Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes!

What follows is the story of how I ended up moving from Mexico City to Barcelona. Many of you know the basics, so feel free to skip this installment if you like. The new and predictibly more exciting Barce stuff will begin flowing soon. In the meantime, feel free to drop me a line at strawdogs66@hotmail.com on what you’re up to. I promise I will read it!!

Well, after four marvelous years in Mexico, Miguelito is moving on to new adventures in Barcelona, Catalunya, Spain. For most of you, this news is not a big surprise. Given the length of time since the decision was officially made—June 9—and my use of the new “social media” a la Facebook, the cat has long been out of the bag. Still, I thought a more formal explanation was in order to provide details to those not so in the inner-loop of my life, serve as a cathartic exercise for myself, and place a book-end of “closure” on my Miguelito in Mexico blog. (That reminds me, I need a new name for this thing. Any suggestions?)

HOW and WHY? I was all signed up and ready to hit the ISS and Search Associates fairs in San Francisco in early February in order to get an administrative/instructional support position somewhere. There were lots of prospects out there and I was excited. Then, the position of Academic Dean opened up again at our school. After being one of two finalists for the same position two years earlier, and in the meantime taking over as lead IB history teacher, serving as a successful social studies department head and MUN director, continued support from a large number of the staff, and unyielding dedication to the institution (not to mention the universally acknowledged disaster of the previous person’s tenure)—I figured my time had come. The only catch—I’d have to skip the fairs this year in order to do the interview. I knew nothing was certain, but felt the odds were in my favor. And besides, Ale was (we mistakenly believed at the time) pregnant, and perhaps starting a new job in another country with a new baby was not such a great idea. So, I skipped the fairs (missing a chance to see just what a hole in the wall my friend Andy lived in in SF) and put all my eggs in the ASF basket. I prepared long and hard and thought I represented myself well at the interview, but it seems (both from my impressions of the experience and reports from those on the panel) that the powers that be had other ideas (and other people) already in mind for this position. And so, for the second time I received the thanks-but-no-thanks response.

I was disappointed, no doubt, but I decided I’d simply enjoy a fifth year in Mexico, having a relatively easy time teaching the IB and MUN courses I’d already developed. Come next February, I’d hit the job fairs and not leave until I’d secured an administrative position somewhere.

However…

I kept receiving these updated emails from the job recruiting companies about openings. I ignored them for the most part, thinking I’d already committed to one more year. Most of the admin jobs were gone and I decided I wasn’t interested in a lateral move to teach somewhere else, when another year in Mexico would have been so relatively easy. Besides, as the spring wore on, most of the openings were for schools in desirable places like Somalia, Afghanistan and Libya. OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but not by too much. Given the poor prospects still available and my prospects for a final easy year at ASF, I was simply deleting the updates without reading them. Then one day—bored I guess—I opened one up. And there it was: IB History Teacher at the American School of Barcelona. Now, THIS might be worth a lateral move after all. Still, how many people must be applying to work in such a desirable city? And how many are not 45 year old married guys with a non-teaching spouse and a kid that’s going to cost them tuition? Probably lots. Still, Barcelona... It couldn’t hurt to send in my resume, right?

So, I did. And the next thing I know I was doing a Skype interview with the high school principal. Then follow up interviews with the director. And something very pleasant was happening during these discussions—there was a lot of obvious connection and agreement. Lots of smiling and head nodding and yesing, and I hear-youing. Lots of feeling like there was a shared sense of what good educational theory and practice was all about. This was a feeling I had not experienced so much recent years. And I liked it. I guess they liked it too, because they offered me the job.

THEN WHAT? Keep in mind, this was June 9th. Most international schools have their hiring well completed by then; after all there are visas and moving arrangements to make, and these can take time. For Ale and I—smack in the midst of buying our second apartment with a government employee program were suddenly under the gun to wrap the deal up before I went off the books at ASF. Thank Vishnu, the director of Human Capital had the heart to let my contract continue to the end of its natural cycle in August so we could make this purchase happen. After a lot of Mexican red tape, we finally prevailed. Next (after some time back in NJ) was a flurry of packing our stuff and furnishing the new apartment. We’ve managed to secure new ASF teachers as tenants—which was a HUGE relief. A buddy of mine, also going to ASB, has ordered a large transport container (think: The Wire, Season Two) and has room for us to sublet in there; though, honestly, there’s not much stuff we taking. Some clothes, books, computers and my family. Packing for this move has made me realize that I am not a materialistic person at all. That’s was a nice realization to have.

We also had some hoops to jump through with the Spanish embassy, which proved to be almost as confusing as Mexican beauracracy, changing the requirements with each visit, differing information between the paper forms and those on the website, vague explanations to questions. Ale said—“Hey, where do you think we learned it from? We got the good looking and you got the smart!” However, the application is in and our fingers are crossed. As expected, the visas were not ready when I flew out two weeks ago. The virtual national shut-down that appears to take place in Spain during August does not appear to be helping.

I stayed in a temporary place right near Las Ramblas during my first week while I met the other ASB newbies, took some Spanish classes and secured an apartment uptown in the neighborhood of Sarria. The city is quite amazing. I arrived just in time for the Gracia street festival that lasts a week, which includes the streets in the neighborhood decorating their streets in themes, using recycled materials, in a competition. There was some amazing designs to see and some wild times in the evenings with food, booze and music everywhere.

