Festival Cervantino

Guanajuato is an old colonial city nestled in the crevices of the rolling hills about 370 km northwest of Mexico City. From October 3rd to October 21st, it is host to one of the largest arts festivals in the world, the Festival Cervantino - a celebration of Miguel de Cervantes (of Don Quijote acclaim) and a tribute to theatre, dance, music, and culture from all corners of the world and dating back several centuries.

The festival coincided with our día cultural for the month of October (one Friday per month we get a free day off from work to participate in a cultural event), so all of the business Fulbrights, many of the research Fulbrights, and friends we met along the way made a long weekend out of it. For me, the weekend started off on a positive note. Others weren't so lucky.

I left work early on Thursday, hopped on a luxury first class bus (seats extra wide, plenty of leg room, reclining all the way, foot rest, pillows, "free" lunch, the works...) and made my way to Guanajuato to meet up with friends. Unfortunately, I didn't have tickets to a show that evening like the two other groups of people that I was hoping to meet up with. Coincidentally, Femke, Neeti and Veyom bought tickets to the Ballet Folklórico de Amalia Hernandez (which my sister had just seen performed 2 days earlier at the University of Connecticut, go figure!) and had one extra ticket. Without knowing it, however, the show was performing that evening in León, about an hour away. With the grace of a little good luck, we all met up at the bus station, perfectly synchronized, caught a bus leaving 3 minutes later, got to Guanajuato 15 minutes before the show started, picked up our tickets, and were seated just as the curtain went up. It was an amazing show filled with beautiful indigenous dances from all regions of Mexico. To the right is one of the scenes at the end of the first act. I wish it could convey all of the emotion it evoked in me.

So, as previously mentioned, others didn't have quite such luck. The theme of arrivals was: accidents. One group's taxi got in an accident when a truck was attempting a multiple-point turn in the middle of a one-way-street (not surprising at all) and the taxista lost his patience (also not surprising). They were ok, and hailed another passing taxi hoping for better luck. Two other girls who were driving from D.F. were in one of the subterranean tunnels for which Guanajuato is famous, when a bunch of young, idiot chilangos with a massive dent already in the front of their car tried to brush up alongside of my friends to try to blame them for an obviously previous accident. After a long chase through and around the city by the boy and all of his chummy friends in several cars, my friends stopped, denied the accident which never actually happened and refused to pay them or get the police involved. Igniting teenage rage, the boys followed them through the city and found them on 3 occasions. The terrified girls sought refuge up a one-way hill in front of a church, left their lights on by accident, and waited 30 minutes for the rest of the Fulbright posse to arrive. Once we calmed the shaken girls, we all piled into the car to head for the hotel. Except it didn't start. Long story short, with the help of a nice viejo who opened up his garage for us to try turning around, a tall British ex-pat, and the Fulbright force, we attempted to manually maneuver the facing downwards. Just when it looked like there was no hope, a 10-piece mariachi band came rushing out from behind the church, granted themselves permission to help, tucked their instruments under their arms, and with sheer brute force, all 16 or so of us got the car up over the sidewalk, turned around facing downwards and in perfect position to pop the clutch. To the sound of a trumpet proclaiming our triumph, another mariachi thrust his violin at Zac, jumped in the car, and executed a perfect downhill start. This threw the mariachis into a frenzy and us into happy gratitude, as we earned a quick serenade, a no hay de que, and a few hugs from our new friends. I love Mexico.


Thankfully everyone was safe and the rest of the weekend was uneventful in this sense. We went to several other espectáculos, including a Brazilian modern dance troupe called Rota, and an American brass quintet, Meridian Arts, at the Ex-Hacienda de San Gabriel de Barrera. Afterwards, we walked around the gardens of the ex-hacienda, before going back into town for lunch in the Plaza Mayor and a ride up the mountain in the funicular to the Monumento al Pípila and a great view of the city. The city itself was completely full of young and old alike, families, teenagers, and enterprising individuals who were selling whatever they had for a peso or two (one of my friends got involved in a "toka mis nalgas, $1 peso" (touch my butt for a peso) venture, and he walked away with a pretty penny).

On our way home, three of us passed through Dolores Hidalgo and San Miguel de Allende (at right). We had a late lunch in the Plaza at San Miguel and left 2 hours later. It was not nearly a long enough stay and I can't wait to go back! It ended up being a fun and beautiful weekend.

