Aventuras en México

Aaron Burr would be proud...

2006-11-28T22:11:00.000-06:00

He's going down....

..fighting, evidently.

This is the brawl in the Mexican Congress chambers this morning. The PRD wants to keep Felipe Calderón from being inaugurated on Friday morning. So, their legislators stormed the floor trying to take posession of the podium before the federal police arrive tomorrow to secure the area. The PAN has an equal desire to see him inaugurated without incident, and threw down some punches trying to keep the PRD legislators from wresting control of the dias.

I feel like I should sit back and laugh at the current level of discourse. At one point, the two sides were screaming, "Felipe won!" and "Felipe's going down!" at each other, which sounds more to me more like the beginnings of a schoolyard scuffle than behavior becoming the nation's elected officials.

Except, it really isn't funny. It's the next six years of government. I feel like I should write to Dr. Phil and ask him if he can come down here and straighten them out. They need a little dose of "Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?"

A can of Coke is always a good weapon if you don't want to break a nail...

Freezing...

2006-11-20T11:03:00.000-06:00

I'm miserable. We're in the middle of a cold snap here that's the coldest I've experienced here. It's nothing compared to the Northeast - highs in high 50s and lows in the mid 30s - but...

We have no heat.

Oh, yes. There is no central heating in most buildings in Mexico. I can either a) bundle up or b) spend hundreds of dollars in electricity plugging in space heaters all over my huge drafty apartment.

Choosing the wallet-friendly option, right now I'm wearing wool pants, a wool sweater, wool socks, boots, a wool scarf, and a wool hat. I've got a blanket over me, but just having my hands outside the covers makes them go numb within about 20 minutes. I feel like I'm camping in my own house, except I have no crackling fire to warm me up.

At the office tomorrow at least we'll have body heat to help us survive - although I'll have to lose the down comforter that's been keeping me sane this weekend.

Think Mexico is all tropical? Think again.

I love Tuscaloosa.

2006-11-08T20:40:00.000-06:00

Evidently someone in Mexico City loves Tuscaloosa enough to put a bumper sticker on their car proclaiming their feelings to the whole city.

Bombazo

2006-11-07T20:42:00.000-06:00

For the 3 Americans who did happen to check the world news yesterday in the midst of election countdown fever, someone set off 5 bombs around Mexico City early yesterday. Thanks for all the worried e-mails inquiring to see if I was still intact.

No one was hurt and, honestly, no one seemed all that freaked out. The conflict between the governor of Oaxaca and the people who hate the governor of Oaxaca has gotten so heated in the past weeks that anything is possible.

The federal police force has moved into Oaxaca City to keep the peace, but the APPO is busy making them feel unwelcome by launching Molotov cocktails their way. The APPO has been marching in DF and causing traffic jams. The governor has fled the state to beg the federal government to save his ass. Who wouldn't set off a few explosions to let off some steam?

Half the people think it was the APPO. Half think it was the governor trying to make it look like it was the APPO. Now the investigators say its some other radical group (who probably feels left out that the APPO is getting all the governor-hating glory).

Maybe I'll post in more detail about the conflict in Oaxaca later. It's a terrible, entrenched situation that is at a true boiling point. Just don't believe the spin you hear about it being an entrenched class conflict that just shows how Mexico is widely divided between the right and the left, rich and poor. The U.S. is widely divided between the right and the left. Mexico is fed up with corruption and fed up with protests that ruin their livelihoods. Mexico is fed up with abuses of power and fed up with the lack of rule of law. Mexico, as it seems, has a lot of different opinions.

The international media can play the despotic rich conservatives vs. the oppressed poor leftists for a good storyline, but Mexico is a lot more diverse that that.

Again, they've got it all wrong...

2006-11-01T18:25:00.000-06:00

Walking back from a meeting, we just passed all the little kids in costumes out on the street asking for money. Wrong day, dudes! And, you can't ask for money unless it's for UNICEF! Here's more on Halloween a la mexicana...

I've got a few other engagements, but I hope to make it to a local cemetery tonight to see the Day of the Dead vigils. As you walk down the street and peek in open doors, you can see many altars set up inside living rooms and courtyards. Even the band of runaway drug addicts that hang out on the stoop of an abandoned building near our office had one set up! Here's pictures from Day of the Dead so you get an idea of what I want to go see in person...

Best Celebrity Sighting Ever

2006-10-31T22:42:00.000-06:00

Here in Mexico City, my celebrity viewing options have been much more limited than in my beloved NYC. A few weeks of reading Gawker Stalker religiously, and one could easily build a top ten list of the creme de la creme of celebrity hotspots in Manhattan. (Camping out at the Chelsea Whole Foods in the middle of the day seems to do the trick.) I never lived downtown, so missed out on the brunt of the, "Dude, I just ran into Ethan Hawke on W. 23rd and he looked like crap" lifestyle, but I did get a few choice moments with famous people without even trying.

Even if I were still in Cambridge, I'd be able to hunt down Ben and Jen and baby Violet without much trouble. Never mind fabled plagiaress and Harvard student Kaavya Viswanathan.

Don't get me wrong, a bunch of celebrities live in Mexico City. My nearly complete lack of telenovela knowledge leaves me somewhat oblivious, however. I'm sure there are famous movie actresses who prance around Polanco buying Prada and Chanel right in front of my eyes, but I couldn't tell them from the next gal. Being gorgeous and having a bodyguard and a driver is not so out of the ordinary here in el gran DF.

But, I think I hit the motherlode of all celebrity sightings a few weeks ago in a favorite seafood restaurant of ours. As the group contemplated crab tostadas, we noticed Nobel Prize winner and writer of my favorite first line ever, Gabriel García Márquez, a few tables over. Maybe it was the line of people next to him with hastily purchased copies of his entire oeuvre held out for autographs? He looked jolly and welcoming, his wife looked supremely unhappy to be kept from a lovely afternoon over ceviche, and everyone else in the place - well, they looked at him in awe.

As for me, I realized it might never get better than this. If I hadn't missed Bono by two minutes outside the Torre Mayor back in June, I might be able to say my life is complete.

GGM blessing the local infants as he leaves. Literally, people held up babies for him to kiss.
Note stern wife glare in the background...

Dodging Biscuits Sounds Awesome

2006-10-22T18:39:00.000-05:00

When moving offices recently, I found a gem of a book tucked away amongs treatises on microfinance and poverty in our donated reference library.

How to Pick a Mate: A Guide to Love, Marriage, and Sex, was co-written in 1946 by a marriage counselor and a reporter. Under the guise of the first book 'attempting to put mate selection on a sensible basis,' it gives an enlightening (though not quite enlightened) view on attitudes toward equality of the sexes at the turn of the century.

The general gist seems to be, "Equality sounds like a great idea (but we all know they're not equal anyway so these broads should just pipe down, get gussied up all pretty and cook a nice pot roast)."

Enjoy these choice quotes... trust me, it was hard separating the misogynistic from the really freaking misogynistic.

* * * * *

Why Marry, Anyhow?

"Psychiatrists agree that except in exceptional cases women who live alone will become neurotic and frustrated."

"A basic argument for marriage is that it offers a logical division of labor. Imagine how much more complicated and inconvenient life would be if men had to do their own cooking and sewing, and women - all women - had to compete with men for a livelihood?"

Your Chances of Getting a Mate You'll Like

"You may ask when a girl reaches the peak of her eligibility for marriage. In normal years the peak is between nineteen and twenty-one and the curve declines markedly after the twenty-fifth birthday."

Some instructions for women in the chapter Do You Frighten Possible Mates Away?

Don't neglect the romantic illusion. Men are disillusioned by such things as hair curlers, awkward positions and postures, unattractive sounds in the throat, making up in public
Don't fail to answer a man, and promptly, when he addresses you; he may feel slighted by inattention.

Attracting the One You Want

"She appeals to the man's yearning for mastery...by giving him the opportunity to do most of the talking. She follows his world with genuine interest and tries to fall in with whatever mood he is in. And, she enthusiatically accepts his ideas about...things to do. Definitely, she minimizes any mistakes that he may make, blames him for nothing, and keeps her complaints to herself..."

"Unhappy wives show little interest in housework."

Yes, when I'm happy it's all I can do to help from cleaning the house top to bottom.

Will a Job Undermine the Marriage?

We know of many married couples who have worked out excellent relationships while the wife continues her career. But we also know that such an arrangement is not normal and that it often produces difficulties because of psychological factors. It is apt to be a blow to the husband's sense of mastery of his own home if the bride decides that he can't support her properly on his salary. It deprives the wife of the opportunity to win the husband's affection and appreciation for her homemaking skill. Believe it or not, one very important appeal of marriage to a man is to have his favorite dishes home-cooked and waiting for him when he comes home from work"

No! I just can't believe it!

"If the average husband had as mediocre a performance on his job as many wives do as homemaker, he would be fired."

Getting Off To A Good Start

"If they are to live happily ever after it is important that the wife know her husband's food likes and dislikes. The importance of food to marriage success is frequently misunderstoond by newlyweds, and highly underrated. A large portion of the husbands who take their troubles to the Penn State marriage clinic disclose sooner or later that their wives are poor cooks or serve them late, slapped together meals. When a husband comes home tired and harassed from his day's work, nothing will restore him to a genial mood as much as his favorite dishes of food, expertly prepared and served soon after he arrives."

"Simply knowing their husband's favorite dishes is not enough. The new husband may not throw the first batch of burned biscuits at his wife, but the next batch is burned too he is apt at least to throw some caustic comments."

And well he should, ladies, and well he should.

Güera de verdad

2006-10-12T23:15:00.000-05:00

Pam, soldier shirking duties, Alissa, me

I consider myself a card-carrying whitey around these parts. A tan for me is more of an aspiration not to glow. Unlike the bronzed beauties strutting the streets, gold lame makes me look vaguely nauseated and the beach is... let's just say I blend into the sand nicely. However, I'm nothing compared to my statuesque friend Pam, who visited us this weekend.

Red-headed and speckled with freckles, she stood out in Mexico as one would imagine someone of Norwegian extraction would. Men channeled junior high English class, yelling "hi" and "hello" as we walked down the street. On the metro, fellow passengers held their glances just a little bit longer than normal. Waiters hovered, and found ways to chat us up. For us, her brown-haired friends, it was a little bit thrilling.

The real coup of the weekend came when we showed up at the Palacio Nacional to see Diego Rivera's famous murals. The Palacio was closed, with no less than 15 soldiers guarding the front gate. What started as a simple "De donde son?" directed at our flame-haired friend ended up with a photo session with our hand-picked hunk of a soldado. (We liked his gold collar thing.) He hammed it up as his friends giggled in the background... and they didn't let us wheedle our way in after hours.

Maybe the power of red hair has its limits? Maybe we just didn't try hard enough...

Big Primpin', Taxi Style

2006-10-11T00:33:00.000-05:00

Ribbon vendor showing off her wares to me

When I was in Oaxaca a few months ago, I woke up and set off with my friend to catch a bus at 8am in the morning. The second-class bus station is across the street from the main market in the city, and the early morning saw it bustling and lively with meat and produce shipments and early bird shoppers.

Amidst the delivery trucks were vendors set up with colorful bows the size of a pumpkin in every color of the rainbow. Workers furiously flagged down passing cabs, while others festooned the vehicles with matching ribbons, bows, and - for the big spenders - styrofoam triptychs depicting the Holy Trinity - to the hood, trunk, and roof. A long line of taxis snaked down the street, waiting to be wrapped up like a Christmas present from F.A.O. Schwartz.

I'm not sure what it was all for - though blue collar professions in Mexico often have patron saints to protect their workers, Saint Christopher is the patron saint of taxi drivers, but his day had passed two weeks earlier. It turns out to have been Saint Clare's day, the patron saint of embroiderers, eye disorders, and television. I'm not sure what Saint Clare has to do with cabs... here's hoping all the praying is to keep the vision of those who ferry Oaxacans to and fro in tip-top shape.

My saint's day is coming up soon, for those who feel like decorating their cars with ribbon in hopes I'll look kindly upon you this year.

Bows to match any color cab

High (in Fat) Art

2006-09-27T00:59:00.002-05:00

Pancakes are often sold on the street as dessert here in Mexico, and at fairs and markets you can smell their familiar scent wafting through the air, reminding you of Sunday morning breakfast and the occasional late-night, post-party Denny's breakfast. Families wash down the night's dinner with a styrofoam tray of 'hotcakes' drizzled in chocolate sauce or cajeta. Kids, fascinated by anything miniature, beg their parents for the bags of hot silver-dollar ones.

