tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34404651112249359672024-03-14T12:24:17.524-06:00Fish outta waterI occasionally write happenings and opinions here about my life in Mexico as a "United Statesian."Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-17071315590984636822009-08-24T10:21:00.000-06:002009-08-24T10:22:34.495-06:00he salidoI ain't in Mexico no more! I'll probably delete this blog soon.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-72728709116754151972009-04-27T17:34:00.002-06:002009-04-27T17:39:41.006-06:00oink oink oinkAlright! Piggie vacation! The Mexican health authority has just canceled ALL classes throughout the ENTIRE country until the 6th of May.
Some think that it's a Mexican conspiracy to keep voters in their homes and away from the polls. Right now they're having federal elections.
Sometimes an overreaction can work in my favor! Yeah, yeah, better safe than sorry. (and why don't we err on the side of caution every flu season? I mean, 64,000 Americans DIE every year from the yearly flu mutation.)Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-38391795536305395202009-04-16T17:25:00.002-06:002009-04-16T17:34:17.504-06:00MazunteI just got back from Mazunte, an isolated somewhat virgin beach in southern Oaxaca. It's surrounded by actual virgin beaches, a sight hard to wrap my head around for a guy coming from a touristy beach city.
Imagine: Miles of nothing but sand, waves, and bushes. The reason for the lack of development is that it's a protected natural reserve. In the spring, big mother honkin' sea turtles scrape their bellies up the shore, dig a trench that'd put the western front to shame, and poop out a few dozen eggs.
We weren't lucky enough this time, but this same time 2 years ago we went to Mazunte and had to move our tables out of the way of one of these big dumb majestic animals. Discovery Channel spit, up close.
<a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/cpothoven/MazunteEtc#">Picures can be seen here.</a>Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-63315311467112110632009-04-16T17:02:00.002-06:002009-04-16T17:22:28.914-06:00Bus wreck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIJ9hPzVvVZMPIswpwGRg_7hBbfx_htGxoThPQ1zlja7Q-lm6k2LokzS78qw8gG61-EYLsjWe_15p9mj5r6H3I_6B5D2I_JpqdQ04b1CrVVDs2tS91REfpQiaNF10b4-EXgRsHtrUaZw/s1600-h/DSC00005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIJ9hPzVvVZMPIswpwGRg_7hBbfx_htGxoThPQ1zlja7Q-lm6k2LokzS78qw8gG61-EYLsjWe_15p9mj5r6H3I_6B5D2I_JpqdQ04b1CrVVDs2tS91REfpQiaNF10b4-EXgRsHtrUaZw/s320/DSC00005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325433458816071026" border="0" /></a>
Oh yeah, so on my way back from getting bent over by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Oaxacan</span> immigration gang-bang, the bus got into a semi-head-on collision with, uh, a semi. While coming out of a turn in the heights and wilderness of the mountains a sketchy, rusty 1960's bobtail SMASHED into the front left corner of our bus.
The dude stumbled out in a drunken haze. All the passengers took note of this in alarm, "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ay</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">guey</span>! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ese</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">guey</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">anda</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pedo</span>!" (Aw damn! this <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">fuckin</span>' dude is fucked up!). The majority of us filed out of the bus to check out the wreckage. One <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">passenger</span> got in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">drunk's</span> face and starting ranting - yelling - about how there are women and children in the bus, etc., etc., until he popped him in the face. The drunk was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">unfazed</span>.
Without cellphone coverage, some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">passengers</span> began to get nervous and opted to hitch hike their way out of the mountains. The federal police came by and told us that they'd advise the bus company that we were stranded and would send for another car to take away the drunk. Confidant that a new bus would come, I and 5 or so others stayed behind. Night fell and I waited for us to get smashed to bits by a speeding oncoming car under the pitch black new moon.
To my dismay, our replacement bus was the departure from Oaxaca City for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Tuxtepec</span> that followed ours. It was full so we had to stand for 4 hours or so until we arrived. Also, the cop car meant to take away the drunk never came. At first the other guys asked him to come along with us and we'd take him to the police station ourselves. He wasn't <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">havin</span>' it. In the end they each got an appendage and carried his squirming mountain bus <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">smashin</span>' ass onto the bus. While en route we came upon the cop car meant to take him away. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Strangely</span> he was eager to change vehicles. The fat federal cop never even got out of his car and the drunk hopped right in back.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-33204273910693916022009-03-02T18:30:00.001-06:002009-03-02T18:30:34.011-06:00I love Oaxaca immigration<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal>The problem with the immigration office in Oaxaca has always been the same. They change the requirements to process a new or renew the work visa on what seems to be a daily basis. Previously, I had always called in advance to find out what the new and improved requirements are, which has always turned out to be a fool’s errand because one document or another is always required beyond what they mention over the phone. Now, the fool’s errand is not even possible. I have to renew my visa and upon calling I’m told that they can no longer tell us what is required over the phone and that we have to come into their office for them to tell us. I tried explaining to them that I’m a seven hour trip outside of Oaxaca and continued to explain to them how much sense it makes to travel that distance only to find out what I need. After bickering in a language in which I only have limited proficiency with two different people, I was finally told that I could check the website. Now, wasn’t that easy? I found where work visa update requirements are listed, and dutifully prepared the mentioned documents, copies, etc. Naturally, I always bring every scrap of paper I think they may ask for beyond that – just in case.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>When I arrived in Oaxaca City, the officer asked me for a mountain of documents not mentioned on the website, some of which I was missing of course. I told her that her boss told me that the website is accurate. Following the contradiction match, said boss came to the desk to see what the commotion was about. She, the very same woman who told me that the requirements on the website are correct and up-to-date outright denied ever saying such a thing.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>An argument ensued about the retarded nature of having no idea what the requirements are for certain visa processes. Thirty minutes or so pass until they finally hand me a sheet of 14 required documents necessary to renew my type of visa. The federal requirement noted on the website consists in 4 documents for a work visa renewal.