well: add de + body part to explain where. If the pain is localized you can simply point to where it is and say, me duele aqui.

To ask the doctor what you’re suffering from specifically, say, que es lo que tengo? and, es grave? to inquire if the issue is serious. Next ask usted puede tratarlo? (can you treat it?) and if the answer is no, ask the doctor to explain what other options you have: que otras opciones hay?

Ochoa emphasized the importance of understanding the doctor’s instructions—a confused headshake will not help the doctor solve the problem. Don’t be afraid to jump in and say, puede explicarme otra vez? (can you explain it again?) or, puede explicarmelo lentamente? (can you explain it slowly?)

The doctor is one person who will never judge your bad gringo accent or your nervous stutter. If you still have trouble understanding her directions after several repetitions, try asking her to write down the directions for you: Puede escribir las instrucciones para mi?

Apart from online dictionaries there are great take-along ones for quick reference. Zarate showed me a chunky, colorful book about the size of a billfold called “Medical Spanish Made Incredibly Quick” (by Springhouse). It’s waterproof and washable allowing the user to jot notes on the pages, and separated into categories by bright plastic tabs. The book lists questions in a simple yes-or-no format for easy communication. It’s the perfect bilingual resource for travelers to Mexico or permanent residents who frequent the doctor.

Communication, said Zarate, is the key. If after a doctor’s visit you remain doubtful about any symptoms or medications prescribed, all respectable medical professionals should be available to clarify concerns by phone or email.

"A lesson in hairdo lexicon at a more than fair price"

2008-02-15T18:29:00.007-06:00

(Published February 16, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Inspired by last week’s Mexican film release of the gruesome Stephen Sondheim musical “Sweeny Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” which admittedly has more to do with cutting necks than hair, I decided to take a step to overcome a long neglected fear: a haircut.

Let me clarify: a haircut in Mexico. It has been almost four years since I have let a professional take to my locks, which started the day I stepped foot into this country as a study abroad student. Half of the fear comes from the aesthetic backdrop I witness here every day, sort of prom night ’84 meets Menudo reunion tour. Mexico has a style; it’s just not mine.

And the other half has to do with the language of beauty. I feel uncomfortable having a stranger design my head when I can’t articulate the desired style in a foreign language.

So it was time to get empowered, in that dazzling pink, post-feminist, Cosmopolitan, Carrie Bradshaw kind of way. Because if women have learned anything from Hollywood, it’s that it takes beauty and brains to win that million-dollar lawsuit.

The beauty school Instituto Sol, located on the corner of Independencia and Revolucion, offers the right price for a cut: free. They’ll also do your nails and make-up for the same rate, and any extras, like hair color, are greatly discounted. The disadvantages might overwhelm the customer used to a professional, relaxing environment. It’s one big room choked with primary colors and people—students, teachers, and clients waiting with babies and guitars.

And if your stomach turns at having a 16-year-old with one month of scissors in her hands cut your hair, it’s not the place for you. But Gaby (who was careful to point out she’ll be 17 next week), a slight, effervescent girl with a zebra-printed flat-ironed mane, gladly helped improve my vocabulary and, in fact, worked wonders on the poof that was my hair.

Let’s start with anatomy of el cabello (that’s your head of hair). El fleco (bangs) rests above la frente (the forehead). The top of your head is called la coronilla, where your crown would go if you were royalty. Depending on how your hair falls, la sutura sagital is the line that parts it down the middle. Las puntas are the ends of your hair.

Gaby told me that the most requested cut is based on the look (the same in Spanish) of Barbara Bazterrica, a popular protagonist of the telenovela “Amor en Custodia” played by Mexican actress Paola Nuñez.

There are three integral elements to that ’do. The first is a short, razor-cut fleco framing la frente. The second is shoulder-length capas (or capitas, which mean layers) onduladas (wavy, coming from onda, or wave). And the third is pieces of long hair stemming below the curls and falling flat (lacio) over the shoulders. The result looks silly and cumbersome on anyone other than the actress herself, but it’s a great vocabulary builder.

As coloring goes, rayos or rayitos will brighten up el cabello by highlighting strands of hair. Gaby explained that cortinas (literally, curtains) are an exaggerated form of lowlights—a dye job alternating between natural and colored layers on the underside.

If your hair suffers from orzuela (split ends), or is reseco (dry) and maltratado (damaged), Gaby recommends la ampolleta, a special treatment to help the mistreated cabello recover. The Instituto Sol offers la ampolleta for around 30 pesos.

My nuevo look was painstakingly but agreeably completed by the young stylist, who next asked if I wanted a moldeado and brushing—a blow-dried styling with a round brush and a puff of mousse (also the same in Spanish) the size of a grapefruit. Gaby’s teacher glowingly approved, I was relieved of the barber’s chair, and thanked Gaby for her care and insight. I paused by a mirror to tzuj and re-fluff my mousse helmet, and was set to go.

So, I survived unscathed, broke the language barrier of la belleza once and for all, and stood empowered and satisfied after the ordeal. Elle Woods would have been proud.

Avenida La Paz in February

2008-02-14T13:01:00.031-06:00

These trees are the cure for depression. Click on an image to see the flowering "primaveras" close up.

"Guadalajara hip-hop artist keeps it clean"

2008-02-08T14:56:00.000-06:00

(Published February 9, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

A long time ago in a land far away—the early ’90s in South Central Los Angeles—a raucous, marginalized, graffiti-painting, marijuana-smoking, break-dancing youth movement was born, enjoyed an unprecedented commercial success without having to soften its rowdy image, and soon scattered its influence down south of the border like wildfire.

It was the birth of Latin hip-hop, and its newly minted Mexican stars largely went underground, straying from their chicano counterparts’ notoriety while managing to maintain a precarious popularity to this day.

But it never really stuck in Guadalajara. There have been swells of recognition in Monterrey as well as in Mexico City, where hip-hop artists now can be found on stage at least once a week. Perhaps the more conservative Tapatios were never ready for anything more rebellious than mariachi or the brass blitzkrieg that is banda.

There is one man, at least, who remembers otherwise. Skool 77, a.k.a. Pablo Sergio, is probably the most celebrated rap artist, or “urban poet” as he calls himself, to emerge from Guadalajara. Back in the day when hip-hop started to catch on in Mexico, Skool claims he had no talent for break-dancing but loved to sing and write music, and soon fell into the scene.

“Here in Guadalajara there was a dance program on television, ‘Bailando y Ganando,’ and that’s where the rap community of those times got together,” Skool reminisces over a cappuccino. “It was on Saturday at noon, and after the show was over everyone would go to a nightclub and keep going.”

For a rapper known to don a red and black lucha libre mask onstage and who has a music video on YouTube featuring a graffiti artist spraying his image onto a wall, Skool is surprisingly baby-faced and has kind, dark eyes that don’t hold their gaze long. His rap style isn’t particularly aggressive, but it sounds like you might get some spittle thrown your way if you were to step too close.

Skool is what one might call saintly in the world of rap. He preaches purely non-violent social and political messages, and lives by the clean principles he sets. “No soy gangster, no soy hardcore,” he spouts in one song.

“The important thing is to set an example,” he contends. “At a concert I can’t tell young people to not use drugs, and then go snort cocaine backstage later. I think we are far from that.”

