Why yes, my name IS Güera! However did you know?
In addition to not being able to flush toilet paper when I return to the States, I will no longer be able to respond to my name. Instead, I will only respond to Güera, Preciosa, Mamacita, Sabrosa (that's 'mouth-watering' in English), and possibly Gringa, depending on my mood, por supuesto.
I forgot to mention a rather satisfying (and funny) moment that Lindsey and I had in the Mercado Libertad the other day. The market can be a rather rough place, lots of piropos and comments and yelling. We walked up to a booth and were looking at the CD's there. A boy of about ten had been left by an older family member to run the booth. He saw that we clearly weren't Mexican (Lindsey is really tall with long blonde hair and is even more güera than me) and yelled over to an older guy in another booth, (all of this took place in Spanish, of course) 'Do you speak English?' I knew he was asking because of us and so I said, 'We speak Spanish.' The look on his little face was priceless. He smiled sheepishly and turned back to his friend to report, 'They speak Spanish.' He then pulled out his English homework and asked us to help him.
Yesterday afternoon Gail and I went on a hunt for a place to get a pedicure. When we finally found one, we weren't too picky about it's amenities. No nice massage chairs here. Instead, we sat in the chair you sit in to get your hair cut and we put our feet in a plastic tub of room temperature water. When our feet were done soaking, we propped them up on the sink (yes, the one they wash hair in) while the woman operated on them. Kind of an uncomfortable angle at times, especially since we were both wearing skirts, and our legs went to sleep after a while. While my feet were soaking, a baby roach fell into my tub of water. I just thought to myself, 'At least it's a little one.' This is what Mexico does to you, people! Despite all that, the pedicure and manicure were much needed, very cheap, and really enjoyed. I've yet to see what fungi my nails will become hotbeds for.
On my way home I picked up burritos de soya and agua fresca de horchata from Villa Madrid. The burritos were nothing like my host mom's in Guanajuato and a little disappointing for that reason only. Agua de horchata tastes different at every place that I've had it, and that was definitely the case here. It reminded me of a White Russian. I don't know if it was only from association or if there was really alcohol, but I started to feel a little tipsy while eating my burritos. I asked a Mexican friend and he said people don't normally add alcohol to horchata that he knows of, so now I have to do some investigation to find out if this was all in my head.
Last night Jeff, one of the former ITTO students and a friend that I met through Colin, met me at my posada and we walked to the other posada to meet the rest of the group. We then headed to La Mutualista for Thursday night Cuban music. I was only there for a few hours, but that was plenty of time to get really sweaty. That place has to do something about their ventilation (or lack of) issues. Lindsey met me there and we left at midnight to go to the Panteón de Belén, the cemetery that I visited with my class during my first week here. They have a nocturnal tour that we decided to try. Most of the legends (i.e. ghost stories) were the same ones that I heard during the first tour, but it was neat to see the cemetery at night. My only problem was that I was wearing shoes geared toward going out to a bar, not traipsing about in a place known for its scorpions and spiders. I was a little preoccupied with where I was putting my feet as opposed to what the tour guide was saying. After the tour, we return the La Mutualista, but it was too crowded and we couldn't find our group, so we decided to head home.
While I was walking home (stop freaking out; it's less than a block and is in a high-traffic area) a cab of three inebriated men slowed down when they passed me and one of them actually got out of the cab yelling 'preciosa' at me. I don't think I will ever understand that. Do they really expect me to respond in a positive way? Sometimes I feel like I have an extra breast in the middle of my forehead.
I forgot to mention a rather satisfying (and funny) moment that Lindsey and I had in the Mercado Libertad the other day. The market can be a rather rough place, lots of piropos and comments and yelling. We walked up to a booth and were looking at the CD's there. A boy of about ten had been left by an older family member to run the booth. He saw that we clearly weren't Mexican (Lindsey is really tall with long blonde hair and is even more güera than me) and yelled over to an older guy in another booth, (all of this took place in Spanish, of course) 'Do you speak English?' I knew he was asking because of us and so I said, 'We speak Spanish.' The look on his little face was priceless. He smiled sheepishly and turned back to his friend to report, 'They speak Spanish.' He then pulled out his English homework and asked us to help him.
Yesterday afternoon Gail and I went on a hunt for a place to get a pedicure. When we finally found one, we weren't too picky about it's amenities. No nice massage chairs here. Instead, we sat in the chair you sit in to get your hair cut and we put our feet in a plastic tub of room temperature water. When our feet were done soaking, we propped them up on the sink (yes, the one they wash hair in) while the woman operated on them. Kind of an uncomfortable angle at times, especially since we were both wearing skirts, and our legs went to sleep after a while. While my feet were soaking, a baby roach fell into my tub of water. I just thought to myself, 'At least it's a little one.' This is what Mexico does to you, people! Despite all that, the pedicure and manicure were much needed, very cheap, and really enjoyed. I've yet to see what fungi my nails will become hotbeds for.
On my way home I picked up burritos de soya and agua fresca de horchata from Villa Madrid. The burritos were nothing like my host mom's in Guanajuato and a little disappointing for that reason only. Agua de horchata tastes different at every place that I've had it, and that was definitely the case here. It reminded me of a White Russian. I don't know if it was only from association or if there was really alcohol, but I started to feel a little tipsy while eating my burritos. I asked a Mexican friend and he said people don't normally add alcohol to horchata that he knows of, so now I have to do some investigation to find out if this was all in my head.
Last night Jeff, one of the former ITTO students and a friend that I met through Colin, met me at my posada and we walked to the other posada to meet the rest of the group. We then headed to La Mutualista for Thursday night Cuban music. I was only there for a few hours, but that was plenty of time to get really sweaty. That place has to do something about their ventilation (or lack of) issues. Lindsey met me there and we left at midnight to go to the Panteón de Belén, the cemetery that I visited with my class during my first week here. They have a nocturnal tour that we decided to try. Most of the legends (i.e. ghost stories) were the same ones that I heard during the first tour, but it was neat to see the cemetery at night. My only problem was that I was wearing shoes geared toward going out to a bar, not traipsing about in a place known for its scorpions and spiders. I was a little preoccupied with where I was putting my feet as opposed to what the tour guide was saying. After the tour, we return the La Mutualista, but it was too crowded and we couldn't find our group, so we decided to head home.
While I was walking home (stop freaking out; it's less than a block and is in a high-traffic area) a cab of three inebriated men slowed down when they passed me and one of them actually got out of the cab yelling 'preciosa' at me. I don't think I will ever understand that. Do they really expect me to respond in a positive way? Sometimes I feel like I have an extra breast in the middle of my forehead.