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>After reviewing the new and improved requirements which I’m sure will prove to be tentative, I realized that at least one of the documents she asked for this time around weren’t on this list either. Also, I found that the same document is listed twice, but worded differently.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>The kicker was when she told me that NOBODY HAS EVER HAD THIS PROBLEM BEFORE! Excuse me? EVERYBODY I KNOW HAS THIS PROBLEM! There’s no such thing as just one trip to the Oaxacan immigration office.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>Why couldn’t they have sent me this document via email?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>Why does the Oaxaca office, a branch of a federal department, have requirements that differ from the federal requirements?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>Are they intentionally fucking with us?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>The day rounded off quite nicely when my bus back to Tuxtepec had a head on collision with a drunk driver in Butt Fucked Egypt. More on that later.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-59131588449266144262009-03-01T19:57:00.000-06:002009-03-01T19:58:21.052-06:00Law school<div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal>When I first came to Mexico I was dizzy with the experience of it all: Customs, misunderstandings, different perspectives, and the challenge of learning Spanish. After two years I can comfortably say that I’ve done what I’ve accomplished to do. I’ve done it, and I’m done.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>I applied to 10 tier three law schools and have been accepted to 6, waitlisted by 2, and rejected by 2. I was accepted to two schools in my hometown of San Diego, of which it was hard for me to turn down. San Diego is simply far too expensive and the schools offer as much as the other schools I have been accepted to. In the end, I decided on St. Mary’s in San Antonio TEXAS. That’s right – Texas – the state I’ve spent my whole Californian life making fun of. Despite my life-long bias I made a choice based on reason. The cost of living in San Antonio is very low, the city is big enough, has a large Mexican demographic, and the school is a host to clinics and concentrations that interest me. Not to mention. Further, based on ABA stats, the school has a high bar passage and employment rates for graduates. Bias and reason notwithstanding however, I’ve realized that living in southern Mexico has sufficiently calloused my quality of life standards to the point that almost any American city will seem luxurious, be it San Antonio, San Diego, or Nashville.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>All in all, I’ll be outta here sometime in July… Two years have gone by pretty quickly, but now that I have something to look forward to I’m sure that the next five months will crawl.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-72356042584140983542009-03-01T19:32:00.000-06:002009-03-01T19:33:20.029-06:00I got burgled <div class=Section1> <p class=MsoNormal>A couple of months ago, Carolina and I got our apartment busted into while we slept. I suppose I have only myself to blame for leaving my keys and shiny things within plain sight of an open window. The table where I left these things, laptop, cell phone and camera, weren’t within arm’s reach of the window, but certainly, and demonstratively, within broom’s reach. The burglar used the broom we leave outside to drag the table to the window to grab the keys and conveniently let himself in. The keys were left in my plant pot outside. Because the key was bent, I suppose that he used it to push the door toward the hinges to keep it from squeaking. I was thinking that perhaps he could have bent it from pushing it into clay to copy the key, but I don’t think that would have bent it and it would be a lot easier to just pocket the keys altogether. At any rate, we’ve got to change the lock.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>The most alarming part was that my shorts, which I always take off at the side of my bed before hitting the sack were found next to the open door when we woke up in the morning. He made off with a measly 200 pesos and interestingly, my debit card was pulled out but not taken. Why didn’t he just take the whole fucking wallet? Supposing that he took a picture of my card or wrote it down to use online or something, I quickly got it replaced. He also rummaged through our drawers in the bedroom, not finding anything work taking. Everything was carried off in my own backpack.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>A CD magazine was fished out of my neighbor’s window, but it seems we were the only ones that really got it.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>I asked my students if anybody had ever broken into their house while they slept. They said “ay, muchas veses!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>Since then we’ve been looking for a new apartment, but with no avail. Everything is either outrageously expensive or much more slummy than what we’re working with now. I’ve put on a deadbolt and ghetto alarm, which has helped us sleep at night. We still don’t close our windows because the heat and humidity is unbearable. Some mornings we find the corner of the curtains pulled to the side. Evidently somebody is peaking in while we sleep, but they can’t get in unless they kick down the door which would wake me up, prompting me to stab them in the face with the steak knife I keep by my bed. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class=MsoNormal>I’ve since replaced what was stolen and only use my laptop in my bedroom where it is out of sight.<o:p></o:p></p> </div> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-75955159406802750222008-07-16T16:24:00.001-06:002008-07-16T16:24:23.600-06:00GasIt was mentioned here that the gas in Mexico is much cheaper than that <br>of the US. On the face of it, it's true, but in real terms I don't think <br>so. I'm no economist, but I tried my hand at proving my belief anyway. <br>This is what I got: An American dollar is $10.23 pesos, and a liter of <br>gas is $7.10 pesos. That comes to $2.64 dollars per gallon, or about 38% <br>less than the US national average of $4.24 dollars per gallon. But, <br>Americans earn more money than Mexicans. The per capita income of the US <br>is $45,800USD and Mexico's is $12,800. Americans make, on average per <br>person, about 72% more than Mexicans. This should surely change the <br>perspective of gas being 38% cheaper. To give a number to that <br>perspective, I just divided the cost per gallon by the GDP per capita <br>for both countries and compared them. The resulting number is 2.21. So, <br>I guess I can say that in real terms, the cost of gas in Mexico is more <br>than double the price of gas in the US. There are some problems with <br>this though. Mainly, that GDP per capita is a skewed number, especially <br>for Mexico, because of the very few people at the top that make a <br>retarded amount of money. Mexico also has a problem with, as Luke <br>mentioned, underreporting. I'd assume that records are particularly <br>inaccurate in regions with large numbers of indigenous peoples - many of <br>whom don't speak Spanish.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-43434359755865388302008-07-15T17:41:00.003-06:002008-07-15T18:00:41.883-06:00policiaca de la cuenca<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;">My last post got me thinking about posting the nasty articles found in the news papers here, so, I did. You can find that blog <a href="http://policiacadelacuenca.wordpress.com/">here</a>.