But how far away does that depart from the original art? What would Cypress Hill be, for example, without its psychedelic swampiness and parodied drive-by shootings, sounds wholly created under the influence of illegal substances, born from poverty and race riots?

“I think that in the beginning of hip-hop in the black community in the Bronx, they had a hard time trying to get heard,” Skool responds. “Initially it was a rebellious movement that tried to tell people, we’re different, and we’re trying to do something important. Later, I don’t know what happened to hip-hop, who bought it or who finished off its truth.”

Skool is in the midst of his own evolutionary period: last Saturday he released his final album, “Hasta Luego,” before taking a break in his career that may become permanent. On the same day the album dropped, he performed in Mexico City along with several other national groups, one from Spain, and special guest Guru, an artist originally from Boston considered to be a pioneer in the Jazz hip-hop crossover.

After 12 years of making music, Skool confides that the time has come to work on other, more personal goals, to take some time to clear his mind. The result is an admittedly less vigorous sound, a little softer around the edges. “Hasta Luego” might just be the perfect ending, though.

While an earlier album, “Sesiones Abstractas,” sounds like he might have collaborated with Beck circa “Midnight Vultures”—frenetic, electrified and funky fresh—the goodbye disc has a decidedly R&B vibe. Keyboards are focal and the bass beats groovily paced.

There’s even a bonus track called “Cancion de cuna” (“Lullaby”), which samples an acoustic rendition of “The itsy bitsy spider” over what sounds like a synthesized rubber band. The lyrics imagine a conversation between a new dad and his young child, lamenting the inevitable loss of purity: “You still don’t know about war, you still don’t know about obstacles, you still don’t know why innocent people die in prison.”

Skool isn’t leaving the Latin hip-hop scene quite yet—he’s the star of a new radio program on channel Rock Radiante 1480 AM. “Perros de reserva” (“Reservoir Dogs”) is a chance for Skool to showcase what’s new in the world of Mexican and international rap, with a little rock thrown into the mix. He’s excited about the recognition Latin hip-hop is receiving as of late, while the big-money U.S. industry appears to be in decline.

“For us it doesn’t make a good impression that people of color are talking about women, mansions, cars and champagne, because we don’t live that reality,” Skool says. “I have a reality. I have a job at a company, I see how the workers suffer with low wages, and I see all the garbage that the media feeds us.”

Skool wrote a song a few years ago called “Hip-hop in black and white.” It’s jazzy, beginning with a throwback sax riff backed by a suave piano. The song alludes to simpler times in Mexico’s history: “black and white like a Cantiflas or Santo movie…like photos of Zapata or of Villa.” Colors, for Skool, are red like a bull’s blood or yellow like sensationalist journalism; they separate us into political affiliations and social castes.

Whether or not the “good old days” really were so great, hip-hop in black and white is exactly what Skool’s career has been—a desire to return to the romanticism, the idealism that started long ago with some fed-up young renegades in L.A.

"Streaming keeps your ears flooded with the sounds of Spanish"

2008-02-08T14:48:00.000-06:00

(Published February 9, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

To be certain, many expatriates living in Mexico find themselves in an English-speaking bubble.

The trip to the corner store might initiate a bit of Spanish small talk in the vein of “Hi how are you?” or “Do you have tortillas today?” But once greetings are mastered, the learning process often plateaus.

A professor once suggested an invaluable tactic to keep my ears flooded with the sounds of the Spanish language, no books on tape necessary: radio streaming. “Streaming” is a pleasant sounding e-term that consists of a constant, live flow of multimedia from a provider to an end-user (you).

In my experience most radio stations’ websites now provide a link to begin streaming instantly. Open your music application (I use iTunes), select either broadband or dial-up on the station’s page according to your connection, and that’s about it—just like switching on your radio, the program will begin to stream and you’ll catch it in media res.

And here is why streaming will become your favorite Spanish tutor: hundreds of university radio stations from all over Latin America are just a few clicks away.

Try, to start, our very own Radio Universidad U de G, which can also be heard on the local dial at 104.3 FM. The shows are broadcast from the 12th floor of the university administration building on Juarez and Enrique Diaz de Leon.

If you listen in the morning you’ll probably catch a few news and interview programs. El Expresso, for example, broadcasts Monday through Friday at 10 a.m.; it’s like an intelligent version of The View. Put the show on while you tidy up the house or exercise – the trick, I’ve found, is to not treat the listening as an active training exercise, but to let the conversations flow and calibrate your ears.

Don’t focus on every word you don’t recognize. But realize that because the interviewers and their subjects are being recorded for an audience, they are speaking clearly and articulately, and might be easier to understand than your chatty neighbor. Choosing shows from different countries is also a great way to adjust to regional dialects.

During an interview note the pauses in speech, the ums, ahs, ays; bueno, pues, este … These intermediates indicate thought progression within a dialogue, words whose equivalences in English are difficult to translate accurately and are mostly learned by hearing within a context.

The greatest benefit of the international broadcasts, unlike pre-taped Spanish lessons, is that the information is current and you might just learn a thing or two in the process. Try to follow the U.S. primary elections on the Colombia National University’s station, for instance. On a recent show, professor Maria Teresa Haya of the Externado University deemed Hillary Clinton “hard-working, but remote to poor Americans,” and discussed Barack Obama’s “racial triumph.”

What’s more, some stations provide a sidebar listing a mixed bag of recently recorded broadcasts so that live streaming is not necessary – simply select a theme based on your curiosity at the moment. On the University of Puerto Rico’s radio webpage, for example, you might choose from a film critique of The Great Debaters, a lecture on alternative medicine, or hear a mental health expert discuss suicide prevention. On Colombia’s webpage look under “Franjas” and select from economic debates, rock music on vinyl, or (although it might defeat the purpose), a French lesson.

A secondary benefit of this medium is the remarkable variety of music the university stations program. Most have a jazz hour, plenty of regional sounds, throwback pop (I turned on Chile’s station yesterday and was assaulted by “What about LOVE!” by Heart), and usually more avant-garde picks. “Nouvelle Extravagance” on the U de G’s station, an afternoon music variety show, plays folk, rock, hip-hop, indie, and world.

Radio streaming opens the door to a free and accessible world of information in Spanish. Take advantage of the possibilities. Explore the medium, and make listening a habit.

Check out each university’s webpage for program listings.

"Federal aid allows baker to make headway"

2008-02-02T14:04:00.000-06:00

(Published February 2, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

As a certain diva might say, that carrot cake was like buttah. It achieved a moistness poised between that of a fruit and pound cake (the secret was in those pineapple slivers), and the whipped icing, spread about as thick as the cake itself, would’ve made Martha Stewart swoon.

My birthday indulgence was the result of more than just a good recipe. Esther Lopez Cabral, the owner of a little bakery on the corner of Belgica and Fermin Riestra (a block away from the Super Gigante on Niños Heroes and Tolsa shopping center), is a visionary of confections and a true self-starter.

Esther’s story starts about 18 years ago, when her twin daughters were toddling two-year-olds and she was a traveling social worker. While the girls appeared normal, the doting mother noticed a discrepancy in their mental development. A single mom, she took the risky decision to leave her job and take care of the children full-time while selling odds and ends out of her home, like clothing and make-up, for income.

The bakery started as an experiment: a small table, little cakes and breads and sacks of cookies. Recognizing her daughters’ handicap, Esther enrolled the girls in CCATI, an affordable training school where they learned to bake; later they helped their mother at home in the kitchen.

