Travel = smack in my veins
Today is the official half-way point of my trip. I cannot believe that I have been in Mexico for five and a half weeks nor that I have been in Guadalajara for almost two now. 'Going home' is like a dark cloud on the horizon. To friends and family at home, no offense. It's just that home brings lots of responsibilities with it. And a country that I'm a little disgusted with.
Wednesday, our 'field trip day' at school. Today we went to the Hospicio Cabañas (now called Instituto Cultural Cabañas), which was originally built to be an orphanage that at one time was the home for as many as 3,000 children. It's supposedly the largest Colonial building in the Americas. One of the biggest attractions of the building is the murals by José Clemente Orozco, a contemporary of Diego Rivera. The tour (and a great interpretation of all the murals) was given in Spanish, but mercifully slow and clear Spanish. ¡Entendí todo! You can read about the Hospicio Cabañas (en español) and see pictures aquí: http://www.mexicodesconocido.com.mx/espanol/pueblos_y_otros_rincones/occidente/detalle.cfm?idpag=2133&idsec=39&idsub=0
(Discúlpenme por el siguiente cuento, mis amigas vegetarianas. Elizabeth, no leas esto. En serio.)
After the tour, our class decided to have lunch rather than return to the school to finish the last few minutes of class. I decided to try something new and saw 'tacos de some-word-I-didn't-know' on the menu. When I asked the waiter about them, he said they were made from pork, and I immediately asked what part of the pig they were from. Everyone at the table laughed at my question, but it's a very important question when ordering food (particularly meat) in Mexico! This IS NOT the US and you CANNOT assume that 'pork' here is the same as 'pork' there. I have yet to find a native Mexican who can name a part of a pig (or cow) that they don't eat here. During my few days with the host family here in Guadalajara, I found out what tacos de cabeza (cabeza means 'head') were all about. I've seen signs advertising them at taco stands, but never knew exactly what part of the cabeza they entailed. Supposedly it's the meat on the back of the cow's skull, and since I ate them before I knew what they were, I thought they were rather tasty.
Recently Colin, one of the people living in my posada, has been having some rather weighty personal problems that he's needed to talk about with someone, including problems with his girlfriend and troubles with controlling his vices. I certainly understand his need to talk to someone, but it's tough knowing that I'm that person in this country. A lot of pressure from someone I just met. I hope I can fill the role until he returns home.
One of my friends and classmates from Guanajuato is contemplating coming to visit me soon in Guadalajara. I really hope that Anne-Laure (she's French and has a great accent in Spanish; especially those uvular R's) gets to make the trip. She's such a great sport about how we Americans mutilate her name; I think I call her something different every time I say it. (sound familiar, Anouck?)
Guadalajara observations:
My bathroom in the posada has a plastic cover over the drain in the shower that you remove when you turn on the water, and the shower in the host family had one also. But I never saw one in Guanajuato. Makes me wonder what they are trying to keep from coming up the drains.
I think I would be much more likely to trust the policemen here in a time of need than I would have been in Guanajuato. They ride bikes throughout the city (and sometimes I even see them smile), rather than stand at fixed points staring straight ahead with really big guns. It's sad when even Mexicans tell you that you shouldn't go to the police for help.
So my running total for hours spent uploading pictures is now at seven. I still haven't gotten all of them loaded to PhotoBucket, but there are at least some now, and I've gone into previous entries and added pictures also. Someone please blow them up and hang them on your wall at home so I will feel that this has been worth it.
Wednesday, our 'field trip day' at school. Today we went to the Hospicio Cabañas (now called Instituto Cultural Cabañas), which was originally built to be an orphanage that at one time was the home for as many as 3,000 children. It's supposedly the largest Colonial building in the Americas. One of the biggest attractions of the building is the murals by José Clemente Orozco, a contemporary of Diego Rivera. The tour (and a great interpretation of all the murals) was given in Spanish, but mercifully slow and clear Spanish. ¡Entendí todo! You can read about the Hospicio Cabañas (en español) and see pictures aquí: http://www.mexicodesconocido.com.mx/espanol/pueblos_y_otros_rincones/occidente/detalle.cfm?idpag=2133&idsec=39&idsub=0
(Discúlpenme por el siguiente cuento, mis amigas vegetarianas. Elizabeth, no leas esto. En serio.)
After the tour, our class decided to have lunch rather than return to the school to finish the last few minutes of class. I decided to try something new and saw 'tacos de some-word-I-didn't-know' on the menu. When I asked the waiter about them, he said they were made from pork, and I immediately asked what part of the pig they were from. Everyone at the table laughed at my question, but it's a very important question when ordering food (particularly meat) in Mexico! This IS NOT the US and you CANNOT assume that 'pork' here is the same as 'pork' there. I have yet to find a native Mexican who can name a part of a pig (or cow) that they don't eat here. During my few days with the host family here in Guadalajara, I found out what tacos de cabeza (cabeza means 'head') were all about. I've seen signs advertising them at taco stands, but never knew exactly what part of the cabeza they entailed. Supposedly it's the meat on the back of the cow's skull, and since I ate them before I knew what they were, I thought they were rather tasty.
Recently Colin, one of the people living in my posada, has been having some rather weighty personal problems that he's needed to talk about with someone, including problems with his girlfriend and troubles with controlling his vices. I certainly understand his need to talk to someone, but it's tough knowing that I'm that person in this country. A lot of pressure from someone I just met. I hope I can fill the role until he returns home.
One of my friends and classmates from Guanajuato is contemplating coming to visit me soon in Guadalajara. I really hope that Anne-Laure (she's French and has a great accent in Spanish; especially those uvular R's) gets to make the trip. She's such a great sport about how we Americans mutilate her name; I think I call her something different every time I say it. (sound familiar, Anouck?)
Guadalajara observations:
My bathroom in the posada has a plastic cover over the drain in the shower that you remove when you turn on the water, and the shower in the host family had one also. But I never saw one in Guanajuato. Makes me wonder what they are trying to keep from coming up the drains.
I think I would be much more likely to trust the policemen here in a time of need than I would have been in Guanajuato. They ride bikes throughout the city (and sometimes I even see them smile), rather than stand at fixed points staring straight ahead with really big guns. It's sad when even Mexicans tell you that you shouldn't go to the police for help.
So my running total for hours spent uploading pictures is now at seven. I still haven't gotten all of them loaded to PhotoBucket, but there are at least some now, and I've gone into previous entries and added pictures also. Someone please blow them up and hang them on your wall at home so I will feel that this has been worth it.