Tucked back in a corner of the quesadilla market in Coyoacan is a small stall that sells the most unique pancakes I have seen yet. The chubby, jovial owner purports to make pancakes that depict any cartoon character from Scooby to Strawberry Shortcake and other fun shapes, (He's not so jovial if you try to take a picture without buying a pancake, as the multiple signs in about ten languages promise.) He will even - at extra cost - cook up your choice of, ahem, adult-themed flapjacks.

We decided to test him out, choosing a complicated but tame depiction of Stitch from the Disney movie Lilo and Stitch. He quickly got to work, dribbling batter across the griddle in Jackson Pollock-like flourishes, then just as soon filling his work in, leaving us staring at a messy blob for which we had just paid 30 pesos.

He begins with some dribbles...

Looks like a big mess...

Spread on a little butter...

Skeptical as we all were, we were amazed to see the final product. Our short-order artist had rendered an uncanny simple-carbohydrate likeness of our favorite blue Hawaiian alien. He even held a Valentine! We may have to cough up the extra cash next time to test his skill at the... um... even more artistic designs.

Voila...Alissa and Vanessa and their new (edible) friend!

Guanajuato on Display

2006-09-24T10:36:00.000-05:00

Beasts of burden, still a normal part of Guanajuato's hilly lifestyle

There's a flattering article about my home away from home, Guanajuato, in this week's New York Times travel magazine. The article highlight the renovations in the historic center - started after I left - and the concurrent renewal of cultural life there. After my last visit I can confirm and deny the author's enthusiasm for Guanajuato's cultural revival. Although the town, with its vibrant art and music culture, is always reinventing itself... somehow it seems to stay exactly the same. Like many small towns, Guanajuato simply rearranges itself.

Windows from the 16th century

If anyone is looking for a unique weekend trip for Columbus Day, Guanajuato is hosting the Festival Cervantino from October 4-22. You can buy tickets online for three weeks of dance, music, and theater performances that range from sidewalk one-acts to the Royal Court Theater troupe from England. I'm always here for travel advice if you decide to go.

Better than Groucho

2006-09-15T23:35:00.000-05:00

Tonight was the grito, the night before Independence Day when the President shouts the traditional revolutionary war cry that ends with several shouts of "Viva Mexico!" Ostensibly President Fox was returning to an old tradition in chooseing to shout the last grito of his six-year term in the town of Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, the site of the original declaration.

The change of venue was precipitated in large part, though, by the messy camps still set up in the Zocalo housing AMLO and his supporters. Lopez Obrador had promised, as the legitimate president, to present his own version of the grito that evening, upstaging the traditional celebration. The event went off without a hitch in PAN-dominated Guanajuato, where Fox is still treated like a rock star. Predictably, the President threw in a shout-out to Mexico's institutions - besides himself, the main punching bag for the political opposition for the last two months. (Read here for more on Mexican Independence and presidential grito extemporizing)

As is normal at this time of year, the street corners have been taken over by vendors selling flags from size tiny to big enough to be a bedspread for a California King. Though I thought I had seen everything, it took me a day or two to figure out why all of a sudden so many people were selling long, thick fake mustaches on the street. Viva Zapata!

The Man... the Revolutionary War hero...the Mustache...

This isn't heaven...

2006-09-08T00:34:00.001-05:00

You'd better believe it. Today my taxi driver spent 20 minutes telling me about his halcyon days working at a paper recycling plant in Des Moines. He was so sad when he had to leave - his son wanted to return to Mexico and he didn't want him to make the trip by himself. I think he might be the only illegal immigrant who calls his old bosses in the U.S. to see how they are.

Maybe Iowa is heaven, after all.

Where's the love?

2006-09-05T17:28:00.000-05:00

So it seems Mexico has a new president today. After all the fuss, its still just what everyone expected.

Actually, I'm wrong. We might very well have two 'presidents' from now on if AMLO's threats to form a parallel government materialize.

Wha-ha-ka

2006-08-22T17:41:00.000-05:00

When Charlotte and I got back to Oaxaca, we had just a day to taste what the city has to offer - namely chocolate, molé, mezcal, and grasshoppers. We concentrated on the chocolate instead of the bugs this time.

Most of what Oaxaca has to offer right now is a lot of civil unrest. We happened to show up in a relatively calm period between clashes with the police and takeovers of local media outlets. Oaxaca's teachers went on strike for higher wages back in June and took over the main square in town - not an altogether uncommon ocurrence this year, it seems. The governor's big mistake was trying to oust them from their perch in the middle of July - all of a sudden the teachers because the cause celebre for all the anarchists, communists, hippies, socialists and disenfranchised in the vicinity. There's grafitti everywhere, the municipal building is blockaded, and there's lots of tents.

Protesters' temporary homes

But, most everywhere else life was normal. People stepped around the remnants of late-night bonfires on their way to work. Shops sold beautiful artesanía and posted signs in their windows asking for the downtown to be beautiful again. Buses got through the street blockades by going straight over a hill. We marveled at the gilded interior of the Santo Domingo church. For tourists and Mexicans alike, mass protest seems to be something you take standing up.

Sierra Norte, Día Dos

2006-08-21T23:31:00.000-05:00

This was the donkey that brayed the morning away outside our cabaña window. Evidently he wanted our guide, Norberto, to move him to greener pastures. On the way out of town on day two, we also saw Latuvi's own contribution to keeping the environment clean. Now, my neighborhood in Mexico City doesn't recycle - or even have a dumpster. We just leave our trash bags on a nearby corner.

The second day went as easy as the second half of a 30-kilometer weekend can be. We hit a mental wall at the foot of the last mountain we had to climb, but our thighs lasted us until the end.

Charlotte, our guide Norberto, and a giant mezcal/pulque producing agave.
No, that's not perspective - she's really that much taller than he is.

Me and my first glass of pulque - the agave's less alcoholic end product

Hanging moss on the trail

We're finally in Lachatao...barely able to walk.

...just in time to take the (school) bus back to Oaxaca.

Hongos

2006-08-17T19:17:00.000-05:00

Fancy mushrooms we saw...

Shrooms and Mezcal...

2006-08-16T22:25:00.000-05:00

Okay, our weekend trip wasn't nearly that debaucherous. We did, however, have a lot of contact with the raw materials used in such vices. Here are some highlights...

I got some decent shots of Popocatepetl, the active volcano outside Mexico City, puffing smoke from the bus window as we drove to Oaxaca on Friday evening. We got in just in time to catch some shut-eye before a weekend of trekking.

We headed out early Saturday from Oaxaca City up into the Sierra Norte. We started in Cuajimoloyas, which was holding the Sixth Annual Mushroom Festival. The mushroom-hunting contest sounded intriguing, but we headed out with our guide as planned, not before buying some awesome matching baseball caps with an embroidered mushrooom.

Bustling Cuajimoloyas

After an easy beginnning walking through lovely meadows of flowers and mushrooms, we got to the good stuff. We got to the midway point, where a new guide met us to help us down this mountain and straight back up to Latuvi.

Our local guide gazing out towards our destination ... that ridge far in the distance.
Oh yeah, and we're already halfway at this point.

After a bone-jarring walk/slide down a trail of slick pine needles, we reached the valley below and Ignacio's lovely trout farm and tomato greenhouse. Ignacio and his family cooked us up some freshly-caught fish with onions and cilantro to give us energy for the rest of the walk. He used to sell fish by the kilo to restaurants in Oaxaca and nearby towns. Unfortunately, he lost 20,000 fish in the flash floods from Hurricane Stan last year, so he's just getting back on his feet.

Ignacio cleaning the guts out of my trout as the doggies look on hungrily.

As we pushed away from the table after a delicious lunch, we soon realized that we could barely hobble. The final 3K straight up the mountain to Latuvi, hanging on a ridge, was - well - slow going. We collapsed in our cabaña, leaving only to buy chocolate and have a lovely light meal with the equally lovely Marta at the comedor nearby.

Misty Latuvi

Marta, in between bouts of giggling and serving up té de poleo, told us funny stories about her first days working at El Pollo Loco 15 years ago, right after arriving in Los Angeles. She's happy to be back in Latuvi, earning money and being with her family. In Latuvi, groups of visitors rotate among the three families with comedores so that everyone had similar earnings.

We slept like logs in anticipation of day 2 and 14 more kilometers of hiking...

Back on track...

2006-08-12T22:53:00.000-05:00

My good friend Charlotte is visiting from Canada, and we're taking a trip to the mountains of Oaxaca to spend the weekend hiking between indigenous villages. I've wanted to do this trip for four years, and Charlotte is the perfect partner. Not only is she a wonderful friend, she was a college athlete, and I'm pretty sure she could carry me up the mountain if it comes to that.

We're heading to Oaxaca tomorrow, and to the Pueblos Mancomunados for two days of hiking on Saturday morning. The Pueblos Mancomunados are a group of eight remote Zapotec villages that have worked together for centuries to manage the natural resources of the territory around their villages. Several years ago, needing a form of additional income to keep their young folk from migrating and to ensure they could practice sustainable forestry, they decided to found a homegrown ecotourism service.

There are now 100km of of scenichiking and biking trails connecting the towns. Local guides escort visitors from town to town, where they can camp or stay in simple cabins. The mountains are supposedly full of endangered animals, strange wildflowers, hanging mosses, and waterfalls... I can't wait.

So, unresolved presidential elections, a striking president living on the major thoroughfare of Mexico City along with several thousand of his closest friends, and random closures of major office buildings isn't enough to inspire me to start updating my blog again, but the Sierra Norte of Oaxaca is. I guess this had better be good.

Suspect: Arrested!

2006-01-26T02:17:00.000-06:00

I'm still in the US, but thought anyone who still might be reading might be interested to know that a Little Old Lady Killer suspect has been arrested, despite Mexico's Keystone Kop investigation. And...it's a woman! And popcorn vendor! And former wrestler!

I still haven't heard explained any connection between the painting found in several of the victims' house. Maybe she had a secret cultural life outside selling popcorn to people intent on watching masked men in spandex beat the crap out of each other.

Still in the US...

2006-01-08T14:19:00.000-06:00

And I have only eaten Mexican food twice! Christmas tamales - because that's the tradition even here in Phoenix, folks - and take-out chicken enchiladas from Costco. They were covered in cheddar cheese, so I think that officially makes them more American than Mexican, right?

I'm taking a few weeks to earn a little bit of money in the US before heading back down to Mexico City. As many Mexicans have already figured out, you can earn a lot more here than you can down there.

Gasping for Breath

2005-12-16T19:33:00.000-06:00

One side effect of living at 7,400 feet is that matches barely burn here. Far from being prone to singing your fingertips on a fast-moving flame, you're lucky if the flame lasts long enough to get past the head. The other week I used about 15 matches to try to light the pilot light in my stove, to no avail. They just went out before I could get the gas turned on. 30% less oxygen does make a difference, whether climbing pyramids or lighting candles.

I keep thinking I'm going to take advantage of the altitude to improve my endurance running, but that hasn't quite happened yet. I feel a New Year's resolution coming on...

Flip Flop

2005-12-14T00:06:00.000-06:00

The cracks, construction sites, and missing pieces of Mexico City sidewalks have taken a toll on my feet. I've got aches, blisters, and more than a few missing heels from my shoes. Taking a cue from the tennis-shoed receptionists swarming through downtowns all over the US, I decided to wear flip flops for my morning commute.

This is not common attire. Flip flops in Mexico are for the beach and, well, for the beach. It's kind of like wearing slippers out on the street. One block out, and I got my first prolonged stare.

This lady was wearing a floor-length poncho and a blue surgical mask, so I'm not sure how she got appointed this morning's fashion police. She must have had her whole squad out, because this might be the first time I've been on the Metro and received only glances at my feet. Usually the güera head lolling atop a sea of dark-haired commuters gets them.

The comfortable commute is worth the weird looks, so get ready, Mexico. Maybe my one-woman protest march will slowly spread the gospel of Reefs down south.

Juan the Ripper

2005-12-13T02:01:00.001-06:00

Right after moving here, I had a conversation with my business partner about serial killing. He insisted that it was not a Mexican phenomenon, implying that some dastardly nurturing in wealthy countries led people to lash out through systematic murder. I spat back the 350 women murdered in Ciudad Juarez, but was quickly rebuffed. "It was a crazed American's doing," he said, "sneaking across the border from El Paso."

At first, I felt a little cowed. Jeffrey Dahmer... BTK... Son of Sam... It certainly did seem like the US was riddled with pathological Scout troop leaders in clown costumes slashing redheaded 34 year-olds to death. Was this our violent gun culture come back to bite us in the ass? Did our relative affluence lead Americans to such ennui that they had to taunt police forces and hapless citizens for fun?