“I was thinking about the future of my daughters, knowing that they would need to learn something manual,” Esther reflected.

And then, around four years ago, Esther saw an advertisement on a public television channel for a federal work assistance program. Shortly thereafter she applied for help from the “Productive Investment Project,” which doesn’t give her cash, but provides all tools and equipment she needs to run her business.

“I don’t need money to eat,” she explained, “but I can’t go out and buy an oven. Everything I earn I need for basic costs of living.”

The program furnished Esther with a refrigerator, two worktables, an industrial oven, and a scale to kick off her new venture. This year she’ll receive a mixer, a blender, and a microwave oven.

These days business is improving. She still sets her confections on tables peeking out of the iron-barred double doors of her kitchen, the cookies prettily tied with colored ribbons, the cakes laced and powdered. It’s always a good sign when customers start ordering “the usual,” and that divine carrot cake reportedly tops the list.

Esther would like cookies to become her specialty. They’re sold at 100 pesos per kilo and in flavors like walnut, cinnamon and pumpkin seed. Cakes range from 80 to 180 pesos depending on size, and can be made to order with a day’s notice. She also offers gelatins and pies.

Esther is a committed advocate for government assistance: “There are many government programs that help people who want to work,” she tells me, and insists that one needn’t be destitute or unemployed to participate – only willing and persistent. For example, the state program Emprende provides low-interest loans from 5,000 to 30,000 pesos for small business start-ups.

Esther’s days are satisfyingly non-stop. When not running deliveries or coaching the twins in the kitchen, she attends CCATI to expand her own culinary education. She has thrived, not just survived, for the health of her family, and it shows in every bite.

La Pasteleria Fina Lolisara is open Monday through Friday, 1-8 p.m. Calle Belgica 700. Tel. (33) 3812-9480.

"Collectors search for rare finds at city's leading antique market"

2008-02-02T13:46:00.000-06:00

(Published January 26, 2008 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

It is a leisurely Sunday. The sun and breeze blend sweetly as I stroll down a car-free Avenida Juarez among families holding hands. I am on my way to the stretch of Avenida Mexico between Chapultepec and Americas, where around 100 antique sellers have set up shop for the last 12 years in a market called the “Trocadero.”

This is a tianguis like no other – with no publicity, says the market’s coordinator, Armando Boyzo Nolasco – and the unique finds draw hundreds of people from all walks of life. The spread of paintings, jewelry, books and memorabilia are laid out under tents and umbrellas. Without the verbally assailing vendors you might find at the San Juan de Dios market in downtown Guadalajara, it makes for easy browsing.

I begin at the east end of the wide aisle, beneath the lady of liberty with her hand outstretched toward the market like an auctioneer announcing her wares.

Coming up on my right is a plain tent and a bearded man with thick glasses. He has set open on a table a bulky notebook containing rows and rows of collectible coins. Despite being unversed in coin history, I flip through until I notice a crate of labeled National Geographic magazines, similarly systemized with labels coordinating to the collector’s roster. My eyes light up and I select a few editions from the year I was born.

The collector pitches me a set of old encyclopedias in English, but I walk on. An elderly couple sits wordless under the shadow of their tent next-door, and Pedro, one half of the pair who looks as dusty and historical as the paintings he sells, rises only after I prompt him.

What Pedro sells, among other antique art odds and ends, is retablos. I point to one and Pedro dusts off the small sheet metal square painted with oils, which roughly depicts a man kneeling at bedside, looking to a little blue virgin etched in the right corner: “Virgin de Zapopan give me health money and love thank you very much [sic] – Rodolfo Gutierres 1935.” The prayer, painted in childish black letters, floats over his head like cartoon script.

Pedro offers a retablo at 225 pesos. He tells me the art form is an important part of Mexican history, each painting a personal expression of gratitude to a life-saving virgin (others illustrate near-death experiences with a crocodile, a shark, and an amusement park ride called the “Hammer”).

There are piles of fantastic costume jewelry, new and old, which tempt me to fool with the dangling clip-on earrings and silver broaches like I’m sneaking through my grandmother’s armoire. I wade through collectibles like old Coca Cola ads, Cantinflas movie posters, a Marlboro cigarette machine and toy cars. A vendor sells goods collected by a traveler named Anthony Piraino: swords, horseshoes, cast iron door-knockers, furniture, and painted boxes.

Along my way I overhear a woman explaining the purpose of a gourd and perforated metal straw to her friend. I am curious too, so I introduce myself to Pauline VanHavere of Chapalita, who relocated from the Canadian province Saskatchewan last March. She is backpacked and amiable, and shows me how yerba mate is steeped and sipped from the Argentine tea bowl. I wish Pauline and her pal luck and move on.

My favorite find is on the west end steps: it is a specialized bookstand, a relief after shuffling through used book miscellany all day. Ramon Alvarez Rodriguez’s books are all about Jalisco history. He has guidebooks from the ’70s for English-speaking tourists, books about various neighborhoods in Guadalajara, and most interestingly, he sells entire bound copies of rare and important pieces of Tapatio literature, such as “Guadalajara de las Indias” by Jose T. Laris.

I leave feeling like I’ve walked into another era, or at least deep into someone’s attic. I read postcards from Lucky in Grand Rapids to Negrito in Guadalajara, looked through the lenses of a Hawking’s double meniscus camera collector Patricio Acevedo handed me, and read about children being lifted from the rubble of a deadly earthquake days after I was born.

Nolasco puts it well: “We are successful here because of the memories people have about things they’ve kept and the sentiments they have for old times.” The good old days can be visited at the Trocadero every Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

"Expat bloggers add fresh perspective to Mexico"

2008-01-18T16:09:00.000-06:00

(Published January 18, 2007 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Forget Lonely Planet and Fodors. At this moment, hundreds of English-speaking expatriates are not only enjoying new lives south of the border, but recording their ups and downs, travels and home life, good eats and unusual finds through digital journaling and photography posted on web logs for the world to browse. After a bit of web sifting, I’ve caught on to a few that really shine: the chosen expatriate blogs are easy on the eye, informative, and fun to read.

www.qualitypeoples.com
Ed Fladung lives and breathes surfing in Bucerias (just North of Vallarta) where he’s been, as his web/photoblog’s heading announces, on a “perpetual Mexican surf sabbatical” for the last four years. Fladung is about as güero as they come, with a shoulder length head of sun-bleached hair and a healthy beach glow. He occasionally appears in the vibrant, Technicolored shots of candid small-town Mexican life he posts — a click on the photography link in the upper right hand corner will send you to an online Flickr gallery which is like peering into a candy shop, sun-saturated rainbow colored pictures you could sort through for hours.