I've cut out a bunch of articles with some really F'd up images and articles to be posted, and in so doing I've horrified the occasional student or staff member passing by or visiting me in my office. And to think this whole time I thought they were OK with what they read. I guess it's taking it a step too far when they're actually collected. The cleaning lady was especially interested in what I was doing with them. I told her that I was posting them on the Internet to show how crazy it is here. Naturally, she said that it's not a violent place. She then asked me if I knew the gardener that was recently killed. I guess natives defend their hometowns even in the face of their own unsolicited inconsistencies.
</span><span style="font-size:100%;"></span></span>Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-71154600591028418692008-07-07T14:58:00.001-06:002008-07-07T14:58:40.696-06:00godfather stylecheck it out: <a href="http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,376861,00.html">http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,376861,00.html</a><p>This sort of shit happens all the time actually. It comes up in the <br>local papers, but with pictures! This, however, is the first time I've <br>seen a mention of mafia shenanigans appear in English speaking news <br>media. I should scan and post the pictures of this guy who got his <br>hands, tongue, and cock n balls cut off by the local crime syndicate <br>here in Tuxtepec. It was the second I've seen where they left a note on <br>the body. The first one said something about how this is what happens to <br>you when you snitch. The latest one had something to do with how this is <br>what the do to their members who don't follow orders.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-45188643329448094242008-07-02T10:19:00.001-06:002008-07-02T10:19:31.799-06:00Summer bugs The summer months have brought summer bugs. Some of them are new and interesting to me, and others aren't; flies for example. The rivers of monster ants are straight out of National Geographic. They'll sometimes even envelop half the broad side of an our building, which brings a grounds keeper or three to exterminate them with a few cans of raid. One bug has seemed to have quieted down a bit though: one that I've aptly named the barking cockroach. It looks like a cockroach with wings and hangs out in the trees, outdoing any of the most irritating loci with it's several minute long, piercing chirp.<br> The most irritating bugs of all however are what they call <i>palomitas de San Pedro</i> (Saint Pedro's popcorn). Though I haven't had to deal with them as of late, they come - hatch, I suppose - once the rain has let up. Clouds of black winged termite-like insects will cover an area in the same fashion a smoke bomb covers a rioting group of Oaxacan teachers. They'll work their way into every nook and cranny of your clothing, hair, and shoelaces. They don't bite or sting, and in fact their wings pop off their bodies as easily as pedals from a daisy.<br> <br> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-83120425351770130052008-06-18T10:54:00.001-06:002008-06-18T10:54:21.437-06:00Thanks 'merika!<title></title> <meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.4 (Linux)"> <style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Hot damn! A $300 dollar “stimulus” check came for me today. Although I didn't make dollars, or even pay taxes in the US for that matter, I still qualify. I looked into it and it appears that a great many other American citizens living abroad have too received checks. What I don't get is this: If you're in a foreign country, which economy does the US government think is going to be stimulated; where are they going to spend that money? Duh!</p> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-13022885659438344402008-05-23T11:10:00.000-06:002008-05-23T11:11:53.616-06:00"DOH!" and then "WHEW!"So, I got a call from the human resources boss the other day informing me that my visa had lapsed as of this March. I played dumb. At their request I paid them a visit the following day with all my documentation. She said that I needed to take a trip down to Oaxaca City to sort this out. Upon informing her that I had $4,500 pesos, and that it will cost $2000 for the renewal and over $1,000 for the penalty, she said that I could wait until the next pay day. WHEW!<BR> <BR> About not being able to work until it's valid again, not a word was said. I figure that if I were to have inquired, then they would have been obligated to say that, well, yeah, you can't work. Surely they realize that I shouldn't be working, but by the same token, they'd rather not leave 45 students stranded for however long it takes the ever so charming Oaxacan immigration office to process the paperwork.<BR> <BR> Though obviously I'm being ironic, the human resources ladies were under the impression that the immigration office is indeed a pleasure for us to deal with - evident by the fact that they thought I incurred no fee when I changed my employer and domicile. Pishaw! That was another $2,000 pesos! I just about choked on my tongue when they reasoned that my visa wasn't renewed at the time I changed employers because I didn't have to pay. Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-65190837946297430652008-05-06T16:09:00.001-06:002008-05-06T16:09:47.376-06:00oooohhhhh shit.So, I, uh, sort of thought that when I paid immigration and waited 3 weeks for them to update the sponsor on my work visa that by so doing would also give me another year. Nope. From the looks of things, I've been a wetneck since uh, let's see.. yup, March 22nd (a "wetneck" is a mashup between "wetback" and "redneck"). It's a hell of a thing to work for a government institution when the government itself prohibits me from working.<BR> <BR> So what's the plan, Stan?<BR> <BR> Well, I know for sure that they're not going to let me continue working when I point this oversight out to them. After all, they didn't let me work while my visa was still current although listed another sponsor. That said, I'm left with two options: A) Don't friggin' tell 'em. This, to me at least, seems like the obvious solution. Ah, but what'll happen when I try to leave the country? Worse still, what will happen when I try to reenter? The alternative is then B), tell 'em.<BR> <BR> Call it paranoia, but I'm worried about what sort of shit sandwich is in store for me. Did you read my earlier post about the new teacher and how they seriously prolonged the visa and hiring process? This was, we think, in part due to the fact that this campus hadn't really wanted another English teacher - he was intended for the other campus who stupidly rejected him after those who accepted him quit. Will the school use my plight as an opportunity to rid themselves of an extra teacher? Something else that worries me is that the human resources boss called 2 months ago, when my visa expired, and asked the English department head if they are supposed to send us a letter to remind us that we need to renew our visa. The English department head said yes, and that they've always done this - so why did they ask? Did they not want to incriminate themselves? Are they faining ignorance as to avoid orphaning 3 classes while I get it fixed? Does the university face paying a fine? Will they pass that savings right on to me?