I decided to consult what we all know to be a unimpeachably reliable source of information: Wikipedia. Though heavy on the Americans and Europeans, it spit out a litany of serial murderers from all over the globe, including developing lands like Ghana, Kazakhstan, and Ecuador. (I also added my brother as a known killer from Luxembourg in 1913 for kicks - hilarious!)

My pride of place still wounded, I started mulling over these facts. Why would rich Western nations be so twisted and others not? There had to be another explanation.

Of course there is! We don't produce serial killer in greater numbers necessarily, but almost certainly catch them more often, right? We have better-trained police, we have forensics departments, and we have media outlets that will not - for the most part - let us off the hook.

Seems I've been vindicated, though in the most terrible of ways. There is currently a serial killer on the loose in Mexico City who is strangling, beating, robbing, and abusing elderly women. The mataviejitas is suspected to dress as a women to gain the victims' trust, and takes a memento from their homes after the deed is done. After two years and 9 to 24 suspected victims, the police have a full fingerprint, an eyewitness, and have finally released a sketch of the suspect. Even weirder, three of the most recent victims have had copies of the same obscure painting in their house.

I watch CSI reruns all the time, so I know that this evidence alone is more than enough to find the perp and extract a confession within 52 minutes. However, after denying there was a serial killer out there for months, the Mexico City police have lately busied themselves rounding up transvestites and releasing enlightening statements like "[the killer] is brilliantly clever".

Thus, I can only hypothesize that I was at least partly right. We are just a hell of a lot better at catching our sickos.

LaLonganiza

2005-12-11T23:47:00.000-06:00

It's a first!

A friend from Guanajuato made it to visit me in the big bad capital city. DF is often lovingly referred to as DFectuoso (defective) by non-chilangos and is as unappealing to most Mexicans as New York is to a Montana cowboy, so I was quite proud when Lalo actually showed up. We checked out all the cow statues up for the Cow Parade - yep, it's in Mexico City now - and showed off hipster La Condesa. A far cry from our old days painting the town red until 6am, but I guess we're getting older.

I was wrong!

2005-12-08T00:57:00.000-06:00

... but the truth is even better!

A few days ago I wrote about some of the strange things that I've been noticing on the mean streets of el DF. I thought that one invention - water-filled plastic bottles lying on grass - was a cheap and ingenious way to water small patches of grass without spraying the entire sidewalk.

I should have done my due diligence and checked to see if the bottles actually had holes, for it seems I jumped to conclusions. Luckily Marco, one of my partners in crime and authentic experts on Mexico, has kindly corrected me. The bottles are there to keep the grass healthy, yes, but by keeping dogs from pooping on the grass! Some ingenious soul figured out that dogs see their distorted reflections in the water. They are wary enough of the vision of a strangely-shaped unknown canine that they prefer to eliminate elsewhere, keeping grass blissfully defecation-free.

This is the same theory that drives homemakers all over Mexico to hang plastic bags of water in their open windows in warm weather - seems flies, like dogs, don't take kindly to strangers. I have no idea if this works, but everyone here says their abuelitas swear by it. Let me know if you've got some proof...

Dead Chickens, Redux

2005-12-05T08:38:00.000-06:00

7:45 am. Highway in Villahermosa, Tabasco. Bright, sunny morning. Temperature, 77 degrees and climbing. Pink pimply chicken bodies, once again with their scrawny feet peeking out of the bed of a pickup truck. This time, no ice in sight.

Ack, ack, ack!

Wishing for a digital camera...

2005-12-04T22:55:00.000-06:00

... so I could have captured these dichotomous scenes from the last few weeks:

1. The plastic soda bottles strewn a little too deliberately over the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street. After staring at it for a while, I finally realized it was a homemade sprinkler system.

2. The delivery truck with a built-in shrine to the patron saint of Mexico over the cab, complete with flashing lights spelling out "Nuestra Virgencita".

3. The scene outside of the club I ended up at last week. Wondering why there were so many middle-aged men milling around outside the club, then marveling at the number of Escalades and Mercedes in the parking lot, I put two and two together and realized the men were all drivers waiting for their charges to stumble out of the club at four or five a.m. Sad thing was, it looked like the drivers all knew each other. Guess they do this often.

4. The stream of empty bottles of Dom Perignon being bussed from one table at aforementioned club.

and,

4. The pickup truck bed filled with chicken carcasses and crushed ice that pulled up next to my at a stoplight during my morning commute. Can we not cover it, at least?

Día de Pavo

2005-12-02T22:41:00.000-06:00

What is the third Thursday in November without a big roast turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie?

A normal workday it seems, if you are in Mexico.

Never fear, however. After a pathetic (and somewhat sketchy) Thankgiving dinner of salmon and boiled meat with my fearless roomate, Elise, the year we lived in Guanajuato, I vowed never to miss Thankgiving again. And, if that meant cooking all week and forcing weird things like stuffing down hapless Mexicans' throats to make it happen, so be it.

Last Saturday we had a belated but just-as-good-as-the-real-thing Thanksgiving dinner where I cooked up all our American favorites. The turkey was golden and juicy despite having been roasted on a colander instead of a rack and our token American guest carved it up perfectly - I guess that's a skill I'll wait until next year to learn. A kind soul even brought me fixin's from the US so that I could introduce the foreigners to the joys of homemade cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie. And they ate them, the ravenous wolves, with only a few mutters about becoming imperialist puppets. Maybe I shouldn't have made them wait so long for dinner.

We maxed out our seating capacity with 16 guests over to the house, so it was quite a festive affair. Being Mexico, five people RSVPed the night before, which made me glad I couldn't find a turkey smaller than 8 kilos.

Being Mexico again, we slogged through bottles of Argentine wine, tequila, and a handle of Bacardi. Come to think about it, that's when the breakdancing started. (I think that one is going to have to stick around as a new Thankgiving tradition.)

We all ended the night as Thankgiving should, crowded on the stage at a karaoke bar singing 80s songs in Spanish. What more could one ask for, really?

P.O.V.

2005-11-23T19:17:00.000-06:00

We spent a nice weekend with a visiting Kennedy School friend, Treina, as she ate our way through Coyoacán, got whisked to tables at chi-chi hotel bars, and found her way to Teotihuacán on public transportation by herself. She's from L.A. so it mostly just felt like home to her. However, as a woman of African descent, she got more than her fair share of stares during her visit and has a great entry on her blog about what it was like.

In case you weren't convinced...

2005-11-21T22:47:00.000-06:00

There are more reasons than ever to join me in Mexico. I've just been told that there is a place in Coyoacán to get churros delivered to your home. That, my friends, is human genius at its zenith.

2005-11-18T20:20:00.000-06:00

I was walking to the Metro the other day, and I almost got pinned by the Manolo of the chic blond lady that stepped out of her imposing black Navigator. I survived the unintended foot piercing, but couldn't help gaping at her armored vehicle, complete with nattily-dressed driver.

Honestly, I thought I knew a lot of rich folk when I lived in New York. It was much more than I had ever experienced, thanks to going to a college with huge financial aid contributions. I gawked my way through classic eights on 86th and Park, felt uncomfortable when live-in housekeepers offered me a canapé, and tried to keep the drool to a minimum when hosted in homes in Connecticut with Phil Donahue for a next-door neighbor. I still don't think I ever met anyone with a driver.

But, it's par for the course here in Mexico City. I spent several confused minutes outside a restaurant one afternoon when an acquaintance told a group of us she'd give us a ride back to our office. "Fabulous," I thought, "but why are we still standing here on the sidewalk if we're all going together?" I chalked it up to the higher price on personal contact here in unhurried Latin America and kept chatting... until her chauffeur pulled up. Ah, yes, now I've got it.

It's no surprise that expendable income here in DF goes towards drivers - most folks get stuck in over two hours of traffic daily and, well, the Metro doesn't have air conditioning. But, I feel like you would have to be ridiculously rich to be able to pay someone to drive you around in the U.S. Cheap labor? Different priorities? Or, maybe all these people I meet really are ridiculously rich.

Two Wise Men

2005-11-15T22:05:00.000-06:00

My dad sent me this quote from John Kenneth Galbraith, which makes me want to run out and read the new biography about him.

In all life one should comfort the afflicted, but verily, also, one should afflict the comfortable, and especially when they are comfortably, contentedly, even happily wrong.

Indeed.

There are a plethora of these hippy-dippy bleeding-heart quotes that bring a tear to the eye of all of us silly enough to spend our days trying to make the world a better place. Frankly, they get a little stale after a while. Don't get me wrong - I'm the kind of person that saves those square birthday cards with pithy quotes and tapes them up in my cubicle to get me through the days when all I see are miles of Excel sheets and Round Ten of Mr. Coffee. I just already know that the I should be the change I want to see in the world and practice compassion and be a thoughtful, committed citizen. I was ripe for some new inspiration, and much obliged to finally have some.

I also like that this sentiment came from an economist, who have a tendency towards unfeeling rationality. (Not that there's anything wrong with that...) And that it used the word "verily".

Thanks, Father. Thanks, JKG.

Everything I need to know about eating I learned in Mexico.

2005-11-13T15:05:00.000-06:00

Culinary rules for a more enjoyable life...

1. Never eat lunch at your desk. It's not civilized, and you are not too busy to relax for 30 minutes and digest your rosemary chicken focaccia with caramelized onions from Cosí.
1.1 If you can, try taking two hours for lunch. You'll jump from civilized to positively sophisticated.

2. There should always be a place to get food at 5 a.m. in the morning. Find your nearest late-night joint that goes beyond pizza laden with the molten pepperoni fat that's been slowly leaking out of it all day and save it in your Palm for those after-37-Bombay-and-tonic cravings. If you live in Omaha and even the Applebee's closes at 12, open your own restaurant. The college kids will love you.

3. Prix fixe ≠ ungodly expensive tasting menu. We need affordable places to get a set meal. Why shouldn't there be places to get a four-course lunch for five dollars that's not a stale curry buffet in a strip mall?

4. Every restaurant should have a person making fresh tortillas. Ordered the fois gras burger at Daniel? Cleanse your palate with a tortilla! Chowing down on authentic kee pra gow? Wrap that shit up in a tortilla!

5. Lunch on the weekends should not be what you grab from KFC after picking the kids up from soccer practice. Get a group of friends together, open a bottle of wine, and savor several hours of good cuisine and conversation with your favorite people.

6. It's perfectly acceptable to spread caramel on a piece of bread for breakfast.

7. Breakfast meetings start the day out right. Eat a pile of huevos rancheros, talk shop and sign deals, then roll into the office at 10. Brilliant.

8. Chile is transcendent. It is especially wonderful on unlikely pairings - on fruit, in drinks, in sorbets, and crusted on lollipops. Don't say ewww unless you've tried it or have ulcers the size of quarters.

9. One avocado a day keeps the doctor away. (Those Sevens won't fit nearly as well, though.)
9.1 Avocados should not cost $2 apiece. They should cost $2 a kilo.
9.2 Avocadoes are not green or hard.

10. Salsa is not called Pace or Picante. It doesn't have organic black beans or fire-roasted blue corn or papayas hand-picked by a Chiapan rebel.

11. Freshly squeezed orange juice belongs on every corner at affordable prices. Buy some wholesale citrus and a squeezer at the local market, sharpen your knife, steal a grocery cart to hold the reamed-out peels... and you've got yourself a business!

12. Yogurt can be so interesting.

American Moment

2005-11-08T22:08:00.000-06:00

I had a very American moment when leaving our new offices this morning, trying to decide between getting a cup of coffee at Dunkin Donuts for $1 or at Starbucks for three times as much.

After saving at D&D, I had to hold back on the unfamiliar urges walk up the street and splurge on a Margarita Chicken Grill at Chili's for lunch.

Nice, um, shirt.

2005-11-07T10:55:00.000-06:00

Today, exiting the Metrobus, I saw a paunchy man in his 50s wearing a worn, gray t-shirt that read:

"My doctor is pro-choice"

The next guy had on one from a dance competition in Kentucky in 1983. What?!?

I read an article in the New York Times once about how used clothes that are not good enough for the Salvation Army get shipped around the world. This particular piece tracked a t-shirt from New York through the many steps to its new owner in Africa, but it seems Mexico is getting its fair share of shipments.

So annoying.

2005-11-05T13:55:00.000-06:00

I just went to buy ink cartridges for my printer, and realized yet another in the long string of minor annoyances in moving to a different country: product models are not the same. I have an Epson Stylus C86. Here in Mexico they sell cartridges for C85 and C87 but, as you may have guessed, C86 is nowhere to be found.