The photography is bright and entries light; his Keanu Reeves-esque surf lingo is endearing and readable. “OK, I’m off to go pre-book our hotels,” he writes in preparation for a surf trip to Bali. “Bummer, I was hoping to just roll up …” And of a boat captain’s suspiciously high fees, “I told dude that’s the gringo rate, that I live in Bucerias and I’d be willing to pay 300 pesos total. Dude said no.” Recent entries include movie reviews of a dozen or so films that passed through his “two horse town,” as well as an anti-Adobe Acrobat rant and several single photograph posts. Check the March 26, 2007 entry to learn how Mr. Fladung ran into members of The Whitest Boy Alive and Broken Social Scene at a local restaurant and witnessed an impromptu acoustic concert (with Leslie Feist on spoons and glasses).

www.droppedin.com
I’ll admit, the tone of this blog was initially off-putting (and beware of strong language, folks), but I’m now a droppedin addict. Maybe it’s the cleverly categorized entries (“Mexico is Baffling: Lace up your Jesus sneakers,” or “Entertaining at Home: Stop drinking you’re already drunk, a story about moderation”). Or maybe it’s the way some of the travel notes sound like poetic verse (“Progreso is a port town and a carnival … It’s got that Coney Island desperation and democratic fun feel just barely below the surface of good time tourist town in training”).

The blog is a joint-effort by an artsy, bespectacled, and often crass 20-something couple from New York who now make their home in the Yucatan. It’s a live staging of the World of Jillian & Malcolm, a strange and beautiful adaptation of two cultures laid out in photostories, lists (from Jillian’s Likes about Mexico: “the sexy ‘conductores’ of Telehit, Uriel and Amanda; Sundays are for bicycles and brunch and dancing; superior chicken”), and ceremony—Jillian pays homage to Grandpa Jack in the form of a pot roast on the Day of the Dead (“I learned a lot about Scotch and comedy from Jack, and so I did my best to honor him, to channel his improvised kitchen alchemy with some simple food and spices”). In the World of Jillian & Malcolm, blue crabs trespass kitchen floors, blackbirds squawking “MEK!” serve as alarm clocks before sunrise, and 29th birthdays are spent climbing the “World’s Deadliest Playground” in Dzilam Bravo and the isolated “casual ruins” of Xcampo. The appeal of this world, above all, is the sheer honesty the authors express about their living adventure, and the love of their new home and for each other that ignites each tale despite occasional irreverence.

www.cancuncanuck.com
The author of this reflective travel diary is a relative rookie to the blogging scene, first posting last October. Four years ago this 36-year-old Canadian came down for a post-divorce yoga recovery in Cozumel, met a charismatic Mexicano in a bar where she ended up doing most of her recovering, fell in love and now lives with her “hubby,” as she refers to him, in Cancun with their two and a half year-old son, Max.

The adventurous Canuck admits the blog is “like free therapy … I love to talk and this is a great way not to be interrupted,” and that’s the sense you get when you scroll through—you might as well be sitting on a bar stool next to her and at least three drinks into the night. She dotes on her little cropped-hair boy, whom she claims danced to opera music while still in the womb and who already enjoys browsing YouTube videos. The Canuck is still struggling with Spanish and growing close to a new extended family (struck by nerves after being requested to address 30 relatives on Christmas Eve: “I fumbled my way through a speech [in Spanish!] and received a round of applause before I collapsed in my seat.”). It will be interesting to see where she takes this blog.

http://mexfiles.wordpress.com
The Mex Files is a priceless resource for expats who don’t read Mexican newspapers but want to keep informed—the blog covers current politics, culture, economics, and some U.S.-Mexico related news. Richard Grabman, a writer, translator, and Mexican historian based in Mexico City, started the project to fill the “need for an English-language Mexican website that wasn’t a tourism site, or ‘my life in wherever-tlan.’”

The site, as any politically oriented forum might be, is somewhat less than objective—the average post includes a translated clipping from a local paper along with a short rant or rave, but not without foundation and historical perspective. See Grabman’s analysis of the potential reorganization of Mexican political parties for an example of the blog’s tone: “With PAN and PRI often uniting to maintain the status quo … the PRI has been trying to re-invent itself to maintain relevance. While it is still Mexico’s largest political party, it seems hopelessly adrift, caught between a growing united left (PRI is technically a socialist party) and the ‘neo-liberal’ PAN.” This webpage demands a bookmark—it’s simple way to keep afloat in an unfamiliar political culture.

La Barranca (Huentitan)

2008-01-18T15:48:00.000-06:00

Photos taken from La Barranca, a canyon that lies just beyond the edge of Guadalajara. In fact, in one of the pictures below, you can see part of the town spreading toward the gorge. Jalisco state government has plans to install a dam in the river below, so the beauty may be temporary...

"Ahorita voy": Thoughts on the Near Future

2008-01-07T13:09:00.000-06:00

The following article will be published in the Reporter's Language column on Friday, but since I haven't posted in a while I'll go ahead and put it up.

It's followed by a few photos of las Piedrotas I took in Tapalpa, a surreal and breathtaking experiment in rhinoplastic geology. Also, a beautiful and curiously arranged nativity scene I saw on the side of a cathedral, in which the devil appears to be keeping an eye on baby Jesus (see red blur in top right corner).

.....
Ahorita, Mexico’s ubiquitous, diminutized ahora whose closest English equivalency is ‘right now,’ used to bug me. And that’s exactly why—if you ever hear someone tell you “¡ahorita voy!” grab a good book and get comfy.

My landlady especially favors this expression. A few weeks into my new residency I asked her to send a cable guy over to connect my internet. The phone rang early the next morning: “Ahorita vienen los de Megacable,” she told me. I rubbed my eyes, hopped out of bed and put water on the stove in a daze, fully dressed and caffeinated within the half hour.

Oh, my silly Yankee faith in scheduled service repairs. I eventually nodded off again after the promised cable guy stood me up, jostled awake every now and then by footsteps below, imagining the housecall that was surely on its way ahorita (he showed later that afternoon).

I’ve taken to asking my landlady to quantify ahorita; this allows me the freedom of leaving the house and returning if right now happens to be in 3 to 4 hours, or suggests urgency if right now is in 10 minutes (enough time to do the dishes and spot-sweep).

But I have found a new game in ahorita. Try it out. If you are like me and arriving anywhere on time within the hour of a proposed date is moderately to extremely challenging, ahorita will become your friend. Think of right now as you did as a child when your mother summoned you for bath or bedtime: tell her, “I’m coming right now!” then continue playing till you’re dragged by the ear.

Ahorita stretches as long as the speaker desires, and isn’t limited only to the near future: “ahorita lo hice,” means “I just did it.” “Te llamo ahorita,” means “I’ll call you right away,” but could also mean “I’ll call you later” or “I might call you.” If you’re leaving and coming right back within an undefined period of time, say “ahorita regreso” or “ahorita vengo.”

Ahorita defines the magic of time and space in Mexico: a leisurely, sun-baked, arbitrary system of guesstimations and esperanza (which means, simultaneously and appropriately, “expectation,” “waiting,” and “hope”—and you will need all three), still wonderfully unscathed by that North American rush through linear time.

Barra de Navidad

2007-12-19T13:15:00.001-06:00

I just came back from the beach, a smallish town called Barra de Navidad on the coast of Jalisco. Here is a sampling of my photos from the trip, featuring, in order of appearance: Pepe, Megan, Gabe, Ezra, Mary, and Pablo. I’m not in the pictures because I took them.

"American Chamber keeps business booming"

2007-12-08T19:26:00.000-06:00

(Published December 7, 2007 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Story by : MEREDITH VETO

Guadalajara is fully integrated in the international business community, and its chapter of the American Chamber of Commerce is on top of the game.