Compared with my beloved Mexico, the food and the weather here have been a bit of a disappointment so far, (the weather too hot, the food not too hot) but I have a feeling both will improve with time. The other new teachers seem like a good bunch, but I don’t see too many replacements for the many I came to love so much in Mexico. Again, time will tell. I will say the director and the admin team here continue to impress. That, in and of itself, is exciting. Being away from Ale and Miguel for so long has proved quite difficult, especially for her, with the two year old in tow. So, we’ve decided to have them come over soon, even if it means paying for all three of us to return to collect our visas. In the meantime, I’m working my way through the new staff orientation at work and continuing to settle into my new life in Barcelona. Tales of such are sure to follow. Stay tuned!

Heeee's baaaaaack...

Hello Everyone, it’s Miguelito in Mexico!

I know it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me, but, quite frankly, I’ve been busy. (Well, and, perhaps even more frankly, I can be lazy and lacking in focus.) Between the demands of the job—which often include working at home—and the demands of Miguel the boy-wonder—which can be draining of both time and energy—I often have difficulty moving from thoughts of writing up a blog update to the actual typing of one. It always seems like a bad time to get started because I won’t be able to finish, or maybe because I don’t feel I have a new tale of adventure with which to entertain.

My good friend Jamesthemathteacher has inspired me to redouble my efforts at more regular communication in the blog format. He is good for one or so a month these days and I do enjoy catching up with him, as it were, via his email alerts. It doesn’t take too much effort to drop him a quick couple of lines back, and presto, we’ve kept in contact. Honestly, I wish more of my friends and family would shoot out these types of updates so I could know what is up with them. Anyway, not only is James better at blog regularity, he’s also better at keeping them short enough to want to read them all in one sitting, which I’m going to work on from now on. If I’ve got a whale of a yarn, I’ll do installments like I started to do last year. But, I’m going to work on short and sweet.

When I first started this blog, it was primarily for friends and family in the states, to let them know what I was up to and to offer some insight into the Mexican ex-pat experience. After 3 ½ years (can you believe it!?) I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job of offering a sense of what life is like here. And it’s still quite good, but feels more and more like “home” and less like the new place. However, I’ve made so many new friends here that have moved on to new places, I’m starting to feel I need to make an effort at just sending out some basic updates and less like I need to write an epic tale of Mexican hijinks.

So, here it goes:

It’s been a great year since I last logged one of these. Miguel continues to grow and continues to be a beautiful, special boy. We found him a new guarderia that he doesn’t cry at every time we drop him off, so we are happy about that. It’s not free like the state-run day care we gave up on, but it’s only about 12 dollars a day.

My brother came to visit for spring break and I really enjoyed showing him around. Will, Avi and Juan came at the end of the school year to visit and we headed to Chicago to see them over Thanksgiving. Freaking cold is all I’ll say. Well, that and I’d like to see Chicago again not during the winter. More good buddies also moved on from ASF and we wish you all well.

I continued to squeeze out some travel, spending a week in Holland last winter on a school MUN trip, hitting Chiapas last summer for some Spanish classes and exploration and a weekend trip to the desert town of Real de Catorce. Together with Ale and Miguel, we visited another sweet Hacienda along with beach trips to Mazatlan and Puerto Vallarta.

I took on the MUN class this year (no one else dumbest enough to do it?), which is bound to add some stress to my life as we head through the next few months of planning the two day conference for 900 students. But, generally work is enjoyable. Even so, I’m going to take a look at some opportunities in administration out there over the next month or so. I’ll be heading to San Fran for a job fair in February and looking into some openings here at ASF as well. I could continue to be Miguelito in Mexico, or maybe I’ll become Miguelito in Shanghai. We’ll see…

Though I haven’t written much over the past year, I have managed to take a lot of pictures, including a shit-ton of pictures of Miguel, including some videos. That’s mainly the point of this message—check out these pictures.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/miguelito2066/ (click on a set, then slideshow)

In the meantime, I’ll be working on my next update. I swear.

PS. There was something else I wanted to say…Oh, yeah, we’re pregnant!

Abuelitos in Mexico III

But, as they say, the night was darkest just before the dawn. I was perhaps so busy worrying as I drove steely-eyed onward (though trying not to show it, of course) that I failed to notice the rain had begun to diminish. Finally, we could all breath a collective sigh of relief. Now, it was just the time between us and San Miguel, so I suggested we should play 20 Questions. This is a game I love and one in which I engage with a great of focus and seriousness. But, these three were amateurs. At first, my dad didn’t want to play at all. “How can I say yes or no to that question, not possibly being able to know everything about that person?” My mom and Ale played along willingly, but they played along, “Has this person ever been to Iowa?—ha, ha, ha!!" Normally I would have been more annoyed, but I was happy to get us all involved in an activity that was taking our minds off of the road. And, mercifully, within an a couple of hours, we were coming over the ridge and looking down onto the quaintly cobble-stoned streets of San Miguel de Allende. And even more mercifully, we very quickly found a reasonable hotel one block off the main square, at none other than: “Hotel San Miguelito.” I shit you not. Hopefully, this had to be an auspicious sign.

