11:11
Guadalajara, Mexico
Buckle up, folks. I've got a lot of stuff to cover...
By the time I got to the airport at LAX I was pretty pooped. I'd had a full day and I wasn't looking forward to being up all night on the plane. As predicted, I didn't sleep that well. Just a couple of cramped dozes before sleeping legs woke me up. It kind of worked out, I guess. Because on one hand I was too tired to be nervous. But on the other, I arrived more tired than originally planned. And now I had to navigate a foreign land to meet up with Rodrigo, my couch surfing host. The tools I had at my disposal: no phone, no internet and not a lot of Spanish. But, I did have a pocket full of colorful plastic money. So I knew it would all work out.
Foreigners are notoriously overcharged for common goods and services. I knew that I could mitigate some of this by seeking out the less shiny taxis across from the airport. However, the reality was I was so relieved to get through customs that I didn't care too much if I was overcharged. I hate customs. And after a brief price check, the whole 45 minute near speech-free ride was only about $30 US. So... Whatever. I didn't like being overcharged, but I also did not feel like starting my travels out in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to get back to where I started. Ten or fifteen extra bucks is a small price to pay for a little peace of mind.
I didn't really know what to make of the drive. I'd just been dunked into an entirely different culture and I think there was just a lot to take in. For the most part, the cars aren't terribly different. I've been to Europe where every car you see is a hatchback. Here... Not so much. There are plenty of those, but also lots of pickup trucks and American cars, too. But whatever they're driving, they're drivin' the hell out of 'em. In America, drivers put their blinker on, wait a few seconds and then gradually ease into the intended lane. Here, cars bob and weave around the other. Traffic literally braids itself. Drivers don't cut each other off. They just drive really, really close to each other. The missing link here is road rage. Americans would be furious. For the Mexicans, it's a way of life. Watching it flow so smoothly is quite beautiful, honestly. It's an alternate style. And it works perfectly. The main difference is the attitude. And that, folks, is culture.
Guadalajara airport is in the south of the city. Rodrigo lives in the north. We passed really nice car dealerships, then houses, then caved in industrial complexes. Zoning laws here are... How can I say?... relaxed. Along the way Ramon, my driver, tried to talk to me. Wanna hear our conversation? =D
"Hola."
"Hola."
"De donde eres?"
"Los Estados Unidos. Y tu?"
"Aqui."
"Bueno."
"Bueno. Gracias."
Yep, that was about it.
Guadalajara is a pretty big town. Seven million souls aboard this party boat. Once in the heart of the city traffic picked up and the taxi slowed down to compensate. Patiently waiting at each red light were gaggles of street people eager for your attention. Men and women in bright red jumpsuits contrast wet and dingy windshield washers. Why waste your time going to the store? You can buy an electric flyswatter from your passenger seat! I even saw a couple of clowns; juggling for your humble peso or two. It puts a whole new spin on the term "street vendor". These guys aren't on the road. They're in it.
I didn't expect Ramon to know exactly where we were going, but I was kinda hoping we'd get somewhere close in a timely fashion. I was so tired and didn't have a lot of energy to use my brain cells. Hopefully we'd get there soon. I was supposed to meet Rodrigo at his university campus. And apparently there are five completely separate campuses throughout the city. We had to stop and ask for directions twice. The second time we stopped I noticed partially legible sign, most of it peppered with torn off stickers. A couple of quick turns and he said, "Aqui estamos!" I had at least a 20% chance that this was where I needed to be. Close enough, man. "Gracias." Five bucks for the propina (tip) and now I'm alone and looking entirely out of place. Good, everything is going exactly as planned!
The next step was to use my lack of phone, internet and Spanish skills to track down this elusive creature they call "Rodrigo". I immediately dove into the first building I saw that had absolutely nothing to do with the agreed rendezvous point. How was I supposed to know?! I can't speak Spanish! And these people... Well, they didn't speak English. I combined these facts alongside my ridiculous getup to create as awkward a situation as possible. After leaving somebody in Mexico two very strange voicemails, I took off to try another building.
Two down and no real luck. I finally stepped outside, found a payphone and promptly wasted my money incorrectly following the instructions all of us ignore when we actually speak the language. I must have seemed a little out of place. Was it the bright red backpack I was wearing? How about the other backpack I was wearing like a third trimester prego mamasita? No? Maybe it was my vicious, yet accurate stabbing of random buttons on the graffitied payphone. Regardless, a student came up to me and tried to show me how to use the phone.