<BR> <BR> Supposing that I'm a paranoid schizophrenic and none of the above comes true, I still have to tighten the belt <I>quite a bit</I>. This could be anywhere from one to four weeks without work. Luckily, mangoes grow wild here. Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-55884668905396530602008-04-11T14:11:00.003-06:002008-04-11T14:36:27.549-06:00Out GroupSomebody mentioned to me 'in group virtue, out group vice' when I was complaining to them about how we're not treated as equals at the university. The sociological term basically refers to practices exercised by groups to which one doesn't belong as wrong, though overlooked or even thought of as right when practiced by one's own group.
I don't think though that the term applies, at least not in this context.
Do American universities remove the foreign teachers' air conditioners and install them in the domestic teachers' offices? Do we notify only the domestic teachers of events that affect all the classes? Do we schedule exams out of ordinary class time, during the foreign language classes without informing the teachers? Do we schedule staff meetings but exclude the foreign language teachers? Do we segregate the foreign teachers from the domestic ones?
I think the answer to all of the above is <i>no.</i>
Today was funny. I arrived to my afternoon class to the surprise of some of my lingering students. They told me that I was supposed to be at the meeting. I said, “Nope. They don't invite us to the teacher meetings.”
“Porque? Eres maestro.”
“Porque no nos quieren,” I told them. Half the class cringed, looked away, and nodded their heads like they'd just informed somebody that the game's rained out. A few others said outrightly, “si, cierto.”
If there's a silver lining here though, I think it may be that the students get to have their perceptions changed when digesting the behavior of their elder countrymen.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-6830167506624191532008-03-14T12:22:00.001-06:002008-04-11T14:37:28.962-06:00Fish outta water: no me digas gringo<a href="http://chrisgoestomexico.blogspot.com/2008/03/no-me-digas-gringo.html#links">
</a>Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-81846417517111688152008-03-14T11:57:00.002-06:002008-03-14T12:10:10.851-06:00no me digas gringoI hate the term "gringo." It's racist, no matter how you cut it. I tell them, "no - soy estadounidense. Te puedo llamar frijolero?" Nope. I also don't like "güero" that much, but for that there at least exists a two-way street; I can call them "morenos." Also, "gringo", though slight, carries with it a negative connotation; it's derogatory. It also exhibits the same traits as other words that are incontrovertibly bigoted in nature.Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-8444445111033133022008-03-04T22:16:00.000-06:002008-03-05T08:52:03.901-06:00KoobaWe were planning on going to Cuba for spring break (Semana Santa), but hadn't saved up enough dough to accomplish such a task. So, we decided that perhaps the summer break would be better. By that time we would have received our "fondo de ahorro," a fat yearly payout of the money they take out and match from our paychecks. Instead, however, I'm going to make a trip to Pensyltucky to see the folks (it's been a while). After making this decision I read an article in Newsweek about the conditions in Cuba and what the author, a Mexican talk-show host, had to say about some of his callers and their perspective on Mr. Castro as his resignation has made the news recently. It was interesting to read how disparaging the views where between those callers who had visited the communist island and those who had not. Those who had had nothing good to say about the place, quite frankly, placed the Cuban plight squarely on the shoulders of the stubborn dictator. The other group however see the victorious revolutionary as an icon of American resilience; a proletarian hero in the face of insurmountable odds. The difference of opinion between these two groups obviously turns on first-hand experience of the place. Who are you to believe? On a related note, the more I've learned about Cuba, the more I've grown to scoff at those who sport Che Guevara shwag.<BR> <BR> Stupid Gringo, you can't go to Cuba! On the contrary. American Law disallows spending dollars in Cuba without a license. I wouldn't have been spending dollars. How can I spend what I don't have? I earn good ol' Mexican pesos, amigo. That's what I'd burn. Besides, the Cuban authorities don't stamp American passports. If they scare off American tourists by documenting your stay, then they don't get your money. But, you can't enter the country without a visa. The solution (between the horns) is stamping a card that you can carry with you! All this aside, I'd be returning to the US after mah main man Barak Obama is in office, the dove I've been hopin' for. Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-30623187869493899432008-03-04T21:30:00.000-06:002008-03-05T08:51:50.218-06:00more stuff We knew which classes had to be taught considering who passed and who failed last semester, so we planned around that, only to get the hours that we can teach English and which students are available throughout those hours the day before classes actually started. I caught a lucky break because what I ended up having to teach was what I was already planning for. The other two teachers had to change one of their levels.<BR> <BR> A new teacher just came aboard. There are two campuses in this region and it was understood that he would be needed at the other campus. This was the plan according to the head of human resources and the assistant vice dean. Both of them have just quit. So, the only person who knew about it was the English department head of my campus. Lo and behold, when Chachi McClueless foreigner gets to the other campus, they're like, 'who the fuck are you?' If I were in his shoes, I would have flipped. Unlike me however he speaks perfect Spanish and seems somewhat passive in nature.<BR> <BR> The nice thing is that we handle our own department. We teach what we want, when we want, and with whatever material that we want. We've planned our own system and I think it works pretty well (it's modeled after the Cambridge system).