El Grito de la Independencia

[This post has been in the works for over a month. I am catching up on my blog so I thought I would post what I have written so far, so just pretend it's September 16 and not a month later...]
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When I arrived in Mexico City over a month ago, I thought that the patriotic decorations hanging in the Zócalo and along some of the main avenues in the Centro Histórico were standard. As the weeks passed, more and more decorations went up – massive Mexican flags hanging from buildings, green, white and red lights all the way up the Torre Mayor, paper cutouts in the same colors hanging in every restaurante and taquería. And then, last week, several taxistas had asked me if I had seen how beautiful they made the city center, and I finally realized that it was all in preparation for La Independencia, the celebration of Mexican Independence.


Similar to our July 4th, September 15th and 16th are dedicated to the patriotic celebration. The Mexicans spend the better part of a month preparing their city to commemorate the day on which they gained their independence. The beauty of this celebration is that it last for two days. September 15th is the Grito de Independencia, followed by the actual Día de Independencia on the 16th. The grito might be the most visceral way to proclaim patriotic pride that I have ever witnessed - the word itself means "shout." From the balcony of my friends' apartment overlooking the main plaza in Coyoacán, we observed the pre-independence day festivities with awe. Contrary to my expectations (an outdoor party scene of drunken fools shooting off guns into the air from the Brad Pitt/Julia Roberts movie, "The Mexican" comes to mind), it was actually a very well-planned. We observed from above the festival going on down below, listened to the many musical acts ranging from opera to pop to mariachi, and watched fireworks shoot up over our heads. The mayor of the delegación proclaimed the Grito, and everyone responded with a heartfelt enthusiasm that I haven't quite experienced before, "¡VIVA MÉXICO!" I have a video of it below:




Youtube also has a version of the Grito as proclaimed by the President in the Zócalo: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkSErOBJpto. Needless to say, it's a little more than some flags and a barbeque; it's actually quite similar to New Year's Eve in Times Square...

There is also a parade the following morning in the city center. In a fine display of military force, every uniformed service person of the what seemed like the whole country marched through the Zócalo for about 2 1/2 hours, with frequent fly-bys of the air divisions. We had been asking the resident Mexicans what time the desfile militar began for the better part of a week. In true Mexican fashion, we got answers ranging from 8 AM to 11:30 AM, and decided to err on the side of caution, waking up at 6:30 the morning after the Grito to get a prime spot in the Zócalo to watch everyone pass by. The parade ended up starting around 10:00, so from that point forward, we began taking the average answer to any question about time or distance, because although one person may not be correct, the masses are. It ranged from military engineering cadets to the special armed forces, followed by a finale of the finest traditional dancing horses. An elderly couple standing next to us graciously shared some tomales, both spicy and sweet, and a 5-gallon bucket to stand on to gain a better perspective. It was a very cool experience, and there will be photos on my website, which you can check out at the link up top on the right.

fridays on the metro

Ah, the Mexico City metro. When you look at a map of the metro system, it seems like a pretty comprehensive system with plenty of stops and good coverage of the city. Then when you look at a map of the city with the metro stops marked on it, you realize just how spread out it really is. However, when compared to the cost per ride ($2 pesos, or about 20 cents US), you are tempted to take it everywhere, no matter how far you have to walk to actually arrive at your destination. As an alternative to morning rush hour traffic on the main roads that I take to work in a taxi, I've been giving the metro a test drive. The down side is that I have to go southwest for two stops, switch lines, and then go north for two more stops. There is no hypotenuse in the Condesa - Polanco commuting line.

Monday, at 8:15 am, it was dead quiet. Got to work in record time. Tuesday, same time, it was a little busier, but not overwhelming. Although the train did sit in the last two stations for 5 minutes a piece. Wednesday, everyone was late for work, I swear. People were sprinting through the station, piling onto the train and smushing like sardines, myself included. 2 stops, a line change, 2 more stops and 50 minutes later, I peeled my hip off the bar and shoved my way out the door, begging permiso (excuse me) from everyone. Then I observed a very interesting dichotomy. Men in business suits sprinting to the salida (exit) to be the first one on the escalator. Then, they just rode it all the way up, shoulder to shoulder, so that no one could pass. If this was the London Tube, surely there would have been a riot, lest you stand in the walking lane for even a split second. I think they really just wanted to be first on the escalator, and really weren't late for anything. Besides, a late Mexican is an on-time Mexican, so that whole tardiness theory is flawed...

Thursday, I needed a break from public transportation, so I took a taxi to work. A quick 10 minutes later I was at my office 30 minutes early. No traffic. Friday, I decided to save my $48 pesos in taxi fare and take the metro once more. No one! I was later than usual, but apparently so were all the Mexicans. The fastest I had ever gotten to work in the metro, hands down. The metro car wasn't even hot and sweaty yet, and I didn't have to race anyone to the escalator.