Ale said she was tired and would stay in with the baby. My parents said they thought they would stay in as well. Ale has been to San Miguel on several occasions so she could afford to miss this part of the agenda. Her excuse that she was too tired to come out would stand. (Plus she’s my wife and I always go along with what she says.) But, blisters, soaking wet, long day, old people—none of these excuses were going to fly with me! “I really, really think you should come on out for a little bit, at least. After all...we came all this way.” (As if they needed reminding.) And come out they did. Weren’t these the people that always used to make me do things? I really thought they were going to tell me to buzz off at this point. But, they were real troopers and came out for a stroll on the town and a drink at the very classy Tio Lucas restaurant. As we sat relaxing, listening to jazz, snacking on some delicious appetizers, chatting and sipping our whiskeys, the whole long, scary, crazy drive seemed to melt away into the distant and harmless past. Or did it? It was during our tranquil time at Tio Lucas that my parents decided to share with me that their trip to Mexico had prompted them to rewrite-up their will right before they left, and that I would be the executor of such. Geez, I laughed uncomfortably, what could have made them think their lives would have been at risk by coming to see me in Mexico?

The next day we woke up relatively early and I took my folks on a daylight tour of that most delightful of Mexican cities that is San Miguel de Allende. We had coffee and molletes off the little zocalo before strolling through the town, taking a peek at some cathedrals and parks before strolling through the market and buying some fruit. By mid-day we were back on the road, headed toward Guanajuato by way of Dolores, the town where Mexican Independence was born. Dolores is nothing particularly special, but it was cool to stand in the very spot of the original Grito de Independencia. Plus my folks got to see me bribe a cop in order to secure prime parking on the street. I’m not sure what they thought of that, but they definitely appeared to enjoy the extremely scenic drive over the mountains to Guanajuato, where we got out several times to snap some photos.

Guanajuato: the picturesque European-like city that would surely impress my parents of the wonders of Mexico. This would be a hit for sure. Of course, it can get a little busy and crowded on Saturday. And my parents had experienced a rough couple of days, so, I hoped it wouldn’t be TOO lively there. But, this tour was apparently about suffering, not hope. So, it was only fitting that we should arrive in Guanajuato on the last Saturday of the Cervantino Festival, a month long theatre, art and DRINKING bonanza that every Mexican teen and twenty something pilgrimages at least once in their lifetime. Just looking at the crowd made me ill. This would be the point where my parents said, “enough!” But, it was time for a bit of luck. Making our way through the obscenely crowded streets would have been unbearable—I’m not sure my parents would have survived—except for the saving grace of having the stroller with us. Contrary to intuition, the stroller is not a hindrance in situations like these; it magically serves as a Moses-like staff that parts the Red Sea of even the most crowded and drunken crowds. People see you coming with a baby in a stroller and they make way without any complaint. Using this method, we managed to get through the mob, check out the beautiful town, and find a seat in a nice restaurant in the Jardin Central, where we enjoyed another tasty Mexican meal, including pozole. I bought my mom a snazzy poncho and we even squeezed in some silver shopping before heading back to the Jeep for the final leg of our journey.

A four and a half hour long leg, in the dark, over the mountains to be exact. I too was beginning to feel the wear of such action-packed four days; but the circle needed to be completed. And besides, my friend Micah was having a Halloween party that night! So, I drove like a man possessed for the DF. This time there was no apocalyptic rainstorm—oh no—only some ridiculously blinding fog throughout the windy, mountainous roads. Once again, I drove through it all with unyielding focus, playing it cool without letting on to anyone of my own fear and self-doubt, squinting through the fog and somehow managing to get us all to our destination in one piece.

And even though we arrived home in time for me to technically make it to the party, I decided to stay in and hit the hay. Tomorrow would be the last day of my parents trip, and I wanted to be in shape to enjoy it with them. Sunday ended up being like a day like we would have had at home in NJ. Ale, my mom and I went shopping in the morning which allowed me to take a detour and show her the ASF campus. While we all pitched in a bit on the cooking in the afternoon, my dad and I watched the Eagles beat the shit of the Giants. (Sweet!) “Dada” and “Nana” took the opportunity to goo-goo, gah-gah with their newest grandson on the bed. It was everything I missed about not having them around. It was a relaxing and refreshing day of quiet family time that I hoped would leave them rested, refreshed and ready to catch their plane the next morning after a good night’s sleep.

But, I already told you that this trip was about suffering, not hope. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised one bit when I came out of my room, ready to head to work Monday morning to find out that my mom was having another “spell.” She was lying on the couch, pale and quiet. She then confessed that she normally doesn’t do great getting up in the pre-dawn hours and that she’d felt lightheaded on several mornings in our apartment. It then occured to me that I had not seriously considered the well documented draining effects of the high altitude of Mexico City on my newly-arrived, aging, parents as I drug them all over tarnation. (Did I mention that I am an idiot of sorts?) We had been planning on putting them into a radio cab and sending them on their way, but suddenly that plan was out the window. Ale quickly seized control. She’d go with them to the airport and I’d stay home with Miguel, work be damned. Luckily, when Louanne hit the cool air outside the airport, her system rebooted and she was able to board and fly home without incident.