Under the leadership of its respected founder Adolfo Horn, who died earlier this year, the chamber can claim responsibility in years past for attracting the likes of Kodak, IBM and Motorola to the city. The former tourism (now hospitality) committee has contributed such ideas to the local economy as the double occupancy tax for hotels, the Tequila Express tourist train, and the renovation of historic haciendas into “boutique hotels.”

The chamber’s fiscal committee in particular, whose meetings see the highest attendance by corporate members, has lobbied against double taxation for U.S. companies as a result of recent fiscal reform.

“We seek to support better conditions for businesses here in Guadalajara, with our eight active committees,” said Claudia Grossi, director of the Guadalajara branch. Grossi is an economist who has been involved in investment promotion in the state of Jalisco, within the academic realm and in connection with the chamber, for more than a decade.

The Guadalajara division boasts close to 500 corporate members. Its committees establish a forum for initiatives contributed directly by local business leaders.

The most recent business development committee, for instance, was held on November 27 and chaired by Eduardo Lafaire of Parque Industrial Guadalajara. The topic of the meeting was “Information Security in Technology Networks,” led by Salvador Ledesma of Internet Solutions de Mexico.

Ledesma showed a Power Point presentation, highlighting daunting figures of loss to fraud and viruses the Mexican economy suffered this year. He paused often to solicit dialogue from attendees.

“The culture of security right now is very narrow,” explained Ledesma. “The reality is that it’s important to us, but we want a quick and simple solution. It’s very important now to have a vision of security; we have to investigate our options.”

Rafael Farga, of Soporte Industrial, lamented this attitude. “It’s like a home alarm system – in what moment do people buy it? After they’ve been robbed.”

When asked how his company works to ensure its clients’ security, Benjamin Garza of BBVA Bancomer explained that they inform their customers how to avoid fraud, and provide them guarantees and alerts.

Ledesma emphasized the importance of maintaining a secure technological environment by preserving a system of checks and balances within each corporate entity so that the same department that designs the system does not control it.

A loss of security, he insisted, not only has an economic and competitive disadvantage, but will damage a company’s reputation.

While the Chamber’s Business Development Committee supports local economic efforts, the International Commerce Committee explores opportunities for Mexico in the global market.

On November 16, Alejando Sahagún of Jaltrade led a presentation on the Chinese market.

“China is here to stay, and we owe it respect,” said Sahagún, who sees a world of opportunity in Chinese trade and does not want Mexico to miss out. Not only should Mexico develop more business overseas, but should model economic decisions based on China’s approach.

Diversification of the Chinese market, for example, exempted the country from a global recession in 2001. According to Sahagún, Mexico would benefit from the same strategy.

Attendee Yuri Mariel, of AssaAbloy (Tessa), a hardware company, asked about how foreign companies “dumping” products into the market at extremely low prices might affect the local market. For example, a customer might choose a Chinese-made light fixture over the Mexican, albeit of lower quality, because it costs 20 pesos versus 100.

In response, Sahagún discussed quotas and new “anti-dumping” regulations Mexico should investigate to maintain fair prices and higher product quality.

“Don’t leave this only to the government,” implored Sahagún to the business leaders. “The American Chamber has a direct connection to the government and this is the place to go about discussing it.

“But this is our responsibility, we can create the links. Sell over there, open businesses – there is opportunity.”

"Exchange students thank hosts with a taste of home"

2007-11-30T17:27:00.000-06:00

(Published November 30, 2007 in the Guadalajara Reporter)

Photograph by : Meredith Veto

Laura Lomeli and Saron Hardin-Smith enjoy what’s left of two Thanksgiving turkeys.

Story by : MEREDITH VETO

It was a sight for sore eyes: a dazzling spread of mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, cabbage and holishkes, pumpkin pie… and turkey. Two, in fact—razed to the bone in the delicious tradition that brings U.S. families together every year to celebrate gratitude for the harvest and one another.

The chefs in question were 14 students from Guilford College in Greensboro, North Carolina who study at the Universidad de Guadalajara’s Centro de Estudios Para Extranjeros. The students spend a semester living in Mexican homes, sharing the table each day with their surrogate families. And as their time draws to a close, what better way to express gratitude for their love and support than to offer a traditional U.S. feast.

The meal was hosted in the home of Roberto Gomez, director of the Intercolonias program in Lomas de Oblatos. More than 20 years ago, Guilford College established a relationship with the Mexican social justice organization, which is based on the teachings of Paulo Freire.

Approximately 30 colonias in Guadalajara are involved in the effort to improve infrastructure, build credit unions, and manage a youth sports league, among other community ties. Guilford College students maintain an ongoing dialogue with members, discussing current issues and cultural challenges.

But conversation at the Thanksgiving dinner strayed far from political discourse.

The house was so packed that people poured out the open front door, plates of food in hand; kids darted between legs and chucked tazos (Pogs) on the floor. Friends laughed and joked, lamented their imminent departures, moaned and patted their full bellies with satisfied smiles.

As the night wore on and the tequila ran out, folks drifted outside into the comfortable chill, and departed with extended hugs and good wishes. It felt like home and richly so, in the way that good food and company usually does. No tradition was lacking; in fact, a new one was added:

A dancing chicken. The holiday coincided with the birthday of a partygoer, whose friends hired a man in a chicken suit with a boombox to join the fun.

We’ll call it Mexico’s version of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

La Noche Fea

2007-11-25T23:02:00.000-06:00

Guadalajara, Jalisco – November 24, 2007, just before midnight. A friend was detained by the police (for reasons that remain unclear) and escorted in a patrol car to the dark outskirts of the city, where he was restrained and beaten brutally by five officers. The next day he recovered in the hospital and reported the incident to the Juzgado Municipal’s internal affairs office. A lawyer advised him that actions may be taken against the officers if he can recognize them in a line-up, but he will not recover damages.

My phone rings at 12:30 a.m., rousing me from a half-dream featuring Erin Brockovich, still playing on the television I forgot to switch off. “…So before you come back here with another lame ass offer, I want you to think real hard about what your spine is worth, Mr. Walker. Or what you might expect someone to pay you for your uterus, Ms. Sanchez.” A friend is speaking to me from within the walls of a jail cell. He is crying and talking a fast, garbled Spanglish. They beat me, Meri, they took me fuera de la cuidad and beat me. Help me, go to the bank and bring mil pesos. Go to the Juzgado Municipal en La Calzada Independencia [he calls to someone outside the cell; a male voice yells a number], La Calzada Independencia 840. 840, Meri. Hurry. They beat me so bad.

I pull on jeans discarded two hours earlier on the floor, throw a sweatshirt over my blouse, step into boots and walk into the night, cursing my luck. You owe me one, cabrón. I make a pit stop at the Banamex up the street, withdraw 1500 pesos, and flag a taxi on Niños Heroes. The cab rides east and passes prostitutes lazing on corners next to hardware shops, doors locked and windows barred. Up Independencia to the eight-hundred block, dropped on the stairs of the central station.

The station’s lobby is empty and white, lit by fluorescents. A tired woman at a corner desk opens the registry and locates his name. She explains the fine will be 238 pesos. A man accepts my cash and handwrites a receipt, passing me a stamped copy of the citation. I cross the lobby and wait on a cold perforated metal bench. Time passes strangely, my eyelids droop. PUM pum PUM pum PUM pum PUM pum. A government drone down the sex offenders’ wing stamps documents, echoing like a dull heartbeat down the hall; a young woman shuffles in the same direction, weighed down by two bags of packaged copy paper.