<BR> <BR> I've just implemented an online learning resource. Using an open source suite called Claroline. It seems being somewhat Linux savvy comes with its benefits. After talking with Potosino university students as well as those here, using the internet as a learning aid is unheard of. From my perspective, it's unheard of that an online learning resource is unheard of.<BR> <BR> I've also just learned that we are qualified to produce state sanctioned translations of official documents written in English en lieu of a university English teacher status. Boy, that's like driving drunk for me. Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-57838065999500880982008-03-01T23:28:00.000-06:002008-03-03T08:41:38.548-06:00Look. I've written something. A couple people – literally, two – have complained about how far behind this blog has gotten. I hope this update will shut you up.<BR> I've been teaching at the Universidad del Papaloapan in Tuxtepec, Oaxaca for about three months now, and as far as things go that concern me, all's well that is well. I qualify this with <I>that concern me </I>because quite frankly, I think the school's system is badly broken. Symptoms of it's dysfunction are found in the fifty percent fail rate, passing grade – sexual favor exchanges, the dismissal of the assistant vice-dean, and a tightfistedness over that which shouldn't be in the face of a laxity over that which should.<BR> I maintain, though, that all really is quite well because what ought not be forgotten is that I'm to maintain a Germanesque non-interventionalist perspective on things. I'm nothing but an “active observer.” So that is to say that I'm admittedly part of this jacked-up circus of a so-called public university but certainly lack the cultural membership or political clout to affect any change, at least directly. I do however sometimes revel in the – albeit presumptuous – thought that perhaps other departments look upon our language center, of which we're given virtual sovereignty, as an example of ingenuity, diligence, and organization. Having come to understand a certain strange Mexican social dynamic here though, leads me to believe instead that we're despised and plotted against. <BR> This dynamic has been explained to me by means of three variations of the same a joke by three different Mexicans. I understood the first person who told me this story to be apologetic, and the other two told me as a warning – to watch my back. It goes something like this: There's a vendor walking down the beach with two baskets of live crabs. One has a lid and the other does not. A beach goer asks for some fresh crab. “Which do you want? Japanese crab or Mexican crab?” asks the vendor.<BR> “Well, which one is which?”<BR> “The Japanese crabs are the ones in the basket with the lid on it.” The customer inspects the two baskets of crabs and chooses.<BR> “So,” the customer says to the merchant, “why do you keep a lid on the Japanese crabs and not the Mexican ones?”<BR> “Well you see, just like any trapped animal they want to get out. I don't have to keep a lid on the Mexican crabs however because when one is about to succeed and escape, the others grab him and pull him back in.” The story is meant to be descriptive, not explanatory; I don't know what it says about the social psyche, just that this is what seems to happen here, though I've yet to witness it personally (I have a suspicion though that it may apply to the dismissal of the assistant vice-dean, who actually resigned though under force). A testament to the ubiquity of this story, aside from that I've heard it from three unaffiliated Mexicans, I shared it with one of the other foreign teachers here and as soon as I mentioned crabs, he finished the story. Somebody had told him already.<BR> <BR> ... Later I'll substantiate what at the moment seem like bald claims.<BR> <BR> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-76454735287932392452007-11-23T17:58:00.000-06:002007-11-23T17:59:31.544-06:00So far so good, I guess.<meta http-equiv="CONTENT-TYPE" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <title></title> <meta name="GENERATOR" content="OpenOffice.org 2.3 (Linux)"> <style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } --> </style> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">So I’ve been in Tuxtepec for about one week now and in response to some inquiry, this is how things have been: When I first arrived, another teacher offered her on-campus apartment for me to stay in until I found a suitable place to live elsewhere. There are approximately 12 apartments on campus and a waiting list to acquire one; so demand easily outstrips supply. This teacher however only got it simply to take midday siestas months down the road when she got around to furnishing it. Being that the apartment was completely unfurnished, I slept on the floor with my trusty sleeping bag. Two or so days after arriving I went to Oaxaca, the capital, to process my change of employer on my visa. This school apparently follows the letter of the law and will not allow me to work until this has been completed – I suppose that’s conducive to working at a public university and consequently becoming a government employee, but nonetheless following the law so closely is somewhat out-of-character for the region. So that is to say, it’s strange that they don’t allow me to work while it’s being processed.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">The immigration office there is nothing like that of San Luis Potosi. Most notably so is their demeanor. In Oaxaca, the woman (“woman” in place of a more preferable derogative) treated me as though my intelligence was somehow correlated to my poor Spanish speaking ability. Saving you all the details, she said I needed to furnish documents which were not actually called for by the standard form they have online, nor what she personally told the administration, who then told me, were needed. The first thing she requested was a set of profile pictures – you know, mug shots. So, being the good sport that I am, I went to the local studio and had them done. This caused me to stay in Oaxaca an additional day due to old-fashioned style developing used by this particular studio (i.e., not digital or Polaroid). I spent my time wisely and went to Monte-Alban, which was really awesome (a little more on that later). Upon returning the next day, she told me that I needed a copy of every page of my passport (mind you, she had already rifled through all my documents once before – you’d think that she could have told me <i>everything</i> I [supposedly] lacked. Realizing the copy machine directly behind her, I asked if she could make the copies here herself. She unhesitatingly said no. So, I left again, made some copies, and returned. Then she told me I needed copies of the receipt showing that I paid the fee to change my visa (which is paid for at a local bank – it’s strange). That was another trip to the copy store. I returned. Then I needed to make copies of my teaching certificate and the adjoining apostolate. I did so and returned. After everything was said and done another immigration official told me that it’d be ready by the middle of next week. I then proceeded to enjoy the rest of my stay in beautiful Oaxaca, leaving that hell of an experience behind me – or so I had thought.