Of course, I didn’t find this out until much later in the day when I received and email to that effect. In the meantime, I spent the day thinking, "Dude, what is wrong with you? You practically killed your parents with this trip!" And even though I was thinking that mostly tongue-in-cheek (I was pretty sure, despite the frenetic pace, that they had had a quite a good time) I then found myself taking this a step further, allowing the most dreadful scenario to play out in my head. What if this time my mom did not recover from her spell on the plane and make it safely home to NJ? I spent the day pondering what I already know to be true, that these two most special and important people in my life will someday come to the end of their tour here on earth. The hollow and ugly feeling was practically unbearable, and yet I know it is only a smidgen of what the real feeling will surely be when the awful time comes. I love them both so much I can hardly continue typing these words right now. In fact, I couldn’t. I had to stop and cry for a few minutes.

It is quite obvious as I type now, that I spent so much effort trying to show my parents a good time because I love them more than I can possibly describe. And because I was eager to share with them what a good life I have here in Mexico so they can know for certain that I am happy, because I know that’s important to them. I can only hope that they enjoyed their visit to Mexico more than they endured it. I'm fairly certain that is the case. I know I am definitely glad they came. And Mom and Dad--next time you come down--I PROMISE, we’ll take it easy.

Abuelitos in Mexico II

And next? A day off? A break? Oh, I don’t know—how about a thousand mile tour around Mexico in two days? (If you are a regular reader of this blog, then you’ll know that I am an idiot of sorts. But, let me just take the opportunity to say it directly: I am an idiot of sorts.) Yes, you heard me correctly. After a stressful day of travel that had the stewardesses calling “is there a doctor on the plane?!” for my fainting mother, after an arduous city walking tour followed by a day exploring castles, museums and a cathedral, I then took my aging, weary parents and my barely 3 month old son and wife on a two day, thousand mile tour around central Mexico in our Jeep Grand Cherokee. Yup, I did that.

It started with a trip up to the ruins of Teotihuacan, a set of pre-Aztec gargantuan pyramids. Unlike the El Greco exhibit, my father had specifically requested that we visit this most famous ancient site. So, I felt pretty good about this bit. But, this part of the tour did not come without its own glitches. First, I pulled into the first parking lot that I saw upon entering the park, which was near the visitor’s center and some shops, but over a mile from the main temples. So, the visit began with—you guessed it—more walking. Not that it was so bad; it was a beautiful day, not too hot, blue skies with fluffy white clouds playfully rolling by overhead. (Well, that’s how it all appeared when we started our journey into the park.) We finally arrived at the Temple of the Sun, which my dad and I climbed without too much difficulty. (Funny how being excited about a project will make you forget about your blister problem.) I could tell my parents were impressed and enjoying themselves. We took a break for Ale to feed Miguel and then headed over to the little shops to purchase some mementos. My mom even bought herself a pair of sandals she was very pleased with. It was all going so well. And then, suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, dark ominous clouds swallowed up the sky. And just like that, some mile or so from our car, the deluge began.

Getting rained on can be a drag no matter what. And getting rained on with your parents whom you are showing around is really not great. But, throw into the mix that you’ve also got a baby in a stroller in tow and then things get really crappy. Because of that, we had to take the long way around on the gravel path instead of a quicker more direct route that required us traversing several sets of steep steps. By the time we got back to the Jeep we were thoroughly and utterly soaked. (The one umbrella we thankfully had with us was used to protect the baby.) We ended up taking off our wet shirts and putting on the brand new t-shirts my folks had just bought as gifts for the family back home. “Oh,” she said, “I’ll just iron them when I get home and they won’t know the difference.” (Sorry to blow your cover, Mom.)

I drove around the park until I found a restaurant, and ran in for some food. Everyone else opted to stay in the car and attempt to reset their body temperatures. When I came out with some barbacoa tacos and mushroom quesadillas, I learned that there had apparently been a pow-wow in the car without me; and the consensus was that perhaps we should just call this a day and head home. You know, being soaked and tired and blisters re-aggravated and such. Maybe we should reconsider the long trip to San Miguel de Allende that evening. “Blasphemy!” I thought. If we go home now, we’ll have a hard time logging the thousand miles we so desperately need to make. Mexico City is great; it’s fantastic and amazing and splendid. But, now that you’ve seen some of it, you simply have to see some other parts of Mexico. So, despite the rain that continued to pour (it couldn’t possibly last much longer, the rainy season was supposed to be over for crying out loud) we headed onto the highway toward San Miguel via Queretaro.

And that’s when it happened. The REAL rainstorm began. Everything up to this point had been a relative drizzle. As night fell, so did the buckets upon buckets of violent water. The visibility was for shit. I mean, literally nil. Everyone in the car was surely thinking that this mad tour guide had finally gone too far. This would be the first and last tour of Mexico. It would all end here. And poor little Miguel strapped helplessly in the back seat would never live to see his first michelada. The lightening storm that ensued was literally the greatest I had ever seen in my entire life, an incredible etch-a-sketch of electricity in the sky. Long winding Jackson Pollock like displays that hung longer in the air than I had previously known was possible. It was breathtaking and beautiful. A truly natural fireworks display. Not that I was supposed to be watching any of this as I barreled along through the ever-growing lake sized puddles and the crowded, erratic traffic, both hands clenched to the steering wheel, torn between giving my parents the Mexico tour they surely deserved and the thin black line of tragic family car wreck. But, I couldn’t help but drive on and watch it all unfold.