I've inquired with Epson, but in the meantime I must go printer-free and it's quite possible that I may only be able to restock in the States. Awesome.

Hallowed Halloween?

2005-11-04T20:24:00.000-06:00

Halloween - a holiday known but little understood here - seems to be making some inroads into the traditional Day of the Dead celebrations. Pumpkins are on sale in upscale supermarkets and store windows are decorated with bats, spiders, and witches. Are age-old Mexican traditions falling yet again to Yanqui consumer imperialism?

I'm not convinced that defenders of Mexican culture need to rush to the rescue. There may have been Sponge Bob costumes at the Walmart and plastic jack o' lanterns at the grocery store, but there was not much about Mexican Halloween celebrations that reminded me much of Halloween.

First of all, they didn't even celebrate it on Halloween! I went out on October 31st, and I saw no signs of of my favorite holiday. No kids in the street, no adults sheepishly riding the Metro to parties in their French maid's costume. As I found out the next day, everyone felt like celebrating Halloween on November 1st because the following day was a holiday!

Now, as any American child can tell you, you do not postpone Halloween. Teachers postpone tests, parents postpone trips, but Halloween is always on the 31st - rain, sleet, sunshine or school day.

Trick or treating has also taken on a new life south of the border. Mexico City is full of apartment buildings, so children don't walk from house to house asking for candy. They go to public places and ask for money. Maybe that's because there really isn't much Halloween candy on sale. I couldn't even get a little taste of my beloved Skittles snak pack, Smarties, and Oreos with orange insides. How hard can it be to import candy corn?

So, what is Halloween with no glowing jack o' lantern faces winking at me from balcony windows, and no haunted houses filling the parking lots of normally unused warehouses with jumpy teenagers, no scares about needles in the caramel apples, no pumpkin carving, no fake graveyards set up in ambitious families' front yards, and rumors flying about the house that is giving out FULL SIZE Snickers bars!?!?

I'll tell you. It's a bunch of kids in costumes forming an offensive line outside the grocery store asking for money, with their makeup looking garish in flourescent light and their parents hovering in the parking lot. Whoopee.

And weren't the street children pissed? Did they rage in fury at upstart middle class kids asking for money just because their parents could afford to buy them a costume? I wanted to find some kid in the same old clothes as last week just so I could slap him with 10 pesos.

I think there's only been two years since I turned 4 that I haven't dressed up for Halloween, both when I lived in Mexico. If things don't change next year - I'll be buying a ticket to go to the city where I get the best party invitation.

The Halloween gods are angry.

Definitely dead.

2005-11-02T23:58:00.000-06:00

Nothing exciting to report here from Day of the Dead Central - a staff meeting, not altars, processions, or candlelit cementaries, was the highlight of my day.

Día de los Muertos is an ancient indigenous celebration of dead loved ones that's been around for about the last 3,000 years, despite Catholics attempt to keep the wily native folks in line. It was originally celebrated for the entire ninth month of the Aztec calendar - around August - at the request of the "Lady of the Dead", the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Say that three times fast, gringos.

The conquistadores, as can be expected, were shocked to see any celebration that didn't involve a priest, a church, and a crucifix. They ordered to cease and desist, as the Spaniards had foolproof ways of convincing people back than, namely disease and rifles. And, as we all know the story goes here in Mexico, they got the Aztecs to compromise far enough to satisfy their 16th century dogma without quite eradicating the festival. Día de los Muertos was moved to November to coincide with All Soul's Day and all were happy. Until the disease and rifles kicked in, that is.

These days, Day of the Dead is celebrated mostly by traditional and often indigenous pueblos. Families build elaborate altars with traditional items and personal gifts for the returning dead, including grooming supplies like razors, soap, and aftershave. Souls, after all, appreciate a good cleaning up after such a long journey back to mortaldom. On November 1, relatives flock to the cemetaries to clean and decorate the gravesites of their dead relatives. When night falls, they sit vigil all night long, eating the loved ones' favorite foods in a cemetary lit with candles and pungent with the smell of marigolds and copal incense used to guide the spirits home.

For city slickers, the day consists of eating a special sweet bread cake called pan de muertos with your friends or family and maybe a day off of work. Not nearly as interesting.

Día de los Muertos, despite its macabre topic, is in large part a lively and happy holiday. Dead friends and relatives are honored, and get to spend a night back on earthly terrain with their loved ones. For someone who shivers at the thought of my bones lying underground for the rest of my non-living days, it's nice to think that a cemetary could be a celebratory, joyous place for remembrance. As Octavio Paz said:

The word 'death' is not pronounced in New York, in Paris, in London, because it burns the lips... The Mexican, in contrast, is familiar with death, jokes about it, caresses it, sleeps with it, celebrates it; it is one of his favorite toys and his most steadfast love.

For those of you hoping in vain for a lively and witty first-hand report on Mexican cultural traditions, here are some pictures to tide you over until next year. I'm planning a trip well in advance - it's not escaping me again. Let me know if you want to join...

Man selling marigolds.
Cempasúchiles are the traditional flower of Día de los Muertos.
Family altar. They always include sugar cane, salt, breads,
candles, photos, and often favorite foods of the honored dead.
Note the bottle of beer.
Another family altar, full of marigolds and papel picado.
Families cleaning and decorating graves in preparation for the vigil.
Evening vigil in San Andrés Mixquic, in Mexico City

Ixtapa Highlights

2005-10-31T09:01:00.000-06:00

1. Piña coladas. Beachside.

2. I went snorkeling and got to hold a sea cucumber (slimy!) and a starfish and a flower sea urchin. I also saw those pretty blue fish with iridescent turquoise spots I saw in Belize.

3. I saw Chinese men do an acrobatics show.

4. I finally made it, just like Andy in Shawshank, to Zihuatanejo.

4. I had to be dragged away from bringing home three different adorable stray cats. There are few stray cats in Mexico because people here aren't so much cat people as we are in the US, so usually the temptation isn't so constant. There's all sorts of strange fears that they suck the breath out of babies and make women sick. Maybe there's enough fish and leftovers to eat in Zihuatanejo that they thrive. In fact, the only argument against dragging the sweet gray kitty home after dinner that worked was that he probably had a pretty fly life on the pier in a fishing village full of tourists.

5. I got tequila poured in my mouth out of the bottle - just a splash! - at Ixtapa's finest club - an 80s treasure, with smoked mirrors, those Christmas lights in plastic tubes, and strategically-placed potted trees. And a fog machine, oh yeah.

Surf's up!

2005-10-26T22:27:00.000-05:00

Off to Ixtapa tomorrow on an all-expenses paid trip! I feel like I've been pretty well-traveled over the last few months, at least for a penniless expat. I'll be staying here:

Highs in the 80s, for all you suffering from the onset of fall. I love Mexico!

Rubia, Ojos Claros

2005-10-25T23:50:00.000-05:00

I've been thinking a lot about cultural relativity as it pertains to color since being called out for being white last month. I remember one of the many reasons it was strange at the time - I was with a few people I thought looked pretty Latino to me. If someone had asked me to, I would have probably categorized our group differently... split somehow, with me way at one end. However, they put us all together.

In most everywhere except big cities, I'm used to standing out for my light skin and light hair, being pelted with shouts of, "Güera, güeriiiiiita!" pointing out my light coloring. In Mexico City, where there is a lot more variety in ethnic background, I don't get a second glance. I'm part of the expected spectrum.

And, here in Mexico a lot of people swear up and down that I am blond. (I have what most Americans would call light brown hair) They're not color-blind, blond just encompasses a much wider range that it does in the US.

Any non-brown eye colors are lumped together as ojos claros, or light-colored eyes. In the States, we divide this group into blue, green, gray, and even hazel!

To me, being thought of as 'blond with light eyes' makes me feel like Barbie. Okay, not quite like Barbie in many important ways, but it still sounds strange. It's just not how I see myself.

I always describe myself as having brown hair and brown eyes, even here. Good thing I'm not going on any blind dates - they'd never recognize me.

Give yourself a pat on the back?

2005-10-24T20:59:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, the whole IDEA team trekked out to a nearby city to give a fundraising presentation to their local Rotary Club. I had boned up on Rotary rituals with a friend, so I was expecting the ringing of the bell, the incantation-like welcome address, and the legions of men over the age of 60.

When it was our turn, the head of the Rotary stood to give us an adulatory welcome, reading highlights of our resumés, fawning over the myriad Harvard degrees, and rhapsodizing about our credentials. Okay, whatever. He then finished by commending us for committing to public service, especially since we were niños de bien - children from good families - and gente blanca.

Could he have just said what I think he said? Did he just congratulate us for being white?

I caught a glimpse of Alberto across the room, just waiting to watch my jaw drop and eyes bug out. I complied.

After the meeting, Alberto told me I heard correctly. Gente blanca was an old saying in Spanish which means well-educated. In the old days - heck, now! - the ones getting educated are the ones from good families, the ones with less indigenous blood. For many, many, many, many, many reasons it is not so commonly used these days. Almost none of the Mexicans we shared the story with had ever even heard it.

Another day, another reminder I'm not immune to cultural shock.

Board games...

2005-10-23T13:25:00.000-05:00

... are a lot more difficult in your second language.

I had a wonderful day yesterday, spending hours with friends at a super-cool Condesa café. They stock the place with games like Jenga, Rummy, Othello, and backgammon.

We played a game called Basta that is similar to Scattergories. I am really good at Scattegories. I am very bad at Basta, probably because it is in Spanish.

I never finished on time. Never. Often, I could only fill out two of the five categories. After the first five rounds, everyone decided to switch to English for a few rounds so that it would be fair to me. Nice gesture, except I kept thinking in Spanish and did even worse! I thought of items beginning in "I" when I should have been writing down ones with "E". I couldn't think of simple works like "lion" and "peach". I think this living in another country is ruining my English. I'm going to be flawed in two languages now.

The only time I actually did well was when I had to think of a fruit or flower in English that begins with Q. Nobody else in the group was able to answer, but I wrote down "quince." Of course, they all challenged me with, "Quince is so not a real word!" Strangely, I knew the name in Spanish so I had my one moment of glory. Ha HA!

Despite my pathetic showing, there's nothing more fun than spending a sunny afternoon sitting outside playing games with your friends. We don't do that enough these days, do we?

Ayer fue mi santo!

2005-10-20T10:52:00.000-05:00

And not a one of you Mexicans congratulated me. Harumph.

Mexico, like in most Latin countries, celebrates people's saint day. This is the day when the saint with which you share a name is celebrated - usually the day the poor soul died a gory death at the hands of infidels. As far as I can tell, it has lost its association with untimely demises and is more like a mini-birthday. You might get some little presents, maybe your colleagues take you out to lunch, and surely you at least get some congrats from your friends and family.

Everybody in the mundo católico used to be named after a saint, so it was an equal opportunity holiday. (I feel bad for all the little Yessicas and Stephanis running around these days.) As far as I know - help me out here, Mom - it's sheer coincidence that my brother and I happen to share names with venerated saints from the Catholic church. Nevertheless, I was all excited to spend my first santo in a place where people actually care. Maybe I'd get a cake? A hug? Or an e-card, even?

Nuthin'. Puuuure nuthin'. Thanks for welcoming me with open arms, Mexico.

Despite the bitter taste in my mouth, I am thinking nice thoughts for the memory of Saint Laura. Laura was a martyr from the 9th century, an widow-turned-nun who was thrown into a vat of molten lead by the Moors in 864.

Ten points for flair, Moors, but hadn't poor Laura been through enough?

How do you say "DMV" in Spanish?

2005-10-18T21:58:00.000-05:00

Some things cross all cultural barriers. One of those, as I learned this afternoon, is the intersection between automotives and government.

I took the new car to get its emissions checked and receive - I hoped - the vaunted Doble Cero holographic sticker that would allow it to be on the street seven days a week.

To cope with the suffocating pollution Mexico City had become known for, the government instituted a law to keep cars off the street one day a week. Fifteen years later, the smog is not as bad, and newer cars with clean emissions do not have to follow the "Hoy No Circula" rules.

I found the Verificentro easily, the wait time was only 30 minutes, the staff seemed professional, I had all the documents the cashier wanted... Things seemed to be going okay!

Not so fast. After a whispered conversation between the cashier and the manager, he beckoned me over. The date on the registration card and the date on the bill of sale were different by three days. As I must understand, they could not verify my car with such a dire problem hanging in the air.

I tried to explain that we had gotten the plates and registration on one day, then we had picked up the car over the weekend. Both documents had all the official seals, stickers, and watermarks that you might want to prove their authenticity. The dates of each transaction were correct.