"De donde eres?"
"Los Estados Unidos."
"Oh, so you speak English?" His face lit up. "Hi, I'm Edgar!"
Oh thank God. English. "Lito, Mucho Gusto."
"Nice to meet you" with a thick Mexican accent. "Estupido machina." He punched away a few times then we both gave up. "Well, you are een my cowntry, so you are my friend now. Come!"
Very well, Edgar. I was so relieved. I had an ambassador.
...
If you dig Southern Hospitality, you should dig a little deeper. Mexicans are the epitome of polite people. Even though I could not hold a conversation with them, Edgar promptly introduced me to all of his friends. And that kiss on the cheek thing that you always see in movies or from the creepy foreign guy trying to steal your girlfriend? Yeah. Not as easy as it looks. First of all, I wasn't sure if it was something only good friends did or if it was proper business etiquette or what. So I hesitated. Never hesitate. They sense your weakness. Being Mexican is all about acting suave. Grease up.
"They can smell your testosterone," Edgar says. "They like it," he smiles.
"Alright, man." I gave it a shot. The "kiss" isn't so much a kiss as it is a very slow high five with your right cheek. Here's a little "How To" for all you first-timers out there. And I guarantee that if you follow my simple six step guide - you, too, can pretend to be a Mexican... Until you actually have to speak, that is.
Patented: Six Step Guide To A Successful "Mucho Gusto!"
1. Seek intended female you wish to meet, and make eye contact.
2. Smile, she's cute.
3. Extend your right hand in a traditional Western handshake.
4. Turn your head slightly to the left and gently press said cheek against targeted female cheek.
5. Hold for approximately .43 seconds and make subtle smooching sound with your mouth. Kiss the air, not the face. This is reserved for more intimate relations. (She may place her hand on your shoulder to make sure you keep it professional).
6. Gently pull away. Smile. She's really cute. Say, "Mucho gusto!"
Tips And Tricks: Things To Avoid
Be careful to maintain perfect form. Don't try to get fancy. Start with the basics. And, no. It's not all in the hips. Keep those badboys bunkered, amigo. This ain't salsa. It's just "hello". Here's a list of body motions to avoid and an interpretation of their possible meanings:
- Hesitate and move in a punctuated motion = "I lack social confidence and maybe my breath stinks."
- Poke her in the face with the brim of your "bro" hat = "Actually, I was aiming for your eye. Let me try that again."
- Poke her in the face with your sunglasses = See above.
- Grab her entire hand (including her thumb) when you shake her hand = "For me?! I'll take it. How much?"
- Step on her foot and then screw up the kiss part = "I'm pretty uncoordinated. You should probably consider establishing a four-foot radius. Things are gonna get awkward."
Kiss her on the lips = "Nice to meet you! I'd like to get shot. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Like I said. It's not as easy as it looks.
...
Edgar, true to form, kept me by his side until I met up with Rodrigo. He took me to his department's computer lounge where I attempted to facebook Rodrigo. I joined him for an hour of unintelligible lecturing at the school's auditorium. Exhausted, I passed out for half of it; my head kinked to one side. Edgar got a nice photo of it... Dick. Eventually, we borrowed a cell phone and repeatedly dialed Rodrigo until he picked up the strange number. Luckily, I had successfully chosen the correct campus and he came to meet us.
"What would you like to do?" he asked.
"Siesta. I'm beat."
We took the bus back to his flat, I was introduced to his roommates and immediately fell asleep on the air mattress inflated for me. Two hours later I was alive again and we went to the nearby 7-11 (freaking globalism...). Tiempo para cervezas!
Back in Oregon we pay a deposit on beer cans and bottles. I know the original reason was to return the bottles to the specific brewer in order to refill and reuse the bottles. Today, we pulverize them, ship the broken glass all over the place and melt them back into exactly the same shape. Pretty logical, right? Here, they just reuse them; a much more energy efficient method. As a result, the bottles acquire etched rings around the outermost contour of their shape from where they bump together in shipment.