He walks through the glass doors, hunched over and wearing nothing but a pair of corduroy trousers, and shivers like a baby whipped out of a bathtub. The tongues of his shoes, stripped of their laces, stick up and show his gray socks beneath. The corners of both his eyes are purple and framed by dark knots—there is a quarter-sized raspberry on his forehead still bleeding freshly, a blackened bump on the bridge of his nose, long scratches on his back, and circular welts on his wrists as if imprinted by shackles.

He collapses and sobs. I remove my sweatshirt and try to fit it over his head; he fails to notice my effort and grips his neck, rocking back and forth in a fit of shock. Eventually forced into a cab, he lingers before the door closes and cries at the rifle-wielding guard who keeps post on the steps, Hijos de puta! Pinches cabrones policia, que no hice nada! His tears flow and he repeats the same phrases like a broken record, he tells me he loves me and thank you I don’t know what I would’ve done… aaauuwwww, I hurt so bad…they beat me, Meri, they beat me bad.

As I squat to remove his shoes and socks he stands as stiff as a board, welts tightening his joints, and I gently lift his arms enough to slide off the sweatshirt. He still shakes uncontrollably. I feed him two naproxen tablets and put him in a hot shower, light a pot of water for yerba buena tea and set the table with two cups and a plate of pan dulce.

I was at a concert, and a cop took me and my gringo friends outside. He thought we were smoking pot. He let the pinche gringos go but when I told him I wasn’t doing anything and asked about my rights, he put me in la patrulla and took me away. He let me go at a 7 Eleven so I went in and got a coffee; when I went out I saw more patrullas and heard them ask each other, ‘Hey, is that the same guy?’ and that they were going to fuck me up. This time the cops handcuffed me and put me in the back of the car.

How many cops were there?

Five. They drove me in la patrulla out of the city, down la Carretera Chapala, and to a dark side road. I was handcuffed and pushed to my knees, and they started beating me. They hit me in the side of the head in my jaw and I blacked out a few times; I can’t remember it all. They stole my money, around 800 pesos—my whole week’s pay, it went to them!—and my watch and iPod. I looked into one cop’s face and asked him why doesn’t he take off his badge and gun, remove my handcuffs and fight me like a man.

You were cited for insulting federal authorities. That’s what the report says.

How dare they beat me! I worked the whole week, for them! And I didn’t do anything! …I wasn’t scared, but I felt completely impotent.

He doesn’t touch the tea or pan dulce, and breaks into tears several times again. I play Manu Chao to calm him, but the lyrics stir him and he sings like his heart is breaking: “Todo es mentira en este mundo / Todo es mentira la verdad…”

Human Rights Watch, World Report 2007, Mexico:

“Among Mexico’s most serious human rights problems are those affecting its criminal justice system. Persons under arrest or imprisonment face torture and ill-treatment, and law enforcement officials often neglect to investigate and prosecute those responsible for human rights violations.”

http://hrw.org/englishwr2k7/docs/2007/01/11/mexico14885.htm

"Spanish-language theater thrives in Guadalajara"

2007-11-16T18:28:00.000-06:00

(published November 16, 2007 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Story by : MEREDITH VETO

The 2007 Theater Festival of Jalisco, an ambitious showcase of local talent staged in cafés, government plazas and theaters, comes to a close this week. The festival highlights the city’s blossoming theatrical innovation, bringing together 43 classic and original works presented by largely local groups: tales of mythical creatures, forbidden love affairs, and journeys through time and space.

One of the most celebrated plays realized during the event was Dante Alighieri’s “The Divine Comedy,” presented at the Teatro Experimental de Jalisco and directed by Jalisco native and versatile dramaturgist Guillermo Covarrubias. This year marks the 20th anniversary of theater group Palabra Viva (founded by Covarrubias), whose elaborate adaptation of the classic work played with fantastical images through costume and set design, intertwined with multimedia projections and dance pieces.

A choral ensemble supported the narration, and included original music by Jaime Mosqueda.

Covarrubias, who acts as director of Scenic Arts at the Cultural Secretariat of Jalisco, insists that “The Divine Comedy” has a message as communicable to a modern audience as when it was written seven centuries ago: the existence of a decadent society in crisis, and a struggle between political forces which oppress the people.

Alicia Yapur, director of “Relacion Perversa” (Dangerous Liaisons), an adaptation of Heiner Müller’s “Quartet” presented by local theater group Aquelarre, has been immersed in acting and directing since she packed her suitcases at age 16 and moved from Tampico to Guadalajara to become an actress. Her production of one of Müller’s most important works brought to life the explicit and quick-witted dialogue, energized by an extravagant set and “pop opera” music.

Unlike many artists struggling to shine on the silver screen, Yapur finds theater most rewarding and believes our fame-obsessed society has lost touch with the local stage. She believes as much money should be invested into local theater groups as is proportioned to visiting productions in order to support regional artists.

Audiences also enjoyed adaptations of Samuel Beckett’s “Endgame,” a minimalist production about an old man, confined to a wheelchair, and his servant – in this production performed by two clowns – both isolated in a house in a nowhereland at the end of time (Thespis Teatro y la Casa Suspendida); Edgar Allan Poe’s “The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether,” about the strange clinical methods two journalists encounter upon visiting a psychiatric hospital (Grupo Mascarada Teatro Independiente); and “Dakota,” a surrealist trip whose Spanish author, Jordi Galceráan, has gained commercial success in the film industry (Grupo INVERSO Teatro).

Audiences may still look forward to the Universidad de Guadalajara’s production of Johnathan Larson’s “Rent,” on November 16 and 17, 8:30 p.m. at the Teatro Diana. The large-scale musical, based on Giacomo Pucini’s “La Boheme,” centers on a group of struggling young artists in New York’s East Village, who fight against poverty and the emergent AIDS epidemic.

Business and Buses

2007-11-16T00:31:00.000-06:00

As a native English speaker I was offered a job teaching for a company called ProEnglish in Guadalajara during the interview itself, not a week after I arrived. Industries with business ties abroad hire teachers to visit their companies to give small classes, normally before or after the workday. Among other benefits—a decent salary for Mexico, plus payment of transportation fees outside of the city—the position has allowed me to become one with public transportation.

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings at the crack of dawn—the only time I ever put a scarf around my neck—I walk four blocks south to Washington, a few streets away from the looming Corona factory, and catch the 622 which makes a convenient loop west, sails north around the Minerva glorieta, and drops me a hop away from Nike’s administrative offices. There I instruct a peppy accounting executive from Chihuahua who begins every sentence with “Teecher!” and makes conversation at 8 a.m. (in any language) half enjoyable. She loves watching the slow-paced instructional DVDs that mimic American sitcoms, and makes me repeat a phrase ten times, noting it diligently in her idiom ledger.

“I talk HER out of it. I talk MY SON out of being a musician. SHE talked me outofit outofit outofit outofit.”

To reach Boehringer Ingelheim, a German pharmaceutical lab with a plant in the dismal industrial zone, I walk eight or ten blocks down to Independencia (which saves me a four and a half peso bus ride), and grab the 62A or 54, either route usually steered by kamikaze chofers who jet through tunnels and around cars a tenth their size like nobody’s business. They stop on a dime, the back door swings open while still in motion slamming hard into the side of the bus (Gabe, who in general disdains public transportation, said the bus door slamming is one of his favorite sounds; I prefer a screen door), and propel me down to the sidewalk, the sudden inertia stunning.