"Oh, no" they assured me, "we believe you. But, we still can't accept these papers."

I'm thinking - do they really want me to go back to the dealership and ask them to print out a new receipt for three days before we actually bought the car?

Evidently, yes.

"Señorita, the dealership knows perfectly well that these dates have to match. It's their fault for not doing it correctly in the first place. I'm really sorry, but you'll have to get a new one."

Back I go to the dealership, where they dutifully print out a new bill of sale, and tell me they think the Verificentro manager is off his rocker. "There's nothing that says the registration and the bill of sale has to have the same date!" they cry.

Who's right? I will probably never know.

The new bill was just want the doctor ordered. I got my Doble Cero sticker, though I lost two hours of my life I'll never get back.

Don't sweat the little things? Not here in Mexico.

Beautiful Failure

2005-10-16T23:57:00.000-05:00

That is what Washington's Dulles airport is classified as in a unscientific but entertaining and somehow spot-on review of airports around the world by Tim, a frequent flier cum law professor. Beautiful Failures lie somewhere in the bottom half of a system that runs from "The Best" to "Horrors".

The airports at the top of the list have scored highly with Tim for their architecture, atmosphere, convenience, views, and the intangibles that set a world-class airport apart from the crowd. Hong Kong is fêted for its train ride featuring Mr. Bean. Kathmandu gets kudos for its mellow Nepali staff. (No place I've ever wanted a Sherpa more than when lugging my oversized bags alone at the airport.) Vancouver wins out simply because there are "Canadians everywhere".

On the other end of the spectrum, Tim reports bug infestations in Cairo, felonous taxi drivers in New Delhi, and Moscow's "unspeakable food". Horrors, indeed.

Tim seems to have a bit of the daredevil in him, despite his dislike of insect swarms following him to the gate. In the "Memorable" category, he gives a thumbs-up to Kingston, Jamaica's port of entry, for it's "atmosphere of wild abandon" but a thumbs-down to the aggressive marijuana sellers. Sierra Leone's capital airport is admittedly full of mercenaries, but the helicopter ride you must take to the city - presumably to avoid said mercenaries - is quite the thrill. Would we call the Baghdad airport "memorable" too, Tim?

Still, calm is not completely forsaken in these reviews. Chicago scores high for its "pleasant" Midwesterners, and Singapore for "small town".

Just as I don't always agree with A.O. Scott, I'm not wholly convinced by Tim. As anyone who has tried to get to Dulles from DC can tell you, he's correct that its fatal flaw is its unexplicable location miles into the hills of northern Virginia on a road that is teeming with commuter traffic 23 hours a day. I fail, however, to see the redeeming beauty in the place that he quotes.

Sure, a good picture or two makes the sweeping roof line look nice. Enter, though, and you are faced with wood-paneling straight out of the Brady Bunch's den and shuttle buses to the gates that look like kindergarten-crude versions of Star Wars' AT-AT Walkers. I waited for 20 minutes in line Thursday before ticketing agents pointed me to the international flight check-in counters, hid just 'round the corner with no signs pointing travelers their way. Ain't no purty architecture gonna make up for poor design inside, where it counts.

All travelers to DC: make every effort you can to fly into Washington National airport, rated as the best U.S. airport for the only slightly cheating taxi drivers, convenient location, and top-notch shoe shines.

Mexico makes the list twice, with the naive tourists in Cancun rubbing Tim the wrong way and the general scariness of the Mexico City airport. Maybe he hasn't been here in a while? Benito Juarez airport is subject to the whims of Tenochitlan traffic, but it is generally clean, has short check-in lines, and is right on a metro stop. The taxis leaving are regulated by zones. It's also going through a renovation that is putting in gleaming marble floors and vaulted ceilings.

Tim, come back. Reconsider your rating. If the wild dogs in Calcutta didn't phase you, how scary can modern Mexico City be? I'll show you the bar where you can drink cheap until dawn, the food court with Subway and Starbucks, and the nicest little regulated porters you ever did meet. Surely that merits a "passable" in your book?

Back in the U.S.

2005-10-14T08:50:00.000-05:00

United States of Mexico, that is.

We didn't like that boring ol' country to the North, anyways. It's so predictable.

Busted!

2005-10-13T12:55:00.000-05:00

In clean and orderly Washington, riders are strictly not allowed to eat or drink anything on public transportation. I was familiar with the food police on the subway - I've had numerous friends threatened with tickets for snacking while riding. I didn't know the rules extended to the buses, however.

On the 52 northbound, at approximately 11:30am this morning, I was caught in the act of sipping a chai latte while riding. The driver - none too pleased at this blatant breach of his vehicle's clearly posted rules - singled me out in front of the whole bus, called me to the front, and asked me to read Rule #2 out loud.

Do not consume any food or beverages on Metro.

Shamed, I did as he asked. I sheepishly read Rule #2 out loud while all the passengers looked at me and mumbled a quick 'sorry' to the driver. He told me to hold on to my cup until I got off, and let me slink back to my seat. Clearly he thought that I wasn't sufficiently rehabilitated, because he kept glancing back in the mirror to check on me.

As a former teacher, I applaud his strict management of his bus's riders. As a generally law-abiding citizen, I would have been fine without the public humiliation.

Troubled.

2005-10-12T13:34:00.000-05:00

In two weeks in the U.S., I have failed to make it to my Mecca - Target. I love everything about the store. (Except for the house brand Crystal Light... don't be thinking it's the same.) It is the only shopping experience that I miss in Mexico... the wide aisles, the good deals, the modern design, and the corporate social responsibility to make all that materialism go down easier.

Washington, to my surprise, doesn't have a Target. They're all in the suburbs. I had been dreaming of my trip to stare at the bathroom cabinets, check out cute styles of shower curtains, spend half an hour browsing the hair products aisle, see what Isaac Mizrahi had whipped up this season, and pick up a few greeting cards and a screwdriver. I had to make do with CVS, which is no substitute.

DC residents, fear not. The big empty lot next to the Columbia Heights metro stop is rumored to be the city's first Tar-jay. Enjoy it for me.

Target executives who might be reading this post: Mexicans like good design at fair prices, too. Please don't keep forcing me to go to Walmart.

Strange D.C.

2005-10-10T22:06:00.000-05:00

Over the last few days in Washington, I've had all sortsa DC moments.

1. I almost elbowed Thomas Friedman off the sidewalk outside the Hay Adams hotel.

2. I marveled at the array of armored, tinted, drivered Escalades and Town Cars outside the AFL-CIO headquarters. Workers of the world, unite!

3. I've run into Kennedy School folks on the subway, in the World Bank, in Adams-Morgan, in Dupont. They're everywhere.

4. I had a cabbie pick up another random passenger on the road. Evidently they're allowed to do that. If they weren't enough of a racket already...

5. I had a Galician sternly tell me that gallego was a language, not a dialect.

6. I saw the Iraqi embassy, nicely located among the manses of Dupont Circle.

7. I´ve waited for meetings in the lobbies more pretentious than even New York.

8. I took pictures in a photo booth with a random person. I don't know if that's really a 'D.C. moment', but it was a moment to remember.

For all you foreigners...

2005-10-05T08:27:00.000-05:00

Don't think the U.S. is monolithic in its political leanings. My friends and I passed by a t-shirt in the front window of a store in Harvard Square with a disturbingly realistic depiction of George Bush sucking the lifeblood out of Lady Liberty while blood trickles down his fangs onto his chin.

Granted, Cambridge, Massachusetts is often referred to as the 'People's Republic of Cambridge'. However, I bet a fair number of people from other countries would be surprised that some Americans are as critical as they are of the Bush administration. Thank goodness for the melting pot, I tell ya.

Sage advice from a wise woman

2005-10-04T23:24:00.000-05:00

"don't wait until you're ready to be prepared!"

- C. Morin
10/4/05

I heart the Ethicist.

2005-10-03T00:25:00.000-05:00

Randy Cohen may not be a household name to you all, but he's a celebrity to me. The author of the Sunday New York Times Magazine's Ethicist column, he comes to the rescue of the morally confused. His witty and well-considered replies guide dilemma-stricken mortals to choose the right, as the Mormons say. I like them because they emphasize morality and common sense, two things of which everyone could probably use a little more.

Imagine my glee when I saw he would provide the final word on a mini-scandal that had bubbled around my campus last year. Students in our master's program are required to complete a two week-long professional role play. Classes are suspended, and students immerse themselves in the minutae of a policy problem that the faculty chooses for them, coming up with a proposal for the appropriate policymakers.

A few years ago, the topic was the rebuilding of Afghanistan. The students in my year tackled coming up with a health care plan for either of the two presidential candidates. Last year, the faculty revealed their topic: the crisis in American military recruitment. The best proposal would be forwarded to the Department of Defense for their perusal.

Immediately, a cadre of students raised bloody hell. Why did they have to help the big bad military? They hate the military, their war in Iraq, and their discriminatory policies! Why, they weren't going to help the perpetrators of such horrors! They wanted to boycott the project!

I kept thinking, "What kind of public servants are you?" What happened to engaging the opposition and trying to change organizations from within? What about using your critical thinking skills instead of refusing to act? And, how about a little perspective folks? It's. not. real. life.

Mr. Cohen came down on my side. (I knew he would.)

Even better, one of the afore-mentioned group of preachy ideologues was the same person who had sublet me her apartment for a month last year, only to renege on her offer a week later, leaving my family without a place to stay for graduation. Maybe I should prepare my own missive to the Ethicist....

Trying to remember February...

2005-10-02T16:50:00.000-05:00

Today is one of those gorgeous warm fall days that makes me want to move straight back to New England. There's a street fair going on in Harvard Square, sailboats bobbing all over the harbor, and an indian summer sun glinting off the State House.

Just think 19 degrees, stepping in slushy puddles, and nor'easters...just think icy sidewalks, frozen hair, wearing wool in May... just think blizzards, shoveling cars out of snowbanks, and waterproof boots...

Where am I?

2005-09-25T20:10:00.000-05:00

Not too far from Manhattan, it seems, at least when it comes to chic restaurants.

Mercer Kitchen in Soho may be miles away from Asia de Cuba in Midtown, but here they are just down the street from each other. Sushigroove - the Japanese restaurant cum nightclub where I first ate with friends in San Francisco - is walking distance from where I live. Seems to be that American restaurateurs have figured out what Mexican entrepreneurs have known for a long time - chilangos of a certain class like to eat interesting food in the hippest of settings and wash it down with a $9 martini, just like us. No tacos here, folks - you are more likely to run into a scallop bisque with ginger and Asian pepper or wasabi foam topping a filet mignon.

For those of you more attuned to middle American standards of cuisine - I saw two Krispy Kreme stores last weekend. The only fusion in that place is between fats and sugars - but boy, do those doughnuts make me proud to be an American. I'm guessing they'll win over the Mexicans, despite their less-hallowed pedigree.

Feeling the Burn

2005-09-22T22:16:00.000-05:00

No great stories today, because I've limped my way through yesterday and today's meetings with some minor stomach problems. Not Montezuma's Revenge.... maybe Montezuma's Annoyance?

Just goes to show it can hit you anytime, anywhere. I drank a glass of tap water - gringos, insert melodramatic gasp of horror here - about two weeks ago and did not, despite dire predictions to the contrary in every guidebook, fall down dead. I eat fried cow innards in the street. Fresh fruits and veggies? Those too.

I cook at home for the last few days... and I get myself sick. Boo.

This post is humbly dedicated to Elise. Respect.

And the Oscar goes to...

2005-09-21T23:00:00.000-05:00

Apparently, the guy we had a meeting with today.

I mean, I knew he was on the wealthy side. I did not, however, imagine he was an Academy Award winner.

He was a producer on the short documentary "Sentinels of Silence", which was by all accounts a spectacular aerial tour of seven of Mexico's most famous archaeological sights, narrated by Orson Welles.

He also had a sweet picture of the astronauts on the moon signed, "With love, Buzz Aldrin."

My my. All I kept thinking was, "How rude would it be if I asked to hold the Oscar?"

p.s. They look just like they do on TV.

Tengo hambre.

2005-09-20T00:00:00.000-05:00

After all that boring history about the Mexican revolution, here's some news to sink your teeth into....

A flour company in Mexico made the world's largest taco yesterday. The so-called 'macrotaco' was enveloped by one sole tortilla that was over 60 feet long and 3 feet wide and used 2 tons of meat. It fed 10,000 people - each with their own little bite of history in the making.

The occasion was the 409th anniversary of the founding of the city of Monterrey. You know, because for number 409, she deserves something special.