I had already overruled the goup and committed us to getting to San Miguel de Allende, so press on I did, praying (cursing?) for the rain to stop. Trying to calmly breathe the air in the Jeep, so heavy with the doubts, fears and judgments of those I loved most. The silence was almost as defeaning as the rain beating upon the Jeep. Just as I thought we had reached some level of resignation, that things couldn’t get any worse--blink. On goes the interior light. Ok, whose door is open? Check. No one’s. Ugh. My father offered that maybe the water he’d been feeling leaking in under the dash was now affecting the electrical system. Suddenly, a quick painless car crash seemed the least of my worries. What we were looking at was an electrical failure that would leave us stranded on the side of the road in Mexico, in the dark, during the storm of the century.

Final installment to follow...

Abuelitos in Mexico!

My friend Pete, who is smarter than me, wrote me after my last blog to say, "Hey, this is good shit, but I wonder how many people manage to finish reading them when they are so long. Why not issue them in smaller installments." So, I'm going to try that this time. If I get more feedback from people saying this helped them read them and enjoy them, then I'll make it a new thing. If not, then Pete doesn't know shit. I wrote this blog while on a tour of Baja California Sur, a truly amazing place. Mexico is so diverse and incredible. Don't know if I'll squeeze in a blog about that trip, but I'll surely have pictures of it (as I already do of my parents visit) posted at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/miguelito2066/sets/72157622745419733/show/ Check 'em out!

My parents came to visit us last month. At the October/November Cusp. Day of the Dead/Halloween. All that. Not that this is why they came then. I needed to use the last three days of my “paternity” leave before November 1st. So, that’s when I told them to come on down. Of course, I’ve been telling them to “come on down” pretty much since I’ve been here. (You know, like for my wedding.) But, circumstances (read: global financial crisis and housing sales slump) and a longstanding provincial attitude about international travel kept them from responding to the invitations. Enter Miguel Alberto. The little guy had only been on the planet for a month and a half and he already had my parents buying plane tickets to Mexico. Well done, Son. I didn’t really care what had pushed them over the edge. I was simply ecstatic that my rents would finally be joining us in Mexico to get a first hand view of our lives. It’s weird that I care so much. At what age do you stop wanting your parents to be proud of you? I know I’m not an old man, but the signs indicate that I am getting “older”—the eyesight is failing, the libido is not as chipper as it once was, the recovery time after intense physical workouts is longer. (The recovery time after intense partying, however, seems to be lessening—this is probably a bad sign.) At any rate, at 43 years old I was totally stoked that Mike and Louanne would be visiting us and I counted the days down until their arrival.

Of course, looking back, it's clear that my enthusiasm got the better of me; I took them on a whirlwind tour that left my mother barely able to catch the flight home to NJ. Of course, she didn’t arrive in the best of shape either. My mother and some of her other siblings suffer from a rare condition that causes fainting at times. I can remember my uncle Patrick (the eighth of eight children, and thus only a year and a half older than me) sprinting away from the Fourth of July parades whenever the fire engines would approach, blaring their sirens. Apparently, for some reason, that would kick off his fainting spells. And I can also remember my aunt Margie being found passed out on the bathroom floor of my grandparents’ house when I was little. In recent years, my mother has developed additional physical quirks, like occasional migraines and something else that causes her to experience uncontrollable rapid heart beats. (I can’t remember the names for any of this stuff.) Not that any of it happens frequently as far as I understand it, just that it happens, sometimes. My mom is a sweet and fragile person, nothing terrible in that. So, when my parents confessed shortly after arriving in Mexico City on Tuesday night that my mom had passed out on the plane on the way to Mexico and given themselves, and everyone on the plane a good scare, it was not all that shocking of a surprise. But, I probably should have taken heed.

But, I didn’t. And the whirlwind tour commenced immediately after dropping their bags off at the apartment by walking them down the street to the Califa taco place. I’ve shared a lot with my family about the delights of Mexican food and wanted to introduce them right a way. This wasn’t the street tacos that I adore, but Califa is pretty tasty. So, we headed over there and had some tacos al pastor and some gringas shortly after they arrived at our apartment at 11pm. They seemed to enjoy them well enough before we went back home and finally put them to bed in Miguel’s yet occupied room at 1am after a long day of traveling. Oops, that was 3am their time. Sorry guys.

Still, the tour needed to continue (like the Milgram experiement), so the next day we got up and quickly started their personalized walking tour of my surrounding neighborhoods—Hipodromo, Condesa, Roma Norte, Juarez. We hit Buena Tierra for brunch, then Parque Espana and Parque Mexico, the Cibeles and Diana Fountains, Reforma, Little Korea. We did stop for a rest at Cafemania off of Parque Mexico. As we headed home after this long first day, I heard some mention of blisters emerging on their toes and “I haven’t walked this far in a long time.” Oops again. (Did I mention my parents are in their mid-sixties?) Sorry again guys. Well, not sorry enough to not schedule a dinner out at the Lebanese place we like so much with 12 of my closest friends. I really wanted my awesome friends to meet my awesome parents. Of course my folks were slightly subdued for the event, given the 3am bedtime the night before and the ten mile walking tour. Even so, we had a nice time, finishing off the evening by toking on the hooka. My friends got a glimpse of the two people responsible for making me me. Afterwards, I’m certain both my parents were asleep the moment their heads hit their pillows.