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">While there I went to a little jazz show. It was quite nice and they were pretty talented. The ironic thing is that the first jazz show I attend in my life happens to be in the depths of southern Mexico – go figure. Oaxaca is a little touristy. In fact, while in the very tiny bar where the jazz show was held, the majority of the patrons were speaking English. The saxophonist picked up on this and, quite bravely I should say, tried his hand at introducing their songs in English. I, having been used to listening to very bad English, might have been one of the few who knew what he was saying. But I applaud his effort just the same. The zocalo, which is basically a gigantic plaza, is very nice. In fact, I took a 360 degree panoramic shot of the place, but have yet to piece all the pictures together. One thing to mention however is that despite the scruptiousness of the food served throughout the restaurants there, it can be a bit expensive if you’re a peso earning sucker like myself. I slept in that very zocalo twice; both times in the middle of the day when it’s teeming with people and both times without any intention of doing so. That’s what happens when you’re tired.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">I said that I went to Monte-Alban. <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=monte-alban">Look it up</a>. What I can say about it that you can’t find on wikipedia is that as soon as I walked into the main field I was instantly thrown into a computer game I used to play called Serious Sam 2. It’s your basic shoot-em-up first-person-shooter the evening news baldly warns parents about. It became crystal clear to me that the writers of the game used Monte-Alban as one of the scenes for a particular level. The pyramids in their design, size, and position were exactly as I had remembered them. ‘Holy shit’ was my first thought, and my second was ‘where’s my plasma rifle?’</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">To and fro Tuxtepec and Oaxaca one has the option of singing Oaxaca for 6 hours through the majestic Oaxacan mountains, or if you travel at night the bus takes a tamed route between the base of the mountains for 7 and a half hours, if you’re willing to pay 100 pesos more (gringos: “to sing Oaxaca” means to puke. Think about it, “wa-ha-ka” really bears some resemblance to the sound you make when you puke). The decision’s easy.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">Upon my return to Tuxtepec, I was informed that I had to leave the on-campus apartment <i>immediately</i>. Turns out the grounds keeper saw me coming and going and mentioned it to the administration who has a contract with the actual tenant that states that she is the only person who can reside there. Another teacher, who has been quite nice and very helpful showing me around, let me stay at his place while I found a place of my own. After looking at a few apartments, I decided on a spacious 2 bedroom for 2000 pesos a month and no deposit. I think the selling point for me was that one of the rooms had hooks built into the walls intended for a hammock. When I returned with my things that night, I asked if they locked the gate. She told me that for security they instead let out their vicious man-eating dog between the hours of 11pm and 7am. I suppose they had a sense of humor when they inappropriately named him Pollo. This ended up not resting well with Carolina, who’s moving down after Christmas. Putting that aside, I set out the little I have and tried to sleep, but the screaming triplet babies next door kept me from doing so. What’s more, the vicious man-eating dog is also vociferous. I hardly got a wink that night. The following morning I explained to the owner that my girlfriend is deathly afraid of dogs, and I couldn’t sleep with a it barking all night on one side of the apartment and on the other, screaming babies. She kindly returned my month’s rent and I found another place. I’m now in a one bedroom apartment, which too has hooks for a hammock.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">Tuxtepec is in the middle of the jungle. I’m told that there are monkeys, leopards, toucans, and a variety of poisonous creepy-crawlies in the further reaches of the thicket. The city itself is situated in the middle of arch of a very big river called the Papaloapan, which the school named itself after. It’s not so much hot as it his humid and I’m told that during the summer it can reach upwards of 115 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s so hot that it’s uncommon for houses to have water heaters and for that matter, more than one faucet on showers and sinks. Many buildings are built with an additional aluminum roof to absorb the sun’s head and to keep it off the actual roof, keeping the building as cool as possible. Here is also the first time I’ve seen air conditioners in Mexico on more than just commercial buildings.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">It’s also worth mentioning that there are a lot of indigenous people here, some of whom don’t even speak Spanish. That’s about all I know about them so far. Many place- names here though are from their language. Papaloapan means butterfly, and the other English teacher said something about how the Spanish used this word to derive the Spanish word for kite. There are also many towns in this region that end in –tepec. This supposedly means “hill” in the native language.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">The bus lines don’t have numbers. Instead they’re color coated and named. For example, the buses that take me to the school are Ejode and Sra. Ursula. Ejode is dark orange with a military green stripe down it and, well, I don’t remember what the other looks like. On their windshields, they also have written the major places they go. I’ve speculated that they color the buses according to the lines to accommodate the illiterate population. This however is unfounded. The buses seem to me like hand-me-downs of 1950’s school buses with the muffler ripped right off of ‘em. They’re loud and the drivers grind each and every gear. Most of them are actually quite comfortable on the inside however. The seats are padded and many of them play music! To get off at a designated stop in town or wherever you like out of town you yell “baja!” or whistle and he lets you off.