Not Cinco de Mayo

2005-09-16T03:15:00.000-05:00

Folks, you may choke on your taco or throw a margarita in my face upon hearing such blasphemy, but I feel duty-bound to tell you despite the risks: Cinco de Mayo is not Mexican Independence Day.

"What?" you splutter. "I've been doing body shots of tequila off of sweaty insurance adjusters for years on Cinco de Mayo! It's impossible to get a reservation at Chi-Chi's on May 5th! You mean I wasn't celebrating Mexico's liberty with every bite of Nachos El Grande?"

Not even close. It's the anniversary of a battle in 1862 in which Mexico disparaged their French invaders and repelled a slightly larger Gallic army from marching on Mexico City. Evidently a well-timed stampede of cattle had something to do with it. Napoleon, French emperor at the time and not known for his good sportsmanship, was not too keen on losing a war he had just started. He sent over 30,000 troops lickety-split and got the job done soon after, installing his crony Maximilian, Archduke of Austria, as the official Emperor of Mexico for the next few years. Predictably, this isn't the most cherished moment in Mexican history.

The dieciséis de septiembre, however, fills the country with unequivocal pride. After 300 years or so of Spanish rule, Mexicans finally had had enough. After a thrilling proclamation on September 16, 1810 that vowed death to the 'Spanish bastards' and 'bad government' - hey, one out of two ain't bad - Mexico set out on 11 years of war with the crown that ended when a Spanish army officer changed sides and joined the rebels, along with his loyal army.

Mexico celebrates their rousing but somewhat bloody declaration of independence with a host of activities, most important of which is the fabled long weekend in Acapulco. However, the event is marked with its due historical solemnity as well. The President comes out on the balcony at 11pm on the night of the 15th for a near replica of the famous grito, or yell, which he screams in a way that would put Howard Dean to shame,

¡Mexicanas y mexicanos!
¡Viva Hidalgo!
¡Viva Morelos!
¡Viva Allende!
¡Viva La Corregidora!
¡Vivan las mujeres y los hombres que nos dieron patria y libertad!
¡Viva nuestra Independencia!
¡Viva la República!
¡Viva nuestra pluralidad!
¡Viva la democracia!

¡Viva México!
¡Viva México!
¡Viva México!

Far from shooting his poll numbers into the ground, the President gets a hearty round of cheers, toasts, and general approval from the drunken masses crowded into Mexico City's gigantic main square, a place where it would seem fairly difficult to be crowded unless you were in a city of 20 million people.

In fact, the whole month of September is designated as the Month of the Homeland, and Mexico City has been draped in red, white, and green bunting since the waning days of August. The street vendors seem to have made inroads, for every taxi has wrapped their hood in the Mexican flag, every car is waving the tricolor from its rear window, and every government building is literally wrapped in banners from top to bottom. They even have a special red, white, and green dish, chiles en nogada, that you only eat in September.

So, here's your carte blanche to get a jump start on the tequila. Just promise me you'll say a quick "Long live Mexico!" as you slug it down. It'll make the chimichanga go down easier, I promise.

Lending a hand, and a barrel of oil or two.

2005-09-15T07:56:00.000-05:00

You may not have caught this - but last week the Mexican army showed up on U.S. soil for the first time since the year 1846, during the aptly (but not too creatively) titled Mexican-American War. You remember, it's the one where we won about half their territory from them?

Showing that 159 years is long enough to allow old grudges to rest in peace, 200 troops convoyed up to San Antonio last week - probably the most welcoming place in Texas for a bunch of Mexican soldiers. ('cepting them there 'Remember the Alamo' folks) The half of the city that is of Mexican origin came out in full force along the route - waving flags and signs to welcome the olive green trucks.

The army brought doctors, nurses, and supplies - and quickly set up mobile kitchens to feed refugees. Mexico also sent a Navy ship to the Mississippi coast to help with the rescue and recovery effort, and another convoy is due to arrive in Texas this week.

This was all over the Mexican news for days, but I didn't find much coverage of it in the stateside media outlets. My U.S. TV news being limited to the CBS Early Show on the American Network, I'm not that surprised. They were quite careful to tell me all about heirloom tomatoes this morning, however. There might be a reason they are last in the ratings. Still, there was nothing in my beloved New York Times, either. Harumph.

In fact, I haven't seen a whole lot about the aid that over 100 countries are sending to us, except "believe it or not" kind of stories about Fidel Castro's apparently very serious offer to send medicine and doctors. We expect the stalwart Brits to open up their checkbooks, but did you imagine that Bangladesh would pony up $1 million dollars? Not surprisingly, Kuwait is the money leader with a $500 million dollar donation. But Venezuela? Presumably, the cut-rate oil isn't simply an attempt to assuage murderous impluses among all the 700 Club fans in the Deep South. Maybe somewhat surprisingly, people still want to help Americans.

And, you know what? We need the help. (Except Cuba's, it seems.)

I'm sure lots of people are thinking it, but I'll say it. Thank you, Mexico. And, thank you, South Korea and Sri Lanka. Thanks, Quatar. Thanks, Honduras. Thank you, everybody.

Give and you shall recieve. I can't help but wondering what we would have been given if the world had received a little more from us recently.

Tiny Bubbles

2005-09-14T21:54:00.000-05:00

Coke here has much more carbonation than I'm used to. Aside from causing mildly embarassing situations in public, it's just uncomfortable to drink. When you put a straw in it (they're all about the straws in Mexico), the straw won't even stay in the glass. It starts to float to the top because of all the bubbles pushing it up! No one here seems to mind, though. Seems Coke has done their carbonation level marketing well.

Coke Classic tastes better here, though. Like in most of the planet where agriculture companies don't receive insanely high corn subsidies, they use real sugar instead of high fructose corn syrup. Let me tell you, it makes a difference. Sugar is yu-um-my.

Diet Coke - Coca-Cola Light in Mexico - is also a bit more tasty. Here it's sweetened not only with aspartame, but with acesulfame potassium. I have no idea what that is, but there's less of an aftertaste. Evidently, this is the formula they use everywhere except for the U.K and the U.S. If anyone in the States wants to try international-style Diet Coke, the new Coca-Cola Zero uses the same two sweeteners... it might even be the same formula. If it's got U.S. carbonation levels, it might be the perfect cola!

p.s. Any more seasoned folks out there ever heard of Delaware Punch? Coke sells it here - it looks straight out of the 50s.

Hora Nacional

2005-09-11T22:34:00.000-05:00

I was just in the car making a Blockbuster/7-Eleven run (typical Mexico City pastimes, if you can believe it) and I just wanted some tunes to brighten up the rainy night. I kept pressing 'seek' in vain, trying to find some music. I tried all my preprogrammed FM stations. I even tried AM stations! Not a single station was spinning.

Instead, I kept getting the same darn guy lecturing me on the amazing phenomenon that is the son huasteca, the traditional music from the mountains of San Luís Potosí. 104.9? Boring lecturing man. 87.5? Boring lecturing man. 93.3? Boring lecturing man. What is up?

Good news: I'm not going crazy. Mexico has what is called the hora nacional. Every Sunday night at 10pm every radio station gives free time to the government to broadcast whatever they want. Every radio station. In the entire country. Listening to the same boring lecturing man.

Evidently in the 1950s and 1960s it was used to broadcast political propaganda. That's not what the government says, but I tend to imagine that the PRI didn't only use it to "strengthen national unity and communicate with the people." I guess now they've turned to cultural propaganda, which is certainly better. At least there was a nice song or two in the middle.

Thank you, Al Gore.

2005-09-07T23:03:00.000-05:00

Hallelujah for the internet. As we discussed before, you can talk on the phone for free over a broadband connection now. This is especially useful to me now that I have discovered that installing a phone line in your house in Mexico costs $150. $150? Does that make sense? How much does it cost in the U.S. - 20 or 30 bucks?

It would take the people in the country who live on $4 a day or less - 47 million of them - at least five weeks salary to earn that much. A quarter of the country would end up paying over half of their yearly salary just in phone bills!

Too bad only one-tenth of people in the country have enough money to use the internet.

Although still send the KitchenAid mixer, please!

2005-09-05T21:48:00.000-05:00

Seems I've been confusing the hell out of a lot of you. I've had a lot of life changes recently, but none of them were - as far as I remember - getting hitched.

Still, a lot of you - even some who I talked to last month - have been curious/troubled/upset you didn't get a wedding invitation after taking a look at my bio on my work's website.

I'm listed with my last name, followed by my mother's maiden name. In Mexico, everybody uses two last names. Your father's last name comes first, then your mother's last name. (At least, the first last name of each parent.) You always use both last names when writing your full name, but you often just introduce yourself with the first one. For instance, if Salma Hayek Jiménez were to marry the brooding Mexican actor Gael García Bernal, their darling hijitos would all carry the last names "García Hayek." Not quite as mellifluous, but you get the picture.

Mexican women do not usually take their husband's last name when they get hitched. And we thought they were all enslaved by overbearing, mustachioed, machista husbands - look who's liberated now! Sometimes, either in formal situations or with very traditional families, the woman may add her husband's last name to hers, preceded by "de". You'll notice that the president's wife is often referred to as Marta Sahagún de Fox.

So, rest easy. I'm still single. I just added the second name to not like the child of an unwed mother who - gulp! - only has one last name.

Not that it helps me blend - the average age of marriage for women here is around 22. Jeez.

USA: 2 Mexico: 0

2005-09-04T14:14:00.000-05:00

Did anyone know there was a World Cup preliminary match last night in the US? Did you hear that the Americans' win vaulted them into first place in their region and qualified them for a World Cup berth? Can anyone even tell me where the next World Cup is?

Okay, I shouldn't act so high and mighty because I, like most Americans, can't figure out what the rest of the world thinks is so cool about kicking a ball around for two hours. Where are the goals? Where are the plays? I am clueless.

However, as I am now living in Latin America, I am going to have to change my ways. As the collective national apoplectic fits guised as World Cup fever approach, heart rates are rising precipitously across the continent. Here in Mexico, the two (!) stations that are covering the event have already started commercials for their coverage which begins in....11 months. Domino's is taking $2 off the price of your pizza if you answer the door with your face painted red, white, and green.

So, last night I found myself in the weird position of rooting for a team I knew nothing about because - what other choice did I have? I'll join in the fun and root for the Mexicans against any other country, but against my own?

I guess it's my country, but it's not my team yet.

Blast from the Past

2005-09-02T19:37:00.000-05:00

In my effort to be an active participant in Mexico City's vibrant cultural life, Jorge and I went to the children's museum for 'adult night' last night. Nothing kinky, just a lot of people trying to fingerpaint while sitting at tables made for 6-year olds and trying to shock themselves with the static electricity games. Out on the patio, there was a great jazz band, dinner service, and a bar. I, however, do not recommend wine before seeing a 3D IMAX movie. I got to lie down on a bed of nails and freeze my shadow on a glow-in-the-dark wall, so I went to bed happy as a clam.

Take 5 minutes...

2005-09-02T13:22:00.000-05:00

... and please write to your senator and representatives to urge them to send the support to New Orleans and the Gulf Coast that it needs. The federal government has not moved on the scale it needs to have done to mitigate this disaster. There are people still trapped in their homes and others waiting without food or essential medicine. If you need some encouragement, please listen to this interview with Mayor Nagin of New Orleans. It's heartbreaking to listen to him begging for help.

One down...

2005-09-01T17:24:00.000-05:00

... hundreds to go. I finished my first grant proposal today. It was for $80,000. All I could think was, "Damn, this sounds a lot like a couple decent salaries!" If only...

I also started thinking I should cash in on this famed network of mine. Surely some readers out there are experienced in grant-writing. If you count finagling money out of rich foundations for good causes one of your fortés, please drop me a line.

Like she's in the other room!

2005-08-30T23:39:00.000-05:00

After tonight, I have to put a shout out for the Skype internet telephone service. I just spent forever on the (internet) phone with Elise, my roommate from when I lived in Guanajuato. She just downloaded the program and wanted to test it out. We hung out, fixing our blogs and trading html code, for about two hours. It was just like old times!

It hasn't been problem-free (I've had some trouble when using a 64 kbps line), but it's pretty darn good. Even though Elise was thousands of miles away, it sounded like she was in my ear. And - the best part? It's free!

Here's hoping my friends in Burundi, Bratislava, and Boston all get Skype-ready as soon as possible.

I'm famous!

2005-08-30T10:32:00.000-05:00

I'm using my fifteen minutes up all on magazines. If an interview in Japanese GQ wasn't enough, my friend Nysh tells me there's a picture of me from commencement in the September issue of Harper's!