We each got 1,2 liter (1.2 liters or basically "forties") of Estrella beer, some Doritos ("papas") and headed back to la casa. Like any starving college student in the U.S., these new friends were content with the basics of in-home furnishing. We sat on the floor and a few of them tried their English while I gave a few Spanish words a shot. Mostly, we exchanged curse words and dirty phrases. Here are a few to get you started:
Chile = Pepper. Also a synonym for penis.
Chorizo = Sausage. AKA, penis. (See where this going?)
Verga = Mostly just dick. Don't eat it. Typically accompanied in heated conversations by a verb requesting specific activities.
So, claro (clearly), we got the important ones out of the way.
We downed the cervezas and made our way to a bar and grille. Despite the blatant American music and cheesy posters on the wall - I was finally in Mexico. I felt like I had made it. I was comfortable. And if I was comfortable I would be safe. Presuppositions about this country quickly dissolved into the ether. I began to formulate my own opinions about the place based on my own experiences - not the headlines. It's going to be a good trip and I'm glad I made it happen.
Guadalajara airport is in the south of the city. Rodrigo lives in the north. We passed really nice car dealerships, then houses, then caved in industrial complexes. Zoning laws here are... How can I say?... relaxed. Along the way Ramon, my driver, tried to talk to me. Wanna hear our conversation? =D
"Hola."
"Hola."
"De donde eres?"
"Los Estados Unidos. Y tu?"
"Aqui."
"Bueno."
"Bueno. Gracias."
Yep, that was about it.
Guadalajara is a pretty big town. Seven million souls aboard this party boat. Once in the heart of the city traffic picked up and the taxi slowed down to compensate. Patiently waiting at each red light were gaggles of street people eager for your attention. Men and women in bright red jumpsuits contrast wet and dingy windshield washers. Why waste your time going to the store? You can buy an electric flyswatter from your passenger seat! I even saw a couple of clowns; juggling for your humble peso or two. It puts a whole new spin on the term "street vendor". These guys aren't on the road. They're in it.
I didn't expect Ramon to know exactly where we were going, but I was kinda hoping we'd get somewhere close in a timely fashion. I was so tired and didn't have a lot of energy to use my brain cells. Hopefully we'd get there soon. I was supposed to meet Rodrigo at his university campus. And apparently there are five completely separate campuses throughout the city. We had to stop and ask for directions twice. The second time we stopped I noticed partially legible sign, most of it peppered with torn off stickers. A couple of quick turns and he said, "Aqui estamos!" I had at least a 20% chance that this was where I needed to be. Close enough, man. "Gracias." Five bucks for the propina (tip) and now I'm alone and looking entirely out of place. Good, everything is going exactly as planned!
The next step was to use my lack of phone, internet and Spanish skills to track down this elusive creature they call "Rodrigo". I immediately dove into the first building I saw that had absolutely nothing to do with the agreed rendezvous point. How was I supposed to know?! I can't speak Spanish! And these people... Well, they didn't speak English. I combined these facts alongside my ridiculous getup to create as awkward a situation as possible. After leaving somebody in Mexico two very strange voicemails, I took off to try another building.
Two down and no real luck. I finally stepped outside, found a payphone and promptly wasted my money incorrectly following the instructions all of us ignore when we actually speak the language. I must have seemed a little out of place. Was it the bright red backpack I was wearing? How about the other backpack I was wearing like a third trimester prego mamasita? No? Maybe it was my vicious, yet accurate stabbing of random buttons on the graffitied payphone. Regardless, a student came up to me and tried to show me how to use the phone.
"De donde eres?"
"Los Estados Unidos."
"Oh, so you speak English?" His face lit up. "Hi, I'm Edgar!"
Oh thank God. English. "Lito, Mucho Gusto."
"Nice to meet you" with a thick Mexican accent. "Estupido machina." He punched away a few times then we both gave up. "Well, you are een my cowntry, so you are my friend now. Come!"
Very well, Edgar. I was so relieved. I had an ambassador.
...
If you dig Southern Hospitality, you should dig a little deeper. Mexicans are the epitome of polite people. Even though I could not hold a conversation with them, Edgar promptly introduced me to all of his friends. And that kiss on the cheek thing that you always see in movies or from the creepy foreign guy trying to steal your girlfriend? Yeah. Not as easy as it looks. First of all, I wasn't sure if it was something only good friends did or if it was proper business etiquette or what. So I hesitated. Never hesitate. They sense your weakness. Being Mexican is all about acting suave. Grease up.