I teach the human resources director at Boehringer, a sweet, bright-faced woman who speaks English well and often walks me to the cafeteria and offers a strawberry popsicle, by far the most delightful fare of Mexican cuisine, surpassed only by pan dulce and tacos de pastor.

My saving grace is the least desired destination for traveling English teachers living in Guadalajara: El Salto, a town miles outside the city close to the airport, nestled in the surrounding dusty hills. The ride is 45-minutes on a gentle chartered bus that goes around Tlaquepaque and stops infrequently. I use the time to prepare for the class or listen to music; the air is fresh outside the city and feels divine on my cheeks. The mountains and housing developments roll by the highway, and the bus inches through small intermediate towns, clusters of poor roads and junkyards.

Because of the space many companies have plants out in the valley: IBM, Urrea (a Mexican tool manufacturer), Nassa (animal feed, I believe), and Wal-Mart’s distribution warehouse, whose loading docks stretch for miles. I stop at DSM, which manufactures nutritional supplements (animal and human) for Nestle and other food processing giants. The bus leaves me at a stoplight where the highway divides and I walk about a kilometer down DSM’s service road, flanked by electric fences and grazing cattle.

At the entry point I exchange my driver’s license for a visitor’s tag and sign the registry, and from there walk to a meeting room outside the plant’s storage facilities. I teach a group of four or five men, lab technicians with horrible social skills who supervise bi-monthly plant audits by their Swiss administrators. They are neither excited by the audits nor the English-language skills they must employ for them, so I generally spend the two hours trying to make them laugh.

One of the more garrulous technicians drives me to my bus stop after the night’s lesson, a man who, when asked to provide an example using the past conditional, once said that he met his beautiful wife as a result of sleeping in on the day of the entry exam for the prestigious university he wanted to attend, instead relegated to the lesser technical institute she attended (“If I had not overslept, I would have never...”).

I wait on the edge of the road next to a hotdog stand, flipping pesos in my palm until the yellow bus pulls up.

Coming back down the hills, Guadalajara at night is an infinity of lights and highways that flood the bus’s windows. Sometimes I can see tiny bursts of red and orange fireworks like little pinpricks in the dark sky, miles away across the expanse.

The bus is tired at this point in the night. The chofer keeps the interior lamp off unless someone boards the vehicle, and usually plays talk radio. I watch the sparkling city and rest against the window; I’m usually last off, and walk the eight or ten blocks back home down Niños Heroes, a boulevard choked with exhaust and home appliance shops. The Super Gigante grocery is the light at the end of the tunnel: a block later I turn down Bélgica, smeared with fallen oranges bulldozed by car tires, and walk up the stairs of my apartment building for supper.

"An Urban Art Demonstration with a Twist in the Tail"

2007-10-27T15:30:00.000-05:00

(published October 26, 2007 in The Guadalajara Reporter)

Photograph by : M. Veto

Swiss artist Severine Schlaepler assists riders with their improvised paint contraptions under the blue glow of Zapopan’s basilica. The urban art demonstration drew attention to the government’s lack of interest in bicycles as an alternative form of transportation.

Story by : MEREDITH VETO

The plan was like something out of a children’s fairytale: a caravan of kids on bicycles swarm through the city at midnight, leaving swirling trails of blue, yellow and orange paint in their wake.

The urban art exposition was the brainchild of Severine Schlaepler, a Swiss artist who has lived in Guadalajara for seven months and noted the city’s lack of support for bicycles as an alternative form of transportation. If the city will not install bike lanes, the project proposes citizens do it themselves.

Organizers instructed participants to bring their bikes and a few empty soda bottles to the Museo del Arte de Zapopan at 7 p.m. on Monday, October 22. The bottles would be filled with washable paint, secured with wire and inverted over the bikes’ front tires; paint would then drip over the tires and print the streets as the bikes were in motion.

“After riding along the same route,” read a letter from organizers, “a multi-colored bike lane will snake through the city, showing the existence of an oppressed form of transportation in the city.” The cyclists would ride from the museum to the Agua Azul park.

By late evening, an estimated 50 to 60 cyclists appeared in front of the art museum, improvising their paint contraptions under the blue glow of Zapopan’s basilica.

“I think that more space is needed for bicycles,” said participant Rodrigo Zuloaga, flanked by a red and white bike. “I ride my bike a lot, as I don’t have a car. Vehicles in the city have no respect for cyclists or pedestrians.”

Schlaepler weaved through the congregation wielding a wire cutter, crouching to assist riders or pausing to answer onlookers’ inquiries.

“Guadalajara is blind to cyclists,” said the artist. She sees some movement towards recognition, such as the street-closing program every Sunday for bikes and pedestrians, but does not understand why streets must close to be accessible to bikes.

Mario Delgado, a participant who designs contemporary urban furniture (including bike stands), criticized city officials for not initiating urban planning in favor of bikes.

It was just after 9 p.m., and a cool breeze was giving way to a chilly sprinkling of rain, when a jolt was felt among the group of riders. Most stood poised over their handlebars when whistles and cries of “Vamos” erupted. Like a flock of birds setting off from their perch, the caravan took flight toward the fountain on Av. Americas and waited for command.

The cyclists took off, crossing over the avenue in a giant pack just as a cold downpour fell, washing away the make-believe lanes.

The convoy never made it to the Agua Azul. One hour later, at the intersection of 16 de Septiembre and Libertad, Guadalajara police detained Schlaepler and 19 cyclists for what they called “taking part in acts of vandalism.”

Police Chief Macedonio Tamez told reporters that the cyclists had no permit and several motorists had complained about the convoy.

After lengthy interrogations, police released the detainees at around 4 a.m. without charge. Schlaepler took the incident in good humor and called it “a big joke.”

Let's Build a Home

2007-10-20T16:43:00.000-05:00

(Photographs included are views from inside my apartment, and outside on the building’s roof patio)

October 12th was the celebration for a precious ten-inch doll, who on arrival was secured upright in a glass keyhole shaped box and dressed in radiant blue. Her residence is a two-tiered colonial sanctuary, the Basilica of Zapopan, a town that eclipses the west side of Guadalajara.
Lifted by the zealous palms of her worshippers, residents of the culturally rich Mexican state of Jalisco, the doll’s glassy eyes stared straight ahead, stoically, as she waded through muggy crowds from church to church. Her cheeks remained as white and sweet as baby powder as her fans sweated and cried; her countenance was unchanged. The virgin, as I imagine, was resisting the onset of emotion at first sight of home and the glorious demonstration of love, prayer and appreciation her people exuded on arrival.
The virgin’s return to her basilica from her solemn months-long pilgrimage is the largest celebrated homecoming in Jalisco. By coincidence, my homecoming was destined for the same morning. My cheeks, however, were as flushed as the red tiled stairs I ascended to reach my apartment for the first time, pulling overweight bags, and if my expression was stoic it was only to avoid stares.
The apartment might be better suited for a person closer the size of the virgin statuette. It was, more or less, a capricious decision (based after all on a few aesthetic assets—a rooftop garden, being one) after an exhaustive search of Guadalajara. The city is like any other: expensive. It’s possible, of course, to find a one or two bedroom apartment for $1,000 to $2,000 pesos for a month’s rent, but only in the seedier neighborhoods, and not furnished. The same in a decent colonia might run $5,000 or $6,000 pesos a month. As a poor American immigrant with all her worldly belongings in two suitcases, that would not do.