Anyway, I haven't seen it - I'm sure I look lovely after waking up at 6am and wilting in the humidity for hours while Larry Summers conferred degrees. If anyone finds a link to the story, please pass it on!

Update: I've heard I wouldn't want to see the photo. Please don't go out of your way to look for it. Just be happy knowing it's there.

TV Paradise?

2005-08-29T21:50:00.000-05:00

I don't watch much TV, but I enjoy unwinding in front of a smart one-hour drama, trying not to cry during Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and keeping track of the latest reality show bootee.

Two years of grad school, though, left me adrift in conversations about pop culture. I had no idea who was the president on '24' or even on 'The West Wing', for that matter. 'The Amazing Race' might well live up to its name, but I got it mixed up with 'Survivor' and 'Road Rules'. Where is 'The Real World' again this year, Boise?

I admired my friend Christine who watched 'Desperate Housewives' religiously, but never seemed to finish my work in time to sit down and relax on Sunday nights. In desperation, I turned - voyeur-style - to US Weekly to keep up with who was going to the Emmys. At least I could flip through the pictures on my walk to school, right?

I think that Mexico might be the perfect answer. Tonight I watched the second episode of 'Lost' - J.J. Abrams' well-regarded new television series about a group of plane crash survivors stranded on an eerie tropical island. There's supposedly all sorts of twists and turns... let me tell you, I'm hooked already. The third Apprentice is queuing up, and I'm going to catch up with the first season of Blowout! I'm erasing two years of social exile via digital cable, baby!

Lest any of you gloat that Mexico is one year behind the U.S. in TV, I must note that this is the second go-round of 'Lost'. The first one showing started in February, which isn't too much of a delay. Plus, only the popular shows come here, so no need to slog through a million crappy CBS pilots.

So 'Lost' fans, let me know what to look out for... just don't spoil anything.

Do you like piña coladas?

2005-08-28T17:10:00.000-05:00

I do, especially if they are free. At the lovely Karmina Palace hotel, all you had to do was ask.

I had a relaxing stay in Manzanillo this weekend, watching pelicans dive-bomb captive fish and iguanas drip off of trees. For all of you jaded by Club Med stays and Carnival Cruises, allow me to rave ... it was a weekend of firsts for me! My first all-inclusive resort stay, my first time ordering room service, my first time asking a fancy restaurant waiter for daiquiris in to-go cups... High-class, all the way.

I was particular interested in the whole nightly show phenomenon, wherein the beach volleyball activity leader from 3:30 magically transformed into Mayan flautist when the sun went down. I was particularly enamored of the boyish bilingual announcer who pumped up the crowd by shouting "Let's give it up for our prehispanic music, everybody!!!" and trying to get the lone family from Vancouver to chant "Ca-na-da! Ca-na-da!"

I'd go back, oh yeah.

We are the devil's spawn.

2005-08-24T22:48:00.000-05:00

Mexico, like most countries run by dysfunctional governments, has its fair share of protests. Two weeks ago 400 students who didn't get accepted to UNAM, a federal university, shut down the city's major thoroughfare to protest the admissions office's decision. There are a few hundred middle-aged women from small towns in Veracruz who have been camping out in tents in the center of town since November. Evidently, frustrated at the cold shoulder they've been getting, they all got naked a few weeks ago and stood in the middle of the city's biggest traffic circle.

So, when Alberto and I drove by the state healthcare system's headquarters the other day, we weren't surprised to see a gaggle of people listening to a man vigorously riling up the dissatisfied crowd. We were surprised when we rolled down the window to hear him angrily attacking the alma mater of the healthcare system's head, Dr. Santiago Levy,

"... and he is from Harrrrrrvard.... in the state of Massachuuuuuuuusetts...where they learn how to charge high salaries and nothing else...."

So much for the vaunted Harvard name, eh? I guess my days as a grassroots activist here are over.

My life is complete.

2005-08-23T23:33:00.000-05:00

I found Law and Order, subtitled, on cable tonight. Brilliant.

Breathtaking.

2005-08-20T18:08:00.000-05:00

We went to the Museo Soumaya today and I unexpectedly ran into one of my favorite works of art.

The museum is in a shopping mall, of all things. However, it is one of the most important small museums in the world, founded by Carlos Slim - a Mexican magnate in just about everything, fourth richest man in the world, and avid art collector.

Its size is not impressive, but it seems like every work in it is. The Soumaya has one of the two most important collections of Rodin pieces in the world. It has several paintings each from El Greco, Monet, and Rubens, and extensive collections of Renoir and Degas. Titian? They've got it. Picasso? That too! It's amazing what you can do when you are backed by billions.

Pieter Brueghel the Elder painted Flemish Proverbs in 1559. Not many of his paintings are left - there are probably only about 40 extant, with over one-third of these in the Kunsthistoriches Museum in Vienna, perennially on my traveling list. I've only seen four in person. Flemish Proverbs had been in a museum in Berlin until Carlos Slim bought it.

I didn't know. I turned the corner into the escuela flamenca section and... couldn't breathe for about five minutes. I'm not sure how long I stood there, 12 inches away from one of my favorite paintings from my favorite artist. The closest I had ever been to the painting beforewas a postcard I bought at the Met when I lived in New York. For a minute I pondered about just how lax the security seemed to be. Realizing being deported was not on my 'to do' list, I just tried to breathe in as many Breughel molecules as possible before they kicked me out.

I'm already planning my trip back.

On Crack?

2005-08-09T18:52:00.000-05:00

I went to a small store to buy a phone card today to call Alissa in Guatemala. After I asked about the one with the best price to our neighbor to the south, another customer in the store asked me if I was Guatemalan. What?!?! I look about as far from Guatemalan as you get before you hit Scandinavia.

Wrong End of the Spectrum

2005-08-07T11:32:00.000-05:00

So, brilliant person that I am, I left my deodorant, glasses, contact lenses accoutrements and all my makeup meticulously packed on the counter in Phoenix when I left for the airport. Cue the sighs of "typical Laura!"

I can't tweeze. I can't buff. I can't exfoliate. My blotches are just a little too blotchy. Who am I?

So, I went to the local supermarket to look for some basic makeup. Concealer, mascara, and blush. It wasn't as easy a trip as I thought, though.

First thing is, makeup is more expensive here. Since I had just replenished my makeup collection at the Revlon company store in Phoenix for 20% of the normal prices, I balked at paying $7.95 for the mascara I had just bought for $2.

Second, makeup is darker here. You'd think this would be obvious, but I wasn't expecting my shade to be that hard to find. Contrary to what many people think, there are a lot of Mexicans with light skin. I got excited when I found some familiar shades, but they seemed to have little correlation to their counterparts in the States. Classic Ivory was anything but. Sand? Maybe on a volcanic beach!?

Luckily, a big grocery store saved me. They had a huge makeup section - complete with shoplifting detectors when you entered - with shades more flattering to my fair complexion. In an homage to my teenager-no-allowance days, I picked up some nice Cover Girl basics to ride out the storm. I'll wait 'til I'm rich to go for the Neutrogena.

Where's a good old-fashioned iron lung when you need it?

2005-08-04T09:12:00.000-05:00

Don't ever use a Scotchgard-type fabric protector called "Fabric Shield." The only precaution it mentioned was to use the spray in a well-ventilated area (done) and not to inhale the vapors (clearly not as successful on this one).

Within two hours of the aforementioned aerosol application, Jorge and I were about to keel over. Each breath felt like someone was scraping their nails on the insides of our lung sacs. If you coughed... well, you just didn't cough. We tried to speak in whispers, using shallow breaths in order to keep the pain at bay. When we both ran to the bathroom at the grocery store expecting to throw up, we got a little more worried.

Luckily, there was a doctor in the supermarket giving free consultations just as we were getting desperate. He told us we had a 'reaction to the spray' and prescribed us anti-nausea medicine. Aaaah, a reaction to the spray! Thanks, doc.

Two days later - I'm feeling almost better. Whatever silicone coating keeps red wine from staining a white couch had finally faded from my lungs. We're now only drinking clear liquids near the furniture, but it's a small price to pay for no more premature episodes of emphysema.

Not Home, but not Homesick

2005-08-01T19:54:00.000-05:00

So today, after a mere three days in my adopted city, I was feeling a little angsty. I wanted to be out looking at cool art-deco apartments with roof terraces, buying sleek modern sofas, and getting to know the jolly man at the coffee shop on the corner of my perfect tree-lined block in La Condesa.

However, severe liquidity limitations had foiled my best-laid plans. I wasn't going to be in a new 2BR anytime soon. And, I wasn't really familiar with the neighborhood in which I would be staying. Somehow, it all seemed so much easier last summer when I knew I had to enjoy every minute before it was over.

A quick trip to Costco, though, was all it took to get me out of my funk. The moment I entered, I felt soothed by the 30-foot ceilings and oh-so-American red and blue signs. The gum and beef jerky was in the same place! The food court had the chicken bake that tempts me everytime I've shopped through a lunch hour! I even found the eyeglass frames in the color I couldn't find in Phoenix - for $10 cheaper!

Really, Costco was almost exactly the same. They had party-size veggie platters, vacuum cleaners, and 48-count sparkly gel pens for the most discerning third-grader's back to school stash. About the only thing that was different was the book table - it was about 1/4 the size that it is in the U.S.

The Home Depot was our next stop - aside from the man demonstrating do-it-yourself lime green stucco to add some punch to your home exterior, we could have been in Des Moines. Okay, maybe San Antonio.

When you're far away, there are always little ways to make you feel not so separate. So what if they happen to all be American-based multinational corporations!

First Day at Work...

2005-07-28T23:55:00.000-05:00

... and first day in the city. I'm back in Mexico City, Ciudad de la Esperanza, but this time for good. It's familiar, it's fun - at some points this past year I even missed it. Maybe that was when the Cambridge bars kicked me out on the frozen streets at 12:59 am.

Sadly Mistaken...

2004-12-04T19:27:00.000-06:00

My attempts to find a spare minute between studying and sleeping have come up futile. In fact, I haven't even found a happy equilibrium between sleeping and studying. Clearly, I've failed at my promise to post. Maybe it's just that the US isn't as newsworthy as Mexico? I will, however, be back in Mexico in January with more tales to tell...

Limericks on Vacation

2004-10-13T17:14:00.000-05:00

My favorite tourist shirt ever, spotted this weekend on the eponymous island vacation spot, stated:

I am the man from Nantucket...

Bumper Sticker Identity

2004-10-08T13:42:00.000-05:00

Bumper stickers seem to be a peculiarly American phenomenon, satisfying a need to assert our identity, yet from arm's length. Where prevailing politesse prevents us from bringing up the abortion debate with the guy one cubicle over, nothing so prevents us from driving up to the office with a shiny decal onto our cars proclaiming"Pro-choice... and I vote!" We get "My other car is a broomstick" to counter "God is my copilot" in the struggle between secularity and religiousness and find out parenting preferences from when "Go Slow: Baby On Board" meets "My kid beat up your honor student."

My favorite bumper sticker ever, spotted years ago in Houston, simply read:

Texas: Bigger Than France

If there ever were a motto to rival "Don't Mess With Texas" that better encapsulated the pride and prevailing politics of the Lone Star State, I have yet to see it. This week, I felt that the metaphor came full circle as I walked to school through Harvard Square. A clunker -- am I just imagining a Volvo? -- pulled up at the stoplight just long enough to read:

France Was Right

I thought for a second the driver might have been the mayor of Cambridge, simply advertising the latest resolution passed by the City Council. One could not find a more appropriate and illustrative Cantabrigian counterpart.

Poor France, home of Cambembert and Camus, has been reduced in American discourse to an adhesive symbol of the polarity between Northeastern intellectual liberals and proudly independent conservative Texans. Wasn't EuroDisney punishment enough?

Back In Action

2004-10-06T09:36:00.000-05:00

So, due to popular demand (read: my uncle nagged me enough), I'm getting back on the horse. Despite such obstacles problem sets, papers, and myriad meetings, I will endeavor to provide the public with a running commentary on life from a city that might be as north of the border as it gets: Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Lest you doubt, if the first four weeks are any indication, Cambridge might prove a worthy rival for the surreality of Mexico. Quit snickering and stay tuned...

My kind of comida!

2004-08-09T15:06:00.000-05:00

Ryann's sociological inquest into typical Mexican customs continue...

A friend of mine invited us to a comida in Cuernavaca last weekend. I assumed 15 to 20 people, a big table, and some convivial banter with the people seated near us. Comida, evidently, means not food, but "big-ass party" in Mexico. There were about 250 people at the party, mingling, eating huitlacoche quesadillas, drinking palomas (tequila, Fresca, and a salted rim), and -- oddly -- intently following an Argentine magician around.