"They can smell your testosterone," Edgar says. "They like it," he smiles.
"Alright, man." I gave it a shot. The "kiss" isn't so much a kiss as it is a very slow high five with your right cheek. Here's a little "How To" for all you first-timers out there. And I guarantee that if you follow my simple six step guide - you, too, can pretend to be a Mexican... Until you actually have to speak, that is.
Patented: Six Step Guide To A Successful "Mucho Gusto!"
1. Seek intended female you wish to meet, and make eye contact.
2. Smile, she's cute.
3. Extend your right hand in a traditional Western handshake.
4. Turn your head slightly to the left and gently press said cheek against targeted female cheek.
5. Hold for approximately .43 seconds and make subtle smooching sound with your mouth. Kiss the air, not the face. This is reserved for more intimate relations. (She may place her hand on your shoulder to make sure you keep it professional).
6. Gently pull away. Smile. She's really cute. Say, "Mucho gusto!"
Tips And Tricks: Things To Avoid
Be careful to maintain perfect form. Don't try to get fancy. Start with the basics. And, no. It's not all in the hips. Keep those badboys bunkered, amigo. This ain't salsa. It's just "hello". Here's a list of body motions to avoid and an interpretation of their possible meanings:
- Hesitate and move in a punctuated motion = "I lack social confidence and maybe my breath stinks."
- Poke her in the face with the brim of your "bro" hat = "Actually, I was aiming for your eye. Let me try that again."
- Poke her in the face with your sunglasses = See above.
- Grab her entire hand (including her thumb) when you shake her hand = "For me?! I'll take it. How much?"
- Step on her foot and then screw up the kiss part = "I'm pretty uncoordinated. You should probably consider establishing a four-foot radius. Things are gonna get awkward."
Kiss her on the lips = "Nice to meet you! I'd like to get shot. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Like I said. It's not as easy as it looks.
...
Edgar, true to form, kept me by his side until I met up with Rodrigo. He took me to his department's computer lounge where I attempted to facebook Rodrigo. I joined him for an hour of unintelligible lecturing at the school's auditorium. Exhausted, I passed out for half of it; my head kinked to one side. Edgar got a nice photo of it... Dick. Eventually, we borrowed a cell phone and repeatedly dialed Rodrigo until he picked up the strange number. Luckily, I had successfully chosen the correct campus and he came to meet us.
"What would you like to do?" he asked.
"Siesta. I'm beat."
We took the bus back to his flat, I was introduced to his roommates and immediately fell asleep on the air mattress inflated for me. Two hours later I was alive again and we went to the nearby 7-11 (freaking globalism...). Tiempo para cervezas!
Back in Oregon we pay a deposit on beer cans and bottles. I know the original reason was to return the bottles to the specific brewer in order to refill and reuse the bottles. Today, we pulverize them, ship the broken glass all over the place and melt them back into exactly the same shape. Pretty logical, right? Here, they just reuse them; a much more energy efficient method. As a result, the bottles acquire etched rings around the outermost contour of their shape from where they bump together in shipment.
We each got 1,2 liter (1.2 liters or basically "forties") of Estrella beer, some Doritos ("papas") and headed back to la casa. Like any starving college student in the U.S., these new friends were content with the basics of in-home furnishing. We sat on the floor and a few of them tried their English while I gave a few Spanish words a shot. Mostly, we exchanged curse words and dirty phrases. Here are a few to get you started:
Chile = Pepper. Also a synonym for penis.
Chorizo = Sausage. AKA, penis. (See where this going?)
Verga = Mostly just dick. Don't eat it. Typically accompanied in heated conversations by a verb requesting specific activities.
So, claro (clearly), we got the important ones out of the way.
We downed the cervezas and made our way to a bar and grille. Despite the blatant American music and cheesy posters on the wall - I was finally in Mexico. I felt like I had made it. I was comfortable. And if I was comfortable I would be safe. Presuppositions about this country quickly dissolved into the ether. I began to formulate my own opinions about the place based on my own experiences - not the headlines. It's going to be a good trip and I'm glad I made it happen.