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">Tuxtepec has a population of about 100,000. They’re much friendlier than Potosinos in that you can have a conversation with a perfect stranger about anything and most people say hello when you pass them on the street. An oddity however is that they’ll say “güero” to white people as a way to either get our attention or just as a means to say hello (I say “us” meaning myself and the other white person I’ve seen here, the other English teacher.). The fact that there aren’t really any other white people here (even Hispatic white) may lend to the reason why I’m referred to in this way more often. It sure the hell beats “gringo,” which really isn’t beyond them though. In fact, the other English teacher’s landlord calls him gringo all the time, though affectionately. </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">Yesterday I asked the school’s human resources office to contact immigration in Oaxaca city to check on the status of my visa. She reported back to me stating that immigration said they can’t find it the visa it self, a little green booklet, but they have all my other documentation. After checking again today they said that they should have a new one made for me by Monday. If that’s the case, then my 3 week vacation will have come to and end and I’d begin teaching probably the following Wednesday. If you’d like more information about my very cushy working conditions, please refer to my previous email.</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;">If there’s still any specific information about Tuxtepec you’d like to know, then I’d be glad to answer. Keep in mind pictures are forthcoming.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br> </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">-Chris</p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br> </p> <p style="text-indent: 0.5in; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br> </p> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-38055011116295614622007-05-24T22:58:00.000-06:002007-05-24T22:59:12.870-06:00quick response to questions axed<p class="MsoNormal">Yeah, I’ve eaten at Frida’s a few times already – the one right there on Valentine Gama and Caranza, right?<o:p>
</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The only race related conversations I have in my classes are the ones that I can more reliably testify to; the racism that I’m familiar with in my region. It would be a little presumptuous to nosy my way into <i style="">their</i> can of worms. This doesn’t exclude my ability to reflect on what I think I see however, at least not with members of this region. This liberty permitting, this is my opinion (which after re-reading, might apply to all forms of prejudice, etc.): I think the acceptability of pointing out another’s differences which correlate to their social status and/or negative public and personal perception is at least saliently oppressive. This is so because it cultivates and maintains a false mode of thinking that there is some sort of causality happening there – that these sorted qualities direct their plight. And surely this is somewhat believable from the accepted understanding that the generally held thoughts of a group-mind are rarely logical and easily swayed. So at least for these reasons, the circularity of their respective plights persists (ranging from criminalization to poor self-esteem).<o:p>
</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m guessing that your Spanish phrase there translates to something to the likes of ‘take it as it comes,’ hinting at that words have their respective meanings per context. Yep, it seems that’s pretty normal for languages (see Wittgenstein).<o:p>
</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sorry I haven’t taken this opportunity to continue the southern trip, but your message’s topic seemed to roll right off my fingers faster than it would have. Next time perhaps.</p>Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-37614035273147084252007-05-06T02:43:00.000-06:002007-05-07T05:52:48.523-06:00installment 2<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p>The bus ride to Tuxtla was cold. When we stopped half way through the trip I figured that it was going to be cold as hell because the bus was. On the contrary – wherever we stopped was hot as hell. I guess the air conditioner on the bus was just cranked up full-blast.<o:p><br> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We arrived early in the morning, before most businesses were open and people cluttered the streets (which we found to be the norm – streets filled with people – during normal business hours). While eating breakfast I found myself talking to another foreigner. We were talking in Spanish because it was obvious that English wasn’t his first language. Turns out it was French. He was a French Canadian. I suppose that explained his standoffishness. His attitude wasn’t consistent with his behavior however; he directed me to where I could find a cheep hotel and where to go in order to catch the bus to Cañón Del Sumidero.<o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The first hotel we found was dingy. It was smart of us to inspect the room that we’d get before actually paying for it (aquí, se paga antes). The next one we found was much nicer. <span style="" lang="ES">150 pesos a day for 2 people (vale la pena si se gasta dolores).<o:p> <br> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The streets are narrow and filled with short darker-skinned people. Racism is thinly veiled here by the way (though I can’t exactly say that about southern <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>). I mean, shit, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">moreno</st1:City></st1:place> and guerreo mean “darky” and “whitey”, respectively. And they’re often used. One time while walking down the street the dude at the local economic kitchen, which I frequent, hollered at me, “que onda, guerreo?” I confirmed with <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Carolina</st1:place></st1:City> if he said what I thought he said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">After she did, I responded, “que tal, <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">moreno</st1:City></st1:place>? He was cheerful in his greeting to me as much as when he received my response. It’s really strange – I almost want to associate how their behavior contrasts with the meaning of what they say, i.e. it’s context, with how us U.S.Anz (at least socal) use racial references in jest – you know, like Chapell style. It’s only a hunch right now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, The awnings in front of the shops were daunting, considering. Several places sold dried fish (cod?<span style=""> </span>I don’t know), shrimp, and crickets. When my Spanish teacher learned that I was going to southern <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mexico</st1:place></st1:country-region>, she assigned as homework to try some dried crickets. I got a zero on that assignment. Story of my life (well, it <i style="">was</i> anyway, to be honest).