Through the course of the night we went through 60 bottles of alcohol, which I might note comes out one-quarter of a bottle for every guest. Some of the guests , of course, had more than their fair share. 6 hours after I got there, we finally abandoned the party when every red-blooded male left in the backyard was in imminent danger of being thrown into the pool. Some urges are universal, I guess.

Most of us packed into Ta'izz to dance the night away Ryann got the royal treatment a la mexicana... show us at a club at midnight when it's still practically empty, dance 'til the wee hours, fend off Mexican man who is 'in love' with you, gorge yourself on tacos with the rest of the under-30 population, then fall into bed and sleep until your clock doesn't say the ever-offensive "A.M." anymore.

Run, don't walk.

2004-08-07T16:30:00.000-05:00

Please go out and read "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" by Michael Chabon immediately. I read my first novel by him when I was in high school, "The Mysteries of Pittsburgh." It was wonderful, but this book blows it (and about every other piece of fiction I've ever read) out of the water.

I realize that I'm not introducing you to an obscure bit of prose that you can impress the guys in black turtlenecks down at the Comp. Lit. department with -- the Pulitzter Prize committee, among others, beat me to the punch. Don't let the mainstream praise ward you off -- this book is the real deal. The sentences are so well-crafted that my jaw dropped when reading certain ones. For someone like me who devour books like an Olympic weightlifter does steroids, this book threw me for a loop. It was so engrossing I kept having to put it down, in fear of the day that page 636 would come and the characters wouldn't be a part of my daily life.

This book is epic, moving, lyrical, intelligent... for a less-trite and better-written description, read the NY Times Review at the link on the left.

Add champagne and stir...

2004-08-05T18:29:00.000-05:00

Why wait until January for a clean slate and a bit of the bubbly? Ryann and I decided her visit warranted a celebration -- last night was New New Year's Eve! She brought sparkly party hats, shiny necklaces, and noisemakers from the US and we did it up right, resolutions and all.

We met some of my coworkers out at a bar, all who had been predictably skeptical of the whole idea. I was a little worried they would not have quite the level of enthusiasm as we did -- who could, really? -- but they were really into it. Ah, the powers of a glass of champagne. We got the men in little party hats, the women in spangled pink garlands, and even did a countdown to midnight! A few hours of salsa dancing later, we called it a night.

If you are feeling in the need of a little rejuvenation in your life, why wait until 2005? New New Year's is just around the corner...

Stocking Up

2004-08-03T10:44:00.000-05:00

I have 3 men who live in my apartment and there are 5 enormous tubs of gel in the bathroom. What could they possibly be for? Are we saving up for the oft-cursed hair product shortages that often hit developing countries? Do Mexican men have hair that is significantly more poofy and unruly than average?

Vuelo Directo = Direct Flight, right?

2004-08-03T09:56:00.001-05:00

My parents and sister left DF yesterday at the ungodly hour -- to wake up, at least -- of 4 a.m. On their Aeromexico flight home which was supposed to have been direct, they made not one, not two, but THREE stops in Mexico before crossing into US airspace. Guadalajara was unexpected, but not unbelievable. Culiacan was surprising, but not completly mind-boggling for frequent Southwest Airlines flyers like my parents. By the time the plane descended for a third time into Hermosillo, however, they were doubting if they had even boarded the correct aircraft. All this came after being delayed a day and half in Arizona on the way here because 'the Mexico City airport was closed'. It wasn't. By the end, I think they were all ready to donate my sister's college money to fund a teleporter research grant.

Olde Tyme Mexico

2004-07-27T15:50:00.000-05:00

After a nice seafood dinner last night, my family and I had a nightcap at La Ópera bar. It's in the Centro Historico and dates from the 19th century, with the requisite mile-long carved wooden bar, ornate ceilings, and bordello-red velvet wallpaper. Supposedly the bullet hole in the ceiling is courtesy of Pancho Villa's revolver -- you know how rowdy those revolutionaries can get after a long day of outwitting the autoridades.

We sat in a highbacked booth and ordered drinks with names like "Silk Stockings" and "Angel's Kiss." It seemed like the perfect place for a power lunch full of mustachioed businessmen or, a little bit later in the evening, to take your secretary or, ah, niece for a nice quiet cocktail. Four thumbs up!

Now that kind of driver's ed I like!

2004-07-26T15:14:00.000-05:00

For all of you who have worried that I hurtle around town chauffered by drivers who are more preoccupied with soccer stats or Sábado Gigante than paying attention to the road, you have reason for relief. This morning's bus driver had a copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude", possibly the best novel ever written. And, no, he was not reading it.

Income Gap

2004-07-22T19:17:00.000-05:00

Last weekend, I went to the most luxurious apartment I have ever seen in my life. Just to get up the elevator, the doorman had to punch in a 5-digit code. When I walked in, my jaw dropped so far my friend asked me what was wrong. Of course, I couldn't answer him because I was too busy gaping at the view of Chapultepec Park.

Beyond being ridiculously gorgeous, the apartment was staffed with a waiter to bring me my drink order. From the bar. Whatever I wanted. Evidently, the house is only used for entertaining, which begs the questions: What could their real house possibly look like? and, Do they have any unmarried sons?

The income gap in Mexico is amazing. Over 53% live in poverty, which is defined as less than $2 a day. Half of those live on less than $1 a day. Yet, 11 of the world's billionaires live in Mexico! Although Mexico is truly now a middle-class country, I think what is most shocking is that the amazing wealth here in Mexico City is juxtaposed with the extreme poverty so nearby. Almost 60% of the wealth is concentrated in the richest 20% of society, making Mexico the country with the 9th most unequal income distribution in the world.

Living in a city where your group's bar tab for the evening could double the annual income of the woman begging on the street outside provides many moments of pause.

Chicken Run!

2004-07-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

As I went to grab some lunch today, I passed a chicken on the sidewalk. Mind you, I work in the dead center of a city of over 20 million people. I was surprised, but the chicken didn't seem fazed.

Driver's ed continued...

2004-07-19T16:20:00.001-05:00

Yesterday, my taxi driver was watching TV. There was a little TV sitting in the foot well of the front passenger seat. It was on.

I keep wondering what some hot-shot New York litigator would have done upon seeing their cabbie driving with the boob tube on.

Driver's ed, where are you?

2004-07-15T15:24:00.000-05:00

This morning on the way to work, my bus driver was perusing the sports section.

Not just when he was stopped in traffic, mind you. He had the newspaper open and propped up against the steering wheel while he was swerving in and out of traffic and intermittently slamming on the brakes to pick up unwitting new passengers, nonchalantly flipping pages.

I fully realize the monumental importance of Paraguay beating Brazil in the Copa America last night, but I'm not sure it's urgent reading while you are in charge of a directing a hurtling 3-ton vehicle stuffed with commuters through Mexico City rush hour traffic.

Hawaiana Heaven

2004-07-14T18:23:00.000-05:00

“Qué le doy, güerita, what can I get you?” says the man inside the torta cart on the corner of Lerma and Guadalquivir almost every day.

“Una torta hawaiana, por favor”, I answer predictably.

I’m addicted to tortas, especially ones piled with ham and grilled pineapple. Tortas are Mexico’s answer to the sandwich, but in a class of their own. You can get them filled with just about any kind of meat or cheese that’s available in Mexico, from shredded roast chicken to pork loin.

The best thing about them is the standard condiments. All tortas come piled with slices of ripe red tomato and creamy avocado. If you want your meal a little more picante, you can get spicy pickled carrots and jalapeños or some smoky chipotle sauce on top.

Tortas are always made on a bolillo, never on American-style sandwich bread. Those sandwiches are called, predictably, sandwiches , and are made on pan Bimbo. No, this is not a reference to the hordes of spring breakers in Cancún. The brand Bimbo is the Wonder Bread of Latin America; bolillos are crusty and freshly homemade.

Maybe I’ll branch out and get a torta de chorizo tomorrow. Then again, maybe not.

Películas à la Primera Plus

2004-07-12T18:26:00.000-05:00

Have you ever seen “The Order” starring Jean-Claude Van Damme? Don’t.

Though the ever-cuddly Charlton Heston has a minor role as a kindly archaeologist, not even Moses himself could save this gem. Charlton’s death plummets our muscly protagonist/reformed art smuggler into the quagmire of the Israeli justice system when he is framed for murder. Luckily, a gorgeous and well-built Jerusalem cop takes pity on Jean-Claude and helps him escape deportation, despite his having killed four of her fellow officers in a wild chase across the airport tarmac in a luggage cart.

It turns out the kind policewoman is an ex-member of a cult that is both trying to take down Jean-Claude and commit a major act of terror. Jean-Claude’s only chance to save the world from holy war is to steal the sacred scroll that the sect is using as motive for blowing up the Temple Mount. Needless to say, the sect does not want the scroll to be stolen. Lots of kickboxing ensues.

After vanquishing approximately twenty sect members, our fearless star is able to dispose of several tons of explosives – conveniently mounted on wheels so they can be easily rolled into a deep hole – and save the day, shapely Israeli police officer at his side.

Did I mention that the movie was dubbed into Spanish?

“The Order” is typical of the movies one is subjected to on Mexican bus rides. Although Mexican buses are worlds nicer than their American counterparts, the luxury does not extend to the video entertainment. The films shown are heavy on the bad action flick or strange sci-fi genre; both tend to be rife with jiggly women in tight-fitting uniforms. As you can see, my trip from Mexico City to Guanajuato this weekend was par for the course.

After “The Order”, my fellow travelers and I were treated to another dubbed classic -- “The Poseidon Adventure”. I'm pretty confident that Gene Hackman, Leslie Nielsen, and Ernest Borgnine’s voices were all done by the same actor. Luckily, the Mexican actors ably captured the over-acting of the original.

One could call it coincidence, but I’m pretty sure this trip was cosmic retribution for last year when I was traveling from Mexico City to Guanajuato and got to see“A Beautiful Mind” and “Good Morning, Vietnam” back-to-back and both subtitled. No one should be that lucky.

El pueblo unido...

2004-07-08T17:53:00.000-05:00

400,000 people make a big impression.

I attended a march a week ago here in Mexico City against crime. Better said, it was against the wave of assaults, kidnappings, and murders that started almost 10 years ago, and has continued to worsen. Mexico now has the honor of having the second-most kidnappings per capita after Colombia.

The funny thing is, Mexico City seems safe. People do whatever they do in other less crime-infested cities, just with more caution. You don't hail taxis on the street. You don't get money from an ATM at night. Some say you shouldn't drive alone at night.

It's not until you take a deeper look that you see how signfificant the crime wave has become. Shops that will armor your car share prime real estate space with Gucci and Hermes on the Rodeo Drive of Mexico City. Fancy stores have security guards with machine guns. Personal bodyguards linger in the background at the fanciest night spots.

And, if you start asking your Mexican friends, they'll all have a story of how crime touched them. Almost everyone has been mugged or knows someone who has. Many people know someone who has been a victim of Mexico's new specialty, the express kidnapping, where you are forced to take out cash up to your daily ATM limit and held to do it again just after midnight. My roommates know a woman who was killed after being kidnapped recently.

The march was along a 4km stretch to Mexico's main square, the Zócalo. The march was silent, for the most part, and everyone came dressed in white, for peace. The sheer number of people was impressive. When the Zócalo filled up with the first 100,000 people, the group sang the national anthem. The majority of the people were still waiting, crowding the streets approaching the plaza.

Even more moving were the people with posters, buttons, or t-shirts emblazoned with picture of murdered and kidnapped loved ones. Several people I saw held signs saying they themselves had been kidnapped. Surprisingly, or maybe not, there was a large contingent calling for the death penalty for such crimes.

Let's hope some real change comes out of this massive protest.

Menú del Día

2004-07-06T15:15:00.000-05:00

In México, the biggest meal of the day is lunch. People ususally eat around 2 or 3, fill themselves up, and munch on tacos or something light in the evening. Tons of restaurants open just for lunchtime and offer a set menu, or comida corrida. Today I went out and had a delicious lunch of shrimp soup, rice, black beans, and chicken with a chipotle cream sauce and topped with julienned poblano peppers and onions. I got as many fresh, warm tortillas as I wanted -– they could only have been fresher if had been sitting at the table next to the woman making them at the front of the restaurant. There was a salad bar with unlimited salad, fresh fruit, cold vegetables, and taquitos. To wash this bounty down, a bottomless pitcher of watermelon juice! I finished with a small dessert and am now sitting, catatonic, in front of my computer. Mmm....sugar coma.

The damage for all this gluttony? $3.