Day 6-9

Day 6-9

May 26-29

The last four days here have been eventful in their own ways, leaving us to follow their twists and turns as we negotiate life in Zacatecas.  By Saturday, we were ready for a break.  Not that we had been working hard or anything, but it is exhausting in its own way to be in a new place, adjusting to a slightly different way of life, always meeting new people, and having to eat out for almost every meal.  So Saturday was a “vacation day”, and we slept in (despite the gas trucks!), and went to a nice Italian restaurant for lunch, where we ate a big salad – something that feels almost like a luxury in this city, since lettuce is usually not on the menu – next to a bubbling fountain.  We also watched some kids play next to, and occasionally in, the fountain while their parents drank coffee and generally ignored them.  Obvious Observation: parenting varies greatly by culture; later, a family that was obviously American came by, and the parents very carefully allowed the kid to gently touch the water with one finger.  The Mexican children were basically soaked by the time they were through.  The place had a wireless internet connection, so we got to send some email and generally enjoy the convenience of being connected to this vast digital web. 

 

Late Saturday afternoon, we decided we had rested enough, and we went to climb El Cerro de la Bufa, or just la Bufa for short.  That is the rocky hill overlooking Zacatecas from the southeast.  It’s only a few city blocks to the base of it from our little room, but they are steep and winding.  To begin the actual ascent, we first had to cross a busy highway that rings the city – which hugs the contours of the valley – from above.  On our way up, we were quite surprised to see the Stations of the Cross on our left and right.  They must have a very elaborate celebration here during la Semana Santa. 

 

The view from the top is simply wonderful and, of course, the camera does not do it justice.  From this height, you can see the whole city as it winds through the valley, sputtering to a stop on either side as the roads become smaller and the buildings fewer and farther between.  There is a new, dare-I-say “American-style” subdivision being built at the southwestern edge of the city, and from here it sticks out like a sore thumb, houses all evenly spaced and synonymous, spread in neat little artificial rows that look like they were planted by a farmer.  I can practically see the gate from here. 

 

Sunday morning we went to Mass at the city’s main cathedral.  For some reason, we were wondering when it was and whether we had already missed it (we heard bells ringing all morning).  This being Mexico, of course, turns out we didn’t have to worry.  Mass is celebrated practically all day on Sunday, on the hour almost every hour.  I was surprised by the number of young people and young families there, for I had assumed (based on what I know of American churches) that it would be an ageing crowd.  The cathedral, as beautiful as it is on both the outside and the inside too, was clearly built in an era before the PA system was in use, so we both had a very hard time making sense of anything was said during the service.  As we discovered as we were leaving after the service, they print the whole thing and hand it out!  We’ll remember that next time.  The church had beautiful bright red banners celebrating Pentecost Sunday, saying things like Ven Espiritu Santo, doblega lo que es rigido (Come, Holy Spirit, and make-to-yield that-which-is rigid).

 

This week I have started my studies at Fenix Language Institute.  After all my years of formal Spanish language training – seven, by my count, with exactly none of them being from native speakers – I am still very much a beginner.  I do remember some of the grammar and bits of the vocabulary, so it’s not like I’m starting from scratch.  The teachers seem quite competent and nice, and all of the teaching is in Spanish, so it is a real challenge.  I think it is a good one at this point, and I’m feeling pretty motivated (it really helps to be in the context of a whole city that speaks Spanish all the time, rather than an artificial US classroom where Spanish is at best only important for three hours a week). 

 

In other news, we’re on a beetle scavenger hunt down here.  VW Beetles, that is.  Have you ever wondered where all the classic VW’s went after they stopped selling them in the US?  Well, Zacatecas must be a part of that answer, because they are ubiquitous.  I’d say honestly about 1 of every 5 cars is an old VW Beetle, and they are painted every color of the rainbow (kind of like the houses themselves).  So, our scavenger hunt is really a photo hunt; we’re trying to collect 50 pictures of 50 different Zacatecan Beetles in order to make a collage when we get home that we’ll probably hang up somewhere in our house.  At last count, we were at 32 already.

Day 3-4

Day 3-4

May 23-24

Yesterday we moved, for at least the first time, here in the city. We left our sweet room – the hostel’s very best (and $25/night) – for the confines of a smaller, more Spartan place that only sets us back $80 a month. It’s really not bad, either. It’s like an efficiency apartment, just a bed, a couch, a few drawers, and a little bathroom – all in one room! So, what it lacks in space and privacy it gains in price and location. Tana and I can both walk to work and school in 5 minutes; and the city center is about that too. We still have a great view of La Bufa (the large rock outcrop overlooking the city), and the city spreads out before us on our rooftop perch like some kind of Mediterranean painting.