It is very interesting being the only gringa on the metro. Generally, Mexicans who have cars prefer to drive to work (part of the traffic problem), so that leaves everyone else taking public transport. However, there are still many different types of people on the metro. I have been lucky (or not) to be considered a fresa, which is kind of like "yuppie," or, if you're ignoring the men on the street cat-calling at you - snobby, rich girl. However, a fresa is still Mexican, so in that sense, the color of my skin only seems to indicate that I've spent more time in a library than out in the Mexican sun (if it ever comes out again), and I'm almost equal to all of them. I still keep my jewelry in my bag and wear good walking shoes instead of good high heels, until I get to work, por si a caso.

On a side note, the most recent hurricane that passed through was no match for the Mexican taxista who brought me home from work that day. Flash flooding, 6 or 8 inches of rain on the main street, Avenida de la Reforma, dime-size hail, zero visibility. But everyone else drove in the middle lane, the high ground, leaving the left and right lanes free for a daring taxi to pass. A perfect opportunity to beat the traffic, get me home quickly, and return to pick up the next investment banker looking to get home in the monsoon. Time is money, and water on the roadway is no obstacle. For $38 pesos (about $3.80 US), I just have one request - Seat belt, please!

More to come, hopefully sooner than later. Qué les vayan super bien!

Ciao,
L

"super padre," "nada más," and "para servirle"

To most of us, even those who don't speak Spanish, "super padre" has a pretty straightforward meaning: super dad. To the mexicans, however, "super padre" is the equivalent of the New Englander's "wicked cool," the southern CA surfer's "totally awesome," or any other representation of something that just rocks your world. As with any culture, even sub-cultures, there are certain idiomatic expressions that just don't make sense until you live them. "Super padre" is quickly creeping into my regular daily vocabulary, to describe such things as the free zoo and butterfly sanctuary in the Bosque de Chapultepec (think: Central Park x5), the skyline view with the mountain backdrop from the rooftop of our apartment, and the chic artist fair right down the road in the upscale Parque de Mexico surrounded by posh coffee shops that make you forget you're even south of the border.

I've come to realize that speaking Spanish and speaking Mexican are almost two completely different things. A waiter will hover at your table, after taking your drink, appetizer and main course orders, until that key moment when you declare "nada más" (no more) with a gracious smile. And then he will nod, equally amicably, responding "para servirle" (in order to serve you) right before he runs off to fetch your drinks (which arrive 10 minutes later if you're lucky). It seems weird, and it even feels weird, but it's part of the innate formality that is so charming about this country. On the surface it all seems so formal, Usted and Ustedes always (for all the Spanish grammar geeks reading this) and taxi drivers parking their cars, jumping out in traffic and rushing around curbside to open your door, lest a lady have to expend energy. But then your freshest produce comes from the man who rides past every 45 minutes, announcing "aguacates, tomales, chileeeeees" over the loudspeaker bungeed to the roof of his pickup, and your 10-gallon fresh water from the "aguaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" man on a bicycle. Gas comes in a tank that you have to lean out the window to light when you want hot water. The beauty of Mexico is the clash and coexistence of these two norms, which I am continually trying to navigate each day.

Similarly, every expectation or preconception I previously held about Mexico and Mexicans has either been completely destroyed or validated, with no middle ground. Take music as an example. Mexican music = mariachi, true or false? It's at every party, in every cantina, on signs and billboards every couple blocks advertising the neighborhood mariachi band for hire. But right down the road is the Sala de Chopin, and my landlady is a professional opera singer. Today, as the aguacate man drove beneath my window, Beethoven wafted up from downstairs. And in a few weeks, I'm going to one of the main universities here to see Canadian pianist extraordinaire, Angela Hewitt, perform Bach in the classical music series. And the jazz festival at the National Auditorium just recently wrapped up. So, true that mariachi is practically the national anthem, but false that it's the only music valued here. Very, very, VERY true: ALL Mexican men can dance ALL Latin dances and will not hesitate to do so at any moment, opportune or not. I love Mexico.

As you all celebrate Labor Day, and your three-day-weekend (well, not if you're at Lafayette, of course), I will be thinking of you from the Mexican stock exchange where I will undoubtedly be one of the only women, not to mention the youngest, on the floor at 9 AM. Work is going well - fast pace and challenging, just the way I like it. But I do have to wake up in 7 hours to be there, so unfortunately this is adios for now. Stay tuned for more musings on such topics as: the food, the metro, and urban "planning."

un beso,
L