Write Again Soon

« July 2008 | Main | September 2008 »

August 17, 2008

The spirit is strong, but the body is weak

Good lord my digestive tract may never recover from this trip to Mexico. I'll spare you the gory details -- suffice it to say that bad water, hours on curvy roads, and copious amounts of alcohol and spicy food have conspired to deliver unto me the worst combination of upset I have ever experienced. And I say that as a woman known for her delicate constitution.

I've been on a farm in the state of Jalisco for the last couple of days, which has not been kind. Now I'm back in Guadalajara, where we've been wined and dined--which also has not been kind. We're leaving tomorrow for more farms in the state of Colima - and I anticipate the journey to be an unpleasant one. I can hear my stomach blurbling in protest at the thought.

My time here has been very productive, and the Big Idea project is going well. I think we're getting close to the light at the end of the tunnel - and if I can just keep my stomach and intestines in check for the next few days I should be home on Friday night, a whole day earlier than I had planned.

Mr. MMB is home from Yemen and feeling a bit lonely at our house. On the phone tonight he told me "you better come home rested...take that any way you like". I have a feeling that "coming home rested" will be more like "come home and eat only rice and mashed potatoes for the next two weeks."

Update: Part of my Big Idea project is to interview different people on the farm. This morning was my turn with the farm doctor, who noticed my discomfort, insisted on intervening, and promptly diagnosed me with an intestinal infection. Something like a Mexican amoeba, as far as I can tell. Like a knight in shining armor, he ran out to the local farmacia and got me a couple of different medications, the directions for which were explained to me in excruciating detail. Apparently, as long as I take each one at 8-hour intervals, I will start to feel better in three days, with a full recovery in ten. For now, though, I'm declining to participate in the 2-hour tour of the farm - I find bumpy paths and 95-degree weather uncondusive to my rehabilitation.

August 11, 2008

Vacation's Over

Today was my last day in Guadalajara as a tourist. Tomorrow morning I'll check out of my hotel and join my Big Idea team for two weeks of traipsing around Jalisco. I'm excited and tired and ready to get started.

I've had a good time here, walking around the local churches and marketplaces, but truth be told, three days in Guadalajara is more than enough. If Mr. MMB had been able to join me, I think we would have probably done some overnight trips - but I just didn't have the energy/interest to seek out those trips myself.

So I'll pack up in the morning and hit the road. And in two weeks I'll be home again, with this small barking creature waiting to greet me.

August 09, 2008

Second Language

This is my second full day in Guadalajara and already I'm wishing that I lived here. Not that the city is that stupendous -- I covered all of the "must see" places in the travel book yesterday and found it to be your typical "churches and cheap crap for sale" routine. And not that the food is so ideally suited to my palate -- it's either too spicy for me or overcooked in a "this tourist will not get turista on my watch" kind of way.

No, the things that draws me to living here (aside from the scrumptious margaritas, which I am consuming in record number) is the language. After 7+ years of Spanish language lessons starting in 4th grade, I switched to German and basically forgot all of my original second language skills. Or so I thought. Turns out that I am -- if not fluent -- then at least proficient in Spanish.

I understand most of what's being said (point of fact: I could follow along with that horrid movie where Rob Schneider somehow gets animal parts transplanted into his body and he acts like a moron for the next 90 minutes when it was translated on television today), and I can even instantly come up with Spanish versions of almost every question I want to ask -- although "where is the bathroom", "do you have any books in English", and "this coffee is muy bueno" tend not to tax the mind unnecessarily.

I was briefly at this stage with my German (a summer of intensive lessons even had me dreaming in kindergarten-level Deutch), but when I go to Germany or Austria, it takes me about a week to get to this point of general "understanding-ness". Being able to slip into it so easily here in Mexico makes me want to live here long enough to see how far those 7 years of lessons could take me.

August 07, 2008

Travels

I adore the international terminal of the airport. The girls dressed in miniskirts with punk rock hair and cowboy boots are straight out of Shinjiku, right next to scruffy backpackers who have clearly forgone all hygiene products in an effort to avoid the no-liquids rule at security. The old Pakistani couple sleeping head-to-head on a long row of benches, with a Care Bears blanket swathing the woman from prying eyes intermingles with the chic Parisian businessmen wearing sharply cut suits that would make Anderson Cooper proud.

I’ve made it to Chicago, where the 15 minute walk to the international terminal is like a journey to another country. The middle-aged woman in sweats that reminds me a bit of my mother next to me is speaking something resembling Tagalog, and there are the requisite number of people sprawled along the walls to be in closer proximity to the ever-precious electrical outlets. It seems that no matter where you are from, you have at least two devices that need charging.

---

Now I’m in Guadalajara, where I’ve made it past the hundreds of garish billboards and shantytowns on the way from the airport, to a hotel where I was unexpectedly upgraded from a twin bed “single” room to a junior suite. The hotel is lovely, right in the middle of the historic old town, and I’ve taken a shower to wash the filth of air travel off and had a surprisingly spicy dinner of enchiladas verdes while being serenaded by a delightful bolero group in the hotel foyer. A few margaritas have been consumed, and I’m pleasantly tipsy, just now realizing how romantic the setting is and feeling more than a little sad that Mr. MMB had to bail on our vacation plans. With this nice hotel room, I’m sure I could find many things to occupy our time.

Instead, I will crawl into bed with my iPod and probably fall asleep within seconds – having gotten only 2 hours of sleep last night. In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to get 2 hours, but I forgot to set my alarm and thus was awakened only when my parents knocked on the door to take me to the airport. Thank goodness I had packed the night before—I just had to brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw on some clothes to make it out the door 10 minutes after the insistent knocking alerted me that something was amiss.

---

I’ll admit it, I’m feeling a little homesick. Usually my travel is all business, and usually I don’t have someone waiting for me at home. But this time it’s different, and I have a feeling that there are going to be some unpleasant moments—like the 5 minutes when I couldn’t control the weepiness associated with missing Maya and her soft black puppy ears during the hair-raising ride to the hotel (where lane lines were made to be crossed--in haste and with no regard for the driver's blind spot). And of course I happened to bring along a book that mid-way through (and about an hour away from Guadalajara) suddenly blossomed into a September 11th drama and then all I could think about was the potential dangers of me traipsing about Mexico for the next couple of weeks while Mr. MMB plays in Yemen with their open air gun markets. I’ve never been in a place where I felt such worry over silly and highly unlikely scenarios – and yet I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time fretting about car accidents, kidnapping plots, and terrorist attacks.

On the other hand, the margaritas have dulled that anxiety a bit, and I’m looking forward to a night of blissful sleep and a day of adventure tomorrow. Happy travels, dear reader.