 

Zacatecas is a beautiful city. The people are genuinely friendly; I found this out today as I bounced from tiny store to tiny store in search of a few key items to improve our “quality of life.” I felt like I was in some kind of scavenger hunt featured on some obscure reality-TV show, where people get dropped in foreign cities knowing only fragments of the local language, and have to procure things like a copy of a house-key (una copia de una llave), a plastic chair (una silla de plastico), masking tape (cinta adhesiva), and a pair of pillows (las almohadas). I couldn’t find a cheap pair of shower shoes (sandalias), though I didn’t look very hard for those for some reason. No worries, the shoe stores are ubiquitous. I found only one seller of posters for our vanilla-white “dorm” room, but they were all either slightly pornographic or just random soccer teams. So no luck there. In search of my posters – I had something like Van Gogh artwork or perhaps photographs from Mexico in mind – one kind person walked a city block with me to show me where they were available. The conversation may have left a lot to be desired (on my end), but it was a sign of the hospitable nature of los zacatecanos. We also decided to get some colorful cloth or fabric for our room to put over our little table, and I found two huge fabric stores but thought we would be much better off if Tana chose the fabric. So that will wait until another day.

 

This was my two-hour adventure after Tana left for work today. In the middle of my shopping, a political rally/parade came cascading through the streets, as hundreds of people representing (so I gathered) several different regions and interests came shouting, singing, chanting, walking through the steep city streets. Apparently, not everyone loves American-style neo-liberalism.

 

I also managed to make my way over to the school for the first time: Fenix Language Institute. I talked with Arturo Durado, Sr. and, over the course of about 10 minutes of small-talk, let him know that I am here in Zacatecas and ready to start my classes on Monday. I’ll be coming by on Saturday at 11am for my “entrance-exam”, which is really just a quiz to give them an idea of where I’m coming from. It is definitely challenging to know so little of the language. When I walk the streets alone I just hope that no one has anything too important to bring to my attention. I try to look like I know where I’m going, although all indicators are that it is really very safe here. As far as I can tell, Tana and I don’t get any special attention walking around the city. There are lots of young people and also a fair number of tourist types, from the U.S., Europe, but also mostly from Mexico. I’m sure the city has some rough places, but we haven’t seen them yet. It is a relief for me not to have to worry about Tana walking to work and home, or around the city center alone. And it also puts me at ease, though as I said before I am definitely ready to know more of what I’m talking about.

I had an interesting exchange with the old woman at the corner store half a block from our “apartment.” I wanted to get a 5-gallon (approx. 20 liter) plastic jug of drinking water (the water here has “heavy metals” in it, not even the locals drink it; imagine a whole city that had to import all of its drinking water in plastic bottles!). The price is clearly marked at 21 pesos – the currency conversion is easy right now, just move the decimal one place to the left for American dollars, so the water was about $2.10 – but when I go to pay her she says that it will cost 70 pesos! Thinking she’s trying to take advantage of the stupid American, and not very subtly at that, I point adamantly to the sign and repeat, solamente veinte-uno pesos. She repeats, 70 pesos por favor. Then she whips out a calculator and proceeds to type in, 21 + 49 = 70. What’s the 49 for? The fee for not speaking the language? Then she starts pointing to a sign on the wall, that after studying for about 30 seconds, reveals to me that – of course – the water is 21 pesos and the 5-gallon bottle is 49! But the woman is clearly not trying to take advantage of anyone, because she explains in relatively easy-to-understand Spanish that if I bring in a bottle, I can exchange it and then only pay for the water. Brilliant! I tell her – I think – that I would return in a few minutes with a bottle. I grabbed the empty bottle outside our room, provided by our landlord, and headed back. But, of course, the bottle is different, so she cannot accept it! Back to square one on the water front. Then, not twenty minutes later, the landlord asks if I want new water, and the water delivery man comes up the stairs. 20 pesos and an impromptu, if slightly embarrassing, Spanish lesson later, I’m sipping water in our room; problem solved.

 

I hope we sleep better tonight than last. Last night was one of those when you are so uncomfortable that you literally cannot sleep. I slept more than Tana, but neither of us were rested when the gas companies started singing their ritual morning hymns.

 

Oh yeah, the gas companies. So, there’s no infrastructure for natural gas, which is the primary source of home energy, here in Zacatecas. That means that every home must purchase large canisters of natural gas from one of the four gas companies whenever they run out. On our rooftop, there are probably about 5 canisters in use by other tenants, and a few more empty ones strewn about. I don’t know much about the flammability of these canisters, and I hope to never find out. If one of these caught fire, I think the whole city would explode in a giant, stinky mushroom cloud. Back to the wake-up call. Because there are four companies competing here in the city, they take their marketing very seriously. A little too seriously. At 7:30 every morning, they start blasting their 10-second jingles from their delivery trucks, presumably hoping to induce some groggy zacatecano to buy more gas. One of the jingles literally plays three notes, then the recording sings, “Gas, gas, gas!” The whole city awakes to this racket, as the competing jingles representing competing gas companies wind and weave their way along the city streets. Imagine my surprise when I learned that one can simply call one of the gas companies to have them come and replace a canister. Sort of makes the whole 7:30am wake-up call unnecessary, if you ask me.