But, hey man, there is a lot to see in this great city of mine. So, the next day after breakfast we headed up to Chapultepec Castle, which I’d pointed out to them from my 9th floor apartment windows. After walking up the long steep hill that leads to the castle, we toured the residential portions of former emperors and presidents and headed into the museum portion for some more when my mom suddenly decided she needed some air. Too stuffy, she said. Gee, Mom, sorry about that. Ale went outside to sit with her. My dad and I hurried through the rest of the museum in order to catch up with the girls and Miguel outside.

Still, the day wasn’t over yet. Shoosh, it was only 3 o’clock or so. The show must go on and all that! We drove downtown, after a stop for some street quesadillas, to the Bellas Artes Palace to show them the El Greco exhibit that I’d heard so much about. Ale and I had been dying to see this and had waited specifically for my parents’ visit to finally go. When I heard my mom saying, “who exactly is El Greco again?” it dawned on me that Ale the art buff and me the history buff were perhaps not thinking straight when we set up this part of the itinerary. (Still, it was really cool, set up in the dark with highlight lights on the paintings. Better even than the normal showcase in Toledo, or so I’ve been told.) We left the museum and headed down toward the Zocalo, the huge central plaza of the city. (They assured me their feet were up for the mile walk or so through the old weathered buildings of El Centro.) After taking in the wonders of that mighty plaza, peeking inside the Catedral Metropolitana and taking a gander at the ruins of the original Aztec temples upon which the city is built, we headed over to the La Casa de las Sirenas restaurant and enjoyed some truly fine Mexican cuisine, garlic trout, chile enogada, and mole con pollo. It was on this satisfied note that we headed back to the apartment to put day two in the books. Way to hang in there you two!

Installment II to follow...

Working Vacation

At the second welcome party I attended during my first week in Mexico, a teacher described the life here as, “A working vacation.” Boy, did that have a nice ring to it. And man, he wasn’t kidding. I’m on year three here and I still feel like I’m on a working vacation. That’s not to say we don’t work hard at our school. Like most teachers, we work ridiculously hard, often ten hours a day and sometimes more on the weekends. However, when we are not working—then it’s pure vacation-like fun.

I realize I have already extolled the many wonders of Mexico City in previous blogs, but let me just say that after two years here, I continue to be fascinated, surprised and enchanted by all this city has to offer. Just recently, I went to have some happy hour drinks with my pals Ryan and Dean in a restaurant that has two lions in the courtyard. (They were in cages, not wandering freely among the tables.) And despite being in relatively small cages, they behaved in a way that made me think there were not entirely unhappy, playing like two cats. So, living in Mexico City continues to be an exhilarating experience, unique and exciting.

And then, there’s the rest of Mexico; so much to explore. The people I work with are constantly heading out to the beaches for surf fun, off hiking volcanoes, or white water rafting, or just visiting the scores of beautiful Mexican colonial towns. Every weekend someone is off somewhere. And like so much of what we do here, whether it’s watching football at Caliente’s—the gambling house with all the games on—playing Frisbee, followed by lunch on Saturdays, going to see our buddy Jason DJing at a local venue, meeting for Sunday morning barbacoa at Parque Espana, visiting a new show at a museum, the weekend excursions are often done in groups as well. A constant flow of new opportunities at each weekend or vacation: awesome people, great friends, traveling around together in Mexico on their ongoing working vacation.

One such weekend occurred not to long ago. We were invited to celebrate our friend Erin’s birthday by getting a house with a pool by Lake Tequesquitengo. And get this—jumping out of airplanes too! (With parachutes.) Unfortunately for Ale and I, my RSVP to Erin’s boyfriend Hector sat unsent in draft email form without me realizing it. Consequently, we were only able to get in on the deal for Friday night. Luckily, I had some paternity days I was able to cash in, so I took off Friday and we headed up before the rest of the group to have the house to ourselves for the day. The house was quite nice, with a large patio area with a pool adjoining a nicely landscaped yard over looking the lake.

We arrived in the early afternoon and after a quick shopping trip to the local tienda, we settled in to our weekend villa. While the maid made us lunch and drinks, we took Miguelito for his first swim in a pool. He was slightly freaked out at first but eventually got into it. He was naked, so I was slightly concerned about him squirting some of his mustardy yellow shit into the water. Thankfully, he maintained some self control. After our swim we sat in the yard reading and drinking some more until the sun began to go down and we were all ready for a nap.

After a few hours of blessed sleep—naps are not something I often get to enjoy much since the baby arrived—we got a call from the rest of the gang looking for some directions, as the place was a bit tough to locate. We got up and began our Friday party as people trickled in throughout the evening. One of the cool things about this weekend was that there were a lot of people there that I had never met. Erin has a knack for meeting random people and befriending them. So besides some of our core buds, there was a dose of new people, some meeting each other for the first time. There was a guy from Spain, a couple of guys from England, a computer dude from Oregon, a girl here doing her PhD work, all interesting and friendly folk. Miguelito came out for a while and was passed around among the girls. Soon, someone was cooking up some quesadillas with mushrooms and we laid into those. With a big day ahead for many of us who would be skydiving, people trickled off to bed one by one and two by two. Jordan and I, well into a bottle of Jack Daniels, were the last men standing in the wee hours of the morning, and bonded even further with a skinny dipping session before heading to bed. Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. I went up on the balcony and threatened to jump into the pool. Since the “deep end” was only five feet deep, Jordan argued against it. I was still not dissuaded until he pointed out how stupid I would feel if I was unable to skydive the following day if I had broken my ankle the night before. For once, I erred on the side of caution.