My first home on arrival was the Hostal de Maria, which I reserved for two nights. I was pleased by my choice. The hostel is tucked in a small plaza shared by a waterless fountain and car repair shop, near Nueve Esquinas in the historic district.
I met there a wandering Canadian who did not know to drink only purified water, and became sick a few days into his stay. He nevertheless followed my tourism advice, and one morning set out for Tapalpa, a cozy, hilly town south of the city where three years ago I camped beneath a boulder on a freezing night.
I also met a brainy young man from Monterrey whose eyes bulged slightly and whose near-perfect spoken English reminded me of the interpreter’s narration in Jonathan Safran Foer’s Everything is Illuminated (he said he learned English almost exclusively from reading books). Days later I received an email from him—a rather existential account of his life and misgivings, which also led me to believe he fell in love with me over a few drinks of tequila the same night the Canadian fell ill.

I was “rescued” from that home by the concerned mother of a Tapatia friend of mine whose children I looked after in Greensboro. Carmen was not as convinced of my safety at the hostel as I was. So, three days after coming to the city, I forced my pregnant suitcases into the trunk of a taxicab and was escorted to Carmen’s immaculate home in a neighborhood behind Plaza Mexico.
On the way I was probed by the chofer on my origins and purpose in the city, and though not in the mood to converse in depth, explained that I find the Mexican way of life quite nice and easygoing. The chofer enthusiastically concurred and began to lecture me.
“Here, I can do what I want. I have no reason to go to the States. If I want to work, I work. If I don’t want to work, I don’t. In the States, you have no freedom!” I prompted him to elaborate.
For example, the chofer explained, Americans cannot drink outside, in the street. In America the stores and bars close early, so you can’t buy alcohol when you want. He had a point, although I was tempted to counter his negative view of our Puritan tendencies with a certain Mexican stereotype he may have just confirmed.
Carmen was not home when the chofer dropped me off, and instead of sitting on my suitcases at her driveway for several hours, I knocked on the door of a convent across the street and asked if they wouldn’t mind me leaving my things in their garden until Carmen returned. After permission was sought and provided by the mother superior, I dragged the bags inside the door and onto a patio.
Carmen later expressed surprise at the nuns’ amiability, as she holds a fifteen-year grudge against them for uprooting a gorgeous old tree from the front sidewalk during renovations.

I had met Carmen a day before, when she cooked a pasta lunch (it made her unspeakably happy, as her grandchildren refuse to eat carbohydrates). Afterwards in Carmen’s silver Honda we went to investigate a room for rent ad in the online classifieds of El Informador, priced well and in an approved neighborhood.
The house itself was pleasant looking from the outside. But the interior was dismal, cast in shades of maroon and sepia, the walls gilded with faded portraits of a family photographed in the seventies.
Upon our entry, the disembodied voice of a elderly man guided us up the stairs and into the bedroom where he reclined on an ugly brown lazy-boy. The chair was situated dead center in the room against the foot of a tall bed and, rather disconcertingly, directly faced the door leading into the hallway. The old man, wearing only a wifebeater and a blanket, lifted his left arm weakly and tugged on a long cord to illuminate the room. Thick-rimmed glasses overwhelmed his blank eyes and pitiful face; sickly spots gathered on his shoulders and chest, and both feet, the size and roughly the shape of a pair of coconuts, were entirely wrapped in bandages.
The old man summoned his “wife” to show us to the room for rent. A woman no older than thirty drifted out of a steamy shower room, twisting her dark hair into a long ponytail that fell almost to the waist of her gray miniskirt. She shuffled in blocky high-heeled shoes back down the staircase. We followed her through a kitchen, opening into a sunlit foyer where dirty birdcages filled with unhappy creatures hung on hooks.
Up a staircase, then another until we stood blinking on a green roof. The woman pointed me toward a fearful, black spiral staircase. I climbed it reluctantly, and paused as she fiddled with a key ring and opened the door. The room was damp, windowless, and more dismal than I could have expected even at that point in the tour. Carmen remarked after our quick retreat that it would have been like waking up in a Kafka novel.

The first night in my apartment I spent immersed in Saul Bellow’s The Victim, spread out belly-down under a bedside lamp that leans at an unnatural angle, hardly necessary for the streetlight that filters a dim orange through nylon curtains.
At the exact moment that Bellow’s restless protagonist Leventhal, alone in his Manhattan apartment, paranoidly believes he has heard a doorbell ring (“Eagerly he pulled open the door and shouted ‘who is it?’ The flat was unbearably empty…”), I heard a bell myself and started. Then, a sharp, though possibly distant, tapping. My bedroom being directly under the rest of my apartment by way of a narrow spiral staircase, sounds originating upstairs are difficult to gauge.
Not two hours before I had been squatting on the staircase in order to better reach the outlet adapted for my hairdryer. I sat in a cocoon of white noise and warmth for three minutes, poofing my hair under the appliance. My focus was instantly shattered the moment I switched off the dryer and next to me, it seemed, a man released a sickly chuckle à la Beavis and Butthead, and a bit deeper: “Huh huh.” I sat petrified until I realized the voice was down on the sidewalk, directly below my stoop and separated from me by a solid whitewashed wall. (“What really concerned him was that perhaps his nerves were to blame and that he had imagined the ring just as he had imagined that he slept…”)
Like Leventhal, I kept the bathroom light burning all night.

The fact that I should feel disarmed has more to do with my choice of reading material since my arrival in Mexico than an actual security threat in my neighborhood. Up until 3 a.m. and my left side irreparably cramped from leaning sideways under the lamp, I read In Cold Blood till Capote assured my conscience that not only were Perry Smith and Dick Hickock captured and properly secured behind bars, but that their hearts no longer beat after 1965.
City living is not frightening, but it is colorful, smelly, crowded, and loud. There is a telephone somewhere outside my apartment building that rings on some nights religiously, without pause, from sunset until long after I fall asleep. It’s faint enough to be smothered by my radio or TV, but persistent enough to keep me up later than needed inventing scenarios related to its cause and intended recipient. Several dogs keep the night air on its toes, particularly one sullen, long-eared mongrel often leashed to my landlady’s stationary bicycle, who satisfies his vengeance against his captivity with an ungodly nocturnal howl.
In the daytime there are the gas and water trucks that announce their products with happy-go-lucky ditties spit out of double-mouthed loudspeakers, sounding like the refreshment ads that screen before a drive-in picture, the dancing popcorn boxes and hot dogs and soda pops. Unwieldy square buses jolt down the avenue like cement blocks on roller skates, careening around street corners in gravity defying lurches. Sometimes a man sings with an accordion a few blocks down my street, where people gather midday for fruit and a hot lunch at a taco stand.
Beneath the volume of the main avenue, there are softer city sounds that reach my ears: kids chattering, whining, street cleaners combing the sidewalks with bushy straw brooms, the bass echo of reggaeton blocks away. The sounds wash under my curtains, pushed aside by a steady cool breeze, and find me while I rest on top of my sheets. They wallow in my little room without a proper door through which to exit, and eventually drift upward over the spiraling steps.