<o:p> <br> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuxtla is too small of a place to use full-blown city buses. Instead they use colectivos, a taxi like concept but with lots of people crammed into a mini-mini van. The sort that you’d expect more so on a southeast Asian or Japanese road. Boy, it’s cheep though. Think of it as a hybrid between a taxi and a bus. They have a specific route, but will pick people up and drop them off wherever they like as long as it’s on that route. The fee is pretty much at the whim of the driver. I got the feeling he just sort of guesses how far he went for the particular person. It’s sheep though, regardless. We took one of these such contraptions down to the canon, a 20 minute ride that only cost us 9 pesos each. In San Luis that would have been at least 50 pesos with a regular taxi.<o:p> <br> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Later we paid for and boarded a long boat with dual formidable sized Evenrudes strapped on the back. It was opened aired with 4 benches that fit about 3 people. These boats were so elongated that when there wasn’t anybody, or very few people in the boat, the driver, who was in the back, couldn’t see forward because the nose would rise above his head when it moved. Instead, they’d be constantly turning to see ahead of themselves. there were others with raised seats in the back though.<o:p> <br> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The boat ride was down the river that runs through the canon right on into <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Guatemala</st1:place></st1:country-region>. For about an hour we brainstormed about actually going to Mexico’s southern pal, but then decided that it would be more trouble than it’s worth – time and money. I did get a gnarly chapaneco poncho though. Later you’ll find that as awesome as my poncho may be, it did me little good for the whole trip, which may be more so my fault than the poncho’s.</p> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-44644302441654689792007-05-02T16:33:00.001-06:002007-05-02T16:33:10.172-06:00a short begining<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So we left at around 6am from our house and waited without the sun at the bus stop a half a block away for what likely the very first bus that runs along Himno Nacional. It was dark and there was a slight breeze – nobody was on the road. The first bus we saw was hauling so much ass that we weren’t able to read the route number on it’s windshield quick enough to realize that we had to flag it down until it was too late. The next guy with our route number, I think it was 5, was crawling. And when he stopped at our bench (which here, are much better than some rotten old wooden SoCal bus stop benches liable to give you splinters and always have either an advertisement of some DUI attorney, lousy used car dealer, or says <i style="">this space for rent</i>), it actually waited until more than us 2 were it’s passengers. Some lady came and we were off; a middle aged woman probably hustling to get to her job. She struck me as morbidly determined and unhappily accustomed to being who was probably usually the first person on this bus.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>We waited around the bus station for a few minutes until <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Carolina</st1:place></st1:City> showed up. Her father, mother, and sister all came to drop her off. She was going to be gone with 2 guys and another girl (who we were meeting up with later in <st1:State w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Oaxaca</st1:place></st1:State>), so I guess they just wanted to make sure that nothing seemed fishy. She’s 24, but you know, things are different here. Anyway, we got 2 drinks – non alcoholic – for the bus ride to D.F. norte, which actually takes 4 ½ hours despite the 3 hour projection by MS Map Point. I slept most of the way anyhow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mexico City</st1:place></st1:City> bus terminal is ridiculous. Pushin’ and shovin’ all over the place. It’s pretty big, too. I’d say that it shares the same amount of foot space with the <st1:City w:st="on">San Diego</st1:City> airport (I forget the name right now – <st1:place w:st="on">Jefferson</st1:place>?). It didn’t bother me really. What <i style="">did</i> bother me was that we had to wait eight and a half flippin’ hours for the next, and probably last, bus to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:City w:st="on">Tuxtla Gutierrez</st1:City>, <st1:State w:st="on">Oaxaca</st1:State></st1:place>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Only an hour had passed until I decided that it was in my best interest to find cheep beer and make the wait fly right on by and at the same time guarantee solid sleep on the 12 hour bus ride. It’s win-win, right? Eventually all that I was concentrating on was keeping my cool in a <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Mexico City</st1:place></st1:City> bus terminal. During this, I spent a lot of time spacing out watching the shoe shiners. There’s something transfixiating about observing their craft. This is, of course, until you’re approached by what may very likely be the most underqualified hooker ever. This happened to me, and I think she told me that it’d be alright if I had her baby – that I didn’t have to worry about it. After a moment she finally gave up on me.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Before I knew it, it was time to “board” the bus. As it turned out, it's really 15 hours to Tuxtla.<i style=""><o:p></o:p></i></p> Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3440465111224935967.post-89732688925793398932007-04-28T10:34:00.001-06:002007-04-30T10:26:39.597-06:00While it's still fresh in my mind<span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">--self incriminating material has been removed, but corruption has it's benefits --
southern <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mexico</span> trip still forthcoming.here's a picture of when i stayed in a cabana in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">mazunte</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">oaxaca</span>.
</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsLrBcV5fk2i_IMSwsYSfm3_t4wFfkk2FoHlwFXJhsSad4sXRUKzCFWrukQqUE-slQfRkS5KoQVUs6Tc0BReiDXaoQSWOS74qQ-8-7mvouoOTJDm0W0mQkrsfR3AAmdzWUBjR_8FEAos/s1600-h/52.bmp"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsLrBcV5fk2i_IMSwsYSfm3_t4wFfkk2FoHlwFXJhsSad4sXRUKzCFWrukQqUE-slQfRkS5KoQVUs6Tc0BReiDXaoQSWOS74qQ-8-7mvouoOTJDm0W0mQkrsfR3AAmdzWUBjR_8FEAos/s400/52.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058529038754266610" border="0" /></a>Christopherhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09791940805148193942noreply@blogger.com0