Despite the significant drinking until 4am, I lept out of bed at 7:30 am eager to jump out of a plane at 13,000 feet. Driving to the jump location, we passed several groups of burros, some practically blocking traffic. When I commented on this, Tina—ever ready to argue with me—said definitively that they were mules. She explained that mules were half-breeds between horses and burros. I told her that I was aware of what constituted a mule, only the little shaggy spindly legged things on the side of the road were, in fact, burros. “Did you grow up on a farm, Mike?” she challenged. It was with great pleasure that I was able to say, with some truth, “Yes, Tina, I did.” (I didn’t point out that while we had a horse and a pony, chickens, geese and rabbits, we never hosted any burros.) The rest of the crew in the car burst into laughter. Tina’s bluff had been called! The great and frustrating thing about my arguments with Tina is that they are virtually never resolved. But, this time, she was stumped. (Though, I’m certain she’ll never admit it.)

When we arrived at the skydiving place, we got a good gringo laugh to discover they were not open yet, even though it was past the advertised opening hour. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before the workers arrived and we began our training. There had been some nervous joking about using a Mexican company to skydive, being that attention to detail is often not the strong suit of Mexican business. But, this place was legit. Very professional, friendly and thorough. My tandem guy spoke perfect English, having studied in Miami for college. He talked about how much partying he had done there, and I thought perhaps that was why he was now a jump instructor. As we floated down to earth an hour later, I would come to find out how very wrong I was. His father owned the company and he’d been jumping since he was five years old. He was a nuclear physicist who had just finished his masters degree in Belgium and was heading back to Munich for his PhD. In a sad commentary on Mexican progress, he admitted he’d need to work in the U.S. or Europe after he graduates, since there is no nuclear energy program to speak of in Mexico.

The jump was fantastic. I’d skydived once before and it was so mind boggling and overwhelming that I remember landing on the ground and feeling like I had just woken up and didn’t properly savor the experience. This time, I was much more relaxed and really focused on enjoying both the freefall and the float down. Also, the first time was in a bigger plane in which you had to “jump” out. That part was hard. Your brain is telling you very clearly that jumping out of a plane when everything on the earth is just little dots is a stupid idea. This time, the plane was much smaller, and we worked our way out of the small door onto a metal leg jetting out to the plane. He stood on that with me strapped beneath him and he did the release into the great wide open without me having to make an act of volition.

After our jump, we headed back to the house and got into a serious pool party. The maid was busy making drinks and snacks while we all enjoyed the sun, the pool and the view. By mid-afternoon it dawned on me that we must have been at a significantly lower elevation that Mexico City because the temperature was significantly hotter. There were swim up tables where the pool and kitchen met, so staying cool in the pool while you had your drinks became the name of the game. Throughout the day, even more people showed up; at the height of the party there might have been 25 people there. More than once I said, and heard others say—drink in hand, floating in the pool, overlooking the lake—“this is some life we are living.” Later in the afternoon, the maid cranked up the grill and cooked up a slew of meats and vegetables we had purchased, along with some quesadillas. It was a fantastic feast that left us all quite stuffed.

As the evening wore on Ale and Miguelito and I snuck off to take another brief nap before getting ready to go out for Erin’s birthday dinner. The owner of the house actually owned the restaurant and the meals were included for those paying to stay at the house. (Some people were sleeping in tents in the yard—though we didn’t volunteer that information to the owner.) The meal was OK—nothing to write home about--but it was a good opportunity to further get to know some of the new people I had met during the weekend. I got to hear more about the PhD girl’s investigation into Mexican-Cuban relations during the Seventies and was jealous of her being a student.

After the cake came out and Erin blew out the candle, Ale and I packed Miguelito in the car to drive back to Mexico. Our room would be occupied by Dean and his girlfriend and her sister that night. (I keep forgetting to ask Dean how that went, as there was only a large, single bed in the room and two sisters to share it with!) Our friends Kristen and Jordan decided to join us for an early departure. 24 hours of straight partying had taken its toll, and there were extra people who could use their room. Waking up at home in their own beds, ready to watch football was a prospect well worth the two hour drive home at midnight.

All in all, it was another fantastic “working vacation” weekend. And the truth is, it’s just one example of the many great trips we take throughout the year. For some reason, it’s the sort of thing I would rarely do in NJ. But, here, hitting the road with friends for adventure is quite the norm. I heard later that those who stayed on Sunday continued the pool party, even jumping in groups from the balcony into the pool. The pictures I saw sure made it look like fun. I KNEW I should have jumped when I had the chance!

VIVA MEXICO!!

For those many gringo friends of mine who somehow still manage to think Cinco de Mayo, or the 5th of May, is the date of Mexican Independence, let me clue you that Mexican Independence Day is celebrated on the eve of September 15 and the following day, September 16th.

It all started 199 years ago in 1810. The world had witnessed the American Revolution transform British colonies into independent states, whose laws and institutions were firmly based in the ideas and values of the Enlightenment. The French soon followed with an attempted Enlightened Revolution of their own. Lacking the historical and cultural democratic experience of the Americans, the French Revolution spiraled into a bloodbath of beheadings and wars until a general named Napoleon assumed control, declared himself emperor, and effectively ended the first attempt at a true French republic. As Napoleon expanded his control and influence over much of continental Europe, he placed his brother Joseph on the throne of Spain. Consequently, Mexican authorities found themselves beholden to a crown they rightly rejected as illegitimate. Many upper class Spaniards migrated to Mexico, where they fomented anti-French and Mexican nationalist sentiments. One person caught up in this new movement was a creole (a Mexican of pure Spanish decent) priest who was both as popular with the mestizo (mixed race Mexicans) and natives as he was unpopular with the church (he was tried by the Inquisition) for his Enlightened ideals. He was working with other anti-French and Enlightenment influenced creoles on a plan for armed insurrection when the plot was prematurely discovered in the nearby town of Queretaro. Before the authorities could squash their plans, he quickly rang the bell of his church in Dolores, where he addressed his congregation in the town square (or zocalo) just before midnight.

No record of his apparently inspirational speech survives, but the reenactment of this call to arms (El Grito—“the shout or cry” in Spanish) is the centerpiece of the celebration that kicks-off Independence festivities every year in Mexico. Today's El Grito consists of some reconcrtucted version of the original cry being recited, followed by acknowledgement of the founders, "Viva Allende!" (crowd): "VIVA!" "Viva Morelos!" (crowd): "VIVA!" "Viva Hidalgo!" (crowd): "VIVA!" And it ends with,"Viva Mexico!" (crowd): VIVA! (repeated three times). These reenactments happen in zocalos big and small in cities and towns all over Mexico at 11 pm every September 15th. The reenactment of El Grito is followed by fireworks, dancing, singing and drinking into the night. This explains why the national day off from work for independence occurs on September 16th, not September 15!

Hidalgo and other early revolutionaries were summarily captured and executed, but the revolutionary genie could not be put back in the bottle and the war against the French illegitimacy raged on and was almost immediately turned into a war for complete independence from any foreign crown. Spain finally acknowledged the reality of an independent Mexico in 1821.

Ale and I celebrated our first Grito on our first weekend away together to Queretaro, and then to San Miguel de Allende, home of another early founding hero, Ignatio de Allende. On September 15, the quaint colonial square in San Miguel was awash in a festive atmosphere, filled with tourists, vendors of all sorts and Mariachis throughout the day. By evening it was completely packed with celebrants waiting for the mayor to appear and reenact the “Cry of Dolores.” After El Grito, when the fireworks went off on the huge towering carrousel built in the plaza, the people crammed underneath it began a mad dash in all directions away from the falling flames, burning gunpowder and choking smoke. This, of course, caused a ripple effect in the crowd which resulted in us almost being crushed. We were literally being lifted off our feet and moved feet at a time. It was quite scary for a moment, yet most around me were laughing. (If you are asking why authorities didn’t cordon off the area underneath the fireworks carousel, you obviously have not lived in Mexico.) It was exciting and crazy experience, and devolved into dancing and merriment in the streets; no harm no foul.

This year, a head cold had me feeling a bit under the weather so we invited some friends over for a few drinks and some “servicio a domicilio” or food delivery. My friends showed up, Ryan wearing a national futbol team jersey, and Tim sporting a giant Mexican mustache, sold along with Mexican Flags on the streets during this time of year. The mood was mellow, but enjoyable. We were hoping for sushi but discovered that us dopey gringos had waited too late on Independence Eve and had to settle for cheeseburgers and curly fries. THE Zocalo in El Centro here in Mexico City is ground zero for El Grito, where the president conducts the reenactment before tens of thousands in front of the National Palace and for millions on TV. It rained—hard—all evening, so those who stood there for hours were true patriots. By 11pm the rain had slowed enough for us to go up onto the roof of our apartment building and watch the fireworks from the Zocalo. The HUGE red, green and white bursts were impressive even from a few miles away in the rain. Simultaneously, there were visible displays from at least four other distinct launch sites, as well as various other wannabees launching the occasional missile from around the city. The sounds and sites of Mexican independence reigned down across the cityscape of 20+ million like the rain coming down from the heavens.

The next day we slept in (well I slept in, Ale was up early feeding the baby) and awoke to a beautiful sunny day in which the city appeared washed clean by the heavy rains. After I finish writing this blog, we are going to check out the Bellas Artes museum downtown where there is a visiting El Greco show. If that’s closed today, (the website makes no mention of being closed for the holiday) we’ll maybe head over to Chapultepec park, the giant forest filled with museums, a castle, lakes and an amusement park. It’s a great day to live in a great city, in a great country, in a wonderful world. Viva Mexico!

PS. If you’re still wondering what the hell Cinco de Mayo is all about, quite simply it is a celebration of the victory of a smaller Mexican Army over a much larger invading French Army at the battle of Puebla, on the plains outside the city of the same name that lie a few hours south east of the DF. The French, who had come ostensibly to force Mexican repayments of defaulted international loans, eventually ended up conquering Mexico and installing Austrian Prince Maximilian on the throne, until liberal forces, supported by the US, helped overthrow his French puppet government restoring Benito Juarez to the presidency. Still, the victory symbolizes Mexican pride and resistance to foreign influence and control. Why this day has become a significant holiday in the U.S. (it’s not big here) is likely because beer, chip and dip companies needed a spring holiday to push their products. May Day, the international socialist workers rights day, just doesn’t have the same festive ring to it.

Photo: President Felipe Calderone issuing El Grito in the Zocalo